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Chapter 114 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The morning light began to peak through some of the loose planks of the barn. Klarion stirred next to Hatsune, briefly trying to go back to sleep, only to give up as a rooster’s call echoed from somewhere outside. The low, muffled bellow of one of the shaggy blue cattle caused Hatsune to shift next to him. 

Apart from the noises coming from outside, the barn was quiet, save for the soft sound of Hatsune’s breathing from where she lay near him. Her silver-gray hair was loose about her shoulders, ears curled slightly as she settled again.

Klarion gave himself a moment to watch her. Even asleep, her body held some tension. Likely from the fight that had happened the previous night. He himself could remember bits and pieces of a nightmare in which neither of them had noticed the second Blaze Lion until it had already leapt at Hatsune. Thankfully, he had jerked awake before the nightmare had gone further than that, and the sense of reassurance had been immediate when he had found her sleeping at his side. Hopefully, being back out on the road today would help Hatsune deal with the lingering tension.

Quietly, he rose and moved to where he had neatly set his armor the night before. Pausing only to stretch his back, he settled into the methodical movements of donning the armored plates. It did not fit as well as it had prior to the fight against the Blaze Lion, given the blows he had taken, but it would continue to work fine until he returned to the Imperial Academy and could get it repaired. 

The barn door creaked faintly as a breeze tugged against it. With how bright it was outside, Klarion guessed they’d slept longer than they had meant to. He had a hard time regretting that, however. Yesterday had been a long day.

A small rustle pulled him from his thoughts. Hatsune pushed herself up with her arms, and while she blinked the sleep from her eyes, her ears had already shifted to face his direction. After several long blinks, she turned to face him fully.

“You’re already dressed,” she murmured, voice rough from sleep.

“Yes. I was just about to wake you so you could do the same,” Klarion said, then nodded at one of the beams of light coming down through the roof of the barn. “We slept through sunrise.”

Hatsune made a soft grunt as she pushed herself the rest of the way to her feet. She stretched once, arms overhead, back arching slightly as she raised herself on her tiptoes, then walked over to her own armor.

“So, do you want to take your time here, or do you want to head to the next location immediately?” she asked, fastening one of the leather straps of her armor.

“Unless Farmer Donovan has anything else for us, I’d just as soon head out right away. We have a bit of time yet before the deadline, but I’d rather return to the Academy with time to spare rather than cut it close.”

Hatsune nodded her understanding, making no jokes about having a hot breakfast. She knew how important it was to keep moving. She dressed quickly, pulling on the rest of her armor and securing it, then gathered the rest of what they had brought with them from Bastion as Klarion did the same.

They quickly made their way down the ladder, then out of the barn itself. The farmer’s son was in the process of herding the shaggy blue cattle through a gate on the other side of the field. For all that he was focused on his work, he still took a moment to wave in their direction, which Klarion acknowledged while Hatsune closed the barn door behind them.

Seeing them both leave the barn, Farmer Donovan left the fence he had been working on to head in their direction.

“He’s still here,” Klarion said, more to himself than to Hatsune.

The Leporine stepped up beside him, tightening one of her vambraces. “Hmm… I thought he would have left by now to get some help dealing with the other Blaze Lion carcass.”

“I thought so, too,” Klarion said, “But looks like we are going to find out why.”

Farmer Donovan came to a stop before them, wiping his hands on a rag. “Mornin’,” he greeted, offering a small, genuine nod. “Didn’t think you two’d sleep so long.”

Klarion greeted the farmer with a nod of his own, then said, “With how last night went, I can’t say I regret that we did. Thankfully, the day looks like it will be a nice one, so we should still be able to make some good time.”

The farmer gave a grunt of agreement, or perhaps embarrassment, as he shuffled his feet. “I was just finishing up part of the fence, waiting for you, and my wife…well, she thought maybe that you’d both appreciate some packed food for the road. ”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and hurried back in the direction of the house.

Klarion blinked at the man’s abrupt departure, then exchanged a glance with Hatsune. She shrugged, then leaned back against the barn door while they waited.

Just when Klarion was starting to get impatient, Donovan returned, holding two cloth-wrapped bundles. He handed one to each of them. 

“Bread, some smoked ham, dried apples,” he said gruffly. “Even managed a bit of our cheese. It is older, but you should still have a few days to eat it before it starts going bad.”

“You didn’t have to,” Klarion said, taking the bundle offered to him. “We’re not the ones who lost livestock.”

“No,” Donovan said, gaze turning flinty. “But you were the ones who killed both those monsters. And left the second one for us to harvest. That’ll help us replace of animals we lost, and have a bit left over towards expanding my farm in the next year or so. You didn’t have to do that, but you didn’t hesitate to do so.” He paused, looking off toward the second corpse. “Still gotta process it, but I’m sure the Gorsmites will be happy to help me with it. Especially once I tell them the farm is safe from predators now.”

Hatsune tilted her head. “You could’ve gone already, and even have left the food with your son to give us before we left. Why wait?”

Donovan didn’t answer at first, only shifting his gaze to stare at Klarion. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate.

“I don’t know much about scions,” he said. “Most of what I’ve heard, they ride in with too many guards and not enough sense. Often leave a bigger mess than they found for farmers like me. But you two…” He glanced between them again, his eyes settling on the way Klarion’s greatsword hung loose but ready. “I’m sure you have your reasons for not announcing yourself as such, and far be it for me to bring attention to a noble seeking to avoid notice, but I wanted you to know I appreciate what you’ve done and how you’ve done it. You didn’t ask for anything before or after you fought. Simply came in and completed the Expeditionary Mission. Even turned over the other Blaze Lion to help me and my family. Not many I’ve heard of would’ve done that.”

Klarion shifted awkwardly at being found out, but Donovan’s words reassured him. He had a feeling that he could trust the man not to bring attention to him. “As much as I’d like to say otherwise, we didn’t come here for the gratitude.”

“Maybe not. But you’ll have it anyway. This food is only a small repayment towards the debt I owe you. And I don’t forget my debts.”

Klarion nodded once more in acknowledgement of the farmer’s words. He’d met a few men like Donovan before, back on Earth when he had still been working under Dr. Halter. They had been proud, refusing to accept charity, though that was all that they could afford. Rather than tell the men they owed him nothing, Dr. Halter had instead charged them in services. A leaky sink. Two windows that consistently got stuck in the winter. A month of taking care of the garbage and sweeping. Those had been some of the services that Dr. Halter hadn’t really needed done. But they had been the only way those stubborn men would accept his charity. Farmer Donovan was much the same. So Klarion said the only thing he could. 

“I’ll be sure to send a message to you if I need anything that you might help with.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Donovan said, then cleared his throat. “So. You headed back toward Bastion?”

“Not yet,” Klarion shook his head. “A few more Expeditionary Missions to complete before we head back.”

“Well…” Donovan scratched at his chin. “When you do head back to Bastion, remember to stop at the gate and tell the guards about the second Blaze Lion. They might give you a bonus for going beyond the terms of the Expeditionary Mission. Sometimes the city pays out when monsters not covered by Expeditionary Missions cause trouble this close to the city.”

“Thank you for the tip,” Klarion said. “But we didn’t do it for the coin.”

“But we’ll take it,” Hatsune was quick to chime in from behind him.

That earned a dry chuckle from Donovan. He stepped back to give a short, respectful nod, then went back over to the fence he had been working on, calling out over his shoulder, “Safe travels, both of you.”

Without another word, Klarion turned to go after he tucked the food bundle away. Hatsune followed beside him, gaze already scanning the path ahead as they left the farm. They soon moved beyond the bounds of the farm, the sounds of the shaggy blue cattle, which he still didn’t know the name of, fading behind them. 

“Do you think he’ll be able to find enough help to deal with the corpse of the Blaze Lion?” Hatsune asked as they walked.

“I have no doubt that he will. He struck me as the type that had a good relationship with his neighbors,” Klarion said in response. “Once he tells them it is safe, I bet they’ll rush over to confirm the threat is dealt with, then help him harvest the remains.”

“Do you think they’ll turn what happened into a story?” She asked somewhat wistfully. “The farmer. The monstrous Blaze Lions. The mysterious scion and his bodyguard who left without asking for anything beyond the rewards already outlined in the Expeditionary Mission. It seems like it would be a good story to me.”

“To me, too. But part of me hopes they don’t remember our names,” Klarion said, then shook his head. Not that it would really matter. He had a bad feeling it would only be a matter of time before Chadwick or one of his allies figured out what he was up to. A story from a farmer outside of Bastion would probably not be the first hint of what Klarion had chosen to do, especially if his suspicions about who had been following them were proven to be true. “Actually, I guess it doesn’t really matter if they do or do not.”

Hatsune glanced over at him. “You would prefer they not mention our names in the story?”

“I’d prefer we had as much of a lead as we can to complete these other two Expeditionary Missions, and a story with are names associated with the completion of this one might alert my enemies. But somehow I don’t think it will matter in the long run.” He shrugged. “Maybe they won’t spread the story too far for another week or so. By then, it won’t matter if our names are included or not.”

“Right,” Hatsune said in agreement, shifting the pack on her back. “Should we pick up the pace then?”

“I think we should,” Klarion agreed, looking up to see that the sun was already heading closer to the end of late morning. He double-checked his virtual map. “If we hurry, we should be able to make it to the area of the next Expeditionary Mission in a few days.”

“Good thing I put some more points into Endurance.”

As they settled into a faster pace, Klarion turned his attention to coming up with some ways that he could begin working on one of the things he was most excited about since arriving at this pocket plane.

Practicing with the Essence of Fire.

Chapter 113 (Interlude 15) - Dreadborne Harbinger

The clang of steel echoed off the surrounding stone, followed by a scream cut abruptly short. Blood fanned in an arc across the packed dirt of the training ring, joining similar macabre patterns set into the churned ground. Chadwick stood panting, his chest rising and falling beneath a blood-flecked dueling tunic stitched with the mark of House Copperhand. Reaching down, he grasped the hilt of his sword that was buried in the ribs of a half-starved man whose face still bore the remains of a thief’s branding on one cheek. The man’s body slid off the blade with a wet sound, crumpling lifelessly to the dirt.

A human boy, no older than sixteen and wearing the uniform of one sworn to the Arena’s custodial ranks, rushed over from the wall, gave a shaky bow to Chadwick, then hurried to drag away the corpse with practiced, if nervous, efficiency. It was the sixth such body he had removed today.

“Bring out the next one,” Chadwick barked after the boy, swinging his sword in loose circles, scattering droplets of crimson through the air.

“Yes, Scion Copperhand!” the boy all but shouted, darting as quickly as he could with the corpse still in hand to the side door.

Chadwick strode back to the center of the training ring, now letting his sword hang loose in one hand, the other tightening into a fist as he stalked in slow circles, expression twisted in bitter rage. Despite the carnage strewn about — all that remained from the condemned criminals he had purchased with Coins of Service to practice his bladework and earn some experience — his irritation refused to die away.

“Worthless,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to wipe the blood from his face, even as it dripped down one cheek. “All of them worthless. Weak-blooded rats not even fit to bleed on my steel.”

Each of the corpses he had made today had netted him a small trickle of experience, but it was barely enough to edge him closer to his next level. The only real benefit of his bloodsport had been the venting.

He turned to face the other side of the training ring as the gate along that side opened to reveal two guards waiting beside a cage, their expressions neutral behind their helms. Inside, another prisoner, a gaunt woman with haunted eyes and shackled hands, shrank back as Chadwick looked her way.

“Two Coins of Service you were, woman,” Chadwick sneered, but she did not respond except to hunch over further, avoiding eye contact. “You better put up more of a fight than the last one.”

The guards said nothing as they unlocked the cage with slow, deliberate precision, and hauled the woman to her feet. She barely resisted. Her limbs moved like dry sticks, starved and stiff, but she had just enough strength to walk under her own power—if only barely. The rusted chains around her wrists clinked with every step as they marched her to the center of the training ring. Chadwick watched her approach with bored contempt, sword still loose in his grip.

She reached the center and stood there trembling, eyes downcast. Her shoulders twitched as if she wanted to speak… or maybe scream. But nothing came out.

Chadwick spat near her feet. “Give her a weapon.”

One of the guards tossed a dull shortsword at her feet. She stared at it like it might bite. For a moment, Chadwick thought she wouldn’t move at all. Then she bent, slowly, and lifted it with shaking fingers before facing him. Not in any proper stance. Not with any hint of training. Just a desperate, graceless grip of survival.

Still, it was more than the last few had managed.

Chadwick nodded. “That’s better. Now. Try not to die too fast.”

Then he made a half-hearted lunge.

She barely raised the blade before he slammed into her with the full weight of his body. Not his sword—just his shoulder. The impact cracked something in her ribs and sent her sprawling. Her breath left her in a sharp gasp, but she didn’t cry out.

He circled her, boots again kicking up blood and sand. “Get up,” he said softly. “Come on now. Make it worth the two Coins of Service I spent.”

She coughed, blood flecking her lips, but staggered to her knees. Then, with a sound between a groan and a sob, she forced herself upright again. The sword shook in her hands.

Chadwick struck again—this time with the flat of his blade. It whipped across her forearm and sent the sword spinning from her grip. She cried out now, finally, clutching the bruised limb, but didn’t fall. She turned her head, glaring at him, hate and terror burning together in her eyes. With a wordless scream, she lunged—not for the sword, but for him, hands clawing, teeth bared like an animal with nothing left.

Chadwick laughed.

He caught her wrists easily, twisted them until the bones ground together, then drove his knee into her gut hard enough to lift her from the ground. She crumpled, breathless, body curling inward.

Then he ended it.

One clean slash across the neck. Deep. Swift. Merciless.

Her body spasmed, blood fountaining, then collapsed back down in a heap.

“Worthless,” he growled again, frustration building to new heights. “All of them worthless.”

Before he could vent his rage at how short this latest fight had been, the side door opened again, the boy from before returning breathless. “Another…another batch is on the way, Scion Copperhand. The Coins of Service that you allocated have already been deducted.”

Chadwick didn’t respond as the servant resumed his position by the far wall. With at least several minutes to wait, he began pacing, mind returning to the source of his ire and the reason why even these fights were not as enjoyable as they usually were.

That Blacksword bastard.

Discreet surveillance. That had been the plan. Nothing overt. Just eyes. Observers. A soft shadow trailing the Blacksword’s movements, ready to report any deviation from their agreement. Anything that he might use against him should he make the wrong choice about staying at the Academy.

They’d lost him.

In Bastion.

The last thing they had reported was that the Blacksword and his damn bunnykin bodyguard had been traveling on foot towards the outlying districts of the city. Likely beyond as well, given where the spies he had hired had lost him. No trace of where he was going, though his money was on some Expeditionary Mission. Which meant he likely was trying to get materials or wealth to help him unlock a class. And that infuriated him more than anything. After he had been so magnanimous as to offer the agreement in the first place, too.

A slow clap echoed through the training ring, and Chadwick immediately gritted his teeth at the sound. It cut through his thoughts like a knife, and the sound of it was clearly not meant in praise but mockery.

It didn’t come from the guards. They remained motionless, flanking the now-empty cage like statues—stiff-backed, eyes averted, unwilling to draw attention from the noble still slick with blood. Nor did it come from the staff that remained mostly out of sight, all of whom knew better than to make noise in his presence unless directly spoken to.

A tall man stepped into view from the upper observation platform, descending a short flight of marble steps with measured grace. His training leathers were black with silver trim, immaculately clean, despite the grit and dust of the training ring. A half-mask of gleaming obsidian covered the lower half of his face, leaving only sharp cheekbones and glinting eyes exposed.

“Not bad, Scion Copperhand,” the man drawled, his tone smooth as velvet and twice as mocking. “Though I must admit… watching you butcher half-trained criminals and shackled fodder loses its novelty rather quickly.”

Chadwick turned, hand still clenched tightly around his blood-slick blade. His chest still rose and fell with the echoes of exertion, but his expression was cold at the unwanted interruption. He recognized the voice even before he processed the half-masked face. There was only one man in the employ of Scion Brightcoin who spoke with that precise blend of clipped refinement and studied disdain.

“Instructor Varn,” he said without bowing. While he respected the man for his skills in the art of violence, he never enjoyed any of the times Scion Brightcoin had forced him to train with him. Varn never lost. “Has Scion Brightcoin sent you to bring me to him? I could have sworn my next appointment with our lord wasn’t for another two days.”

“Yes, that is true, but that meeting is not why I am here,” Varn agreed, coming to a halt just outside the blood-darkened rim of the training ring. He clasped his hands behind his back, posture perfect, every inch of him the image of composed authority. “I’m here because Scion Brightcoin believes it is time for you to stop playing with scraps… and start planning your real debut.”

Chadwick raised a brow. Did that mean what he thought it meant? “You mean the potential duel with the Blacksword?”

“I mean the almost certain duel with Scion Blacksword,” Varn responded, his tone dipping into something far colder. “Our lord has assets of his own that have been… monitoring the situation you have entangled yourself in. While your hired help has lost track of Scion Blacksword, our lord’s own hired help has confirmed the class that Scion Blacksword is working towards. A Rare Class called Valiant Sunlord.” Varn snorted in contempt. “To think an Archducal heir would have fallen so low as to seek a Class less than Epic ranked. How House Blacksword has fallen.”

“I’m more than ready to face him,” Chadwick said. “Even if I don’t have a class of my own yet, I am confident in my skills and training. I will slaughter him.”

“Will you?” Varn tilted his head. “Perhaps. I will admit, you have some measure of skill. But that is why our lord sent me here. He would prefer that the duel to the death occur, and that there be no doubt as to the outcome. As such, we have a class that we think would both suit you well and ensure that the duel ends up being a… spectacle. ”

Chadwick had strength—raw, brutal strength. He had skill, honed over years of sparring and sanctioned slaughter. And he had drive. If Scion Brightcoin was offering a class, though… It was likely better than a class that he might attempt to track down himself. He well knew that the Central Archives only granted access to so many options, for all it was still an exceedingly impressive repository of Imperial knowledge.

Varn watched the thoughts flicker across the younger man’s face and gave the faintest nod of approval. “Which is why I’m here,” he said simply. He reached into a side satchel and withdrew a slim scroll case, the metal polished and gleaming. “For you to unlock a class.” He removed the scroll within, still sealed with the golden wax of House Brightcoin. The edges of the parchment shimmered faintly, warded against prying eyes.

Chadwick stepped forward, bloodlust momentarily forgotten, suspicion and hunger warring in his gaze. “This is…”

“A guide,” Varn said, “to unlocking a Rare Class tailored to you. One that goes beyond the Essence you recently unlocked to align with your ambition. And yes—your love of control. Of pain.”

Chadwick’s lips curled into a grin, then he bowed slightly, recognizing exactly what was being offered to him. “I’m honored Scion Brightcoin has taken the time to assist me with unlocking such a class, Instructor Varn.”

“As you should be,” Varn replied with a nod of his own, the half-mask hiding further expression. “Scion Brightcoin believes the Rare Class known as Crimson Reaver to be your best path forward. It is  based around Strength and the Essence of Blood. Ruthless. Efficient. It thrives on carnage—on domination of the battlefield through fear and raw destruction. As you unlock its abilities, you will receive benefits from killing, especially when your enemies are outnumbered, terrified, and weak.”

He glanced down at the corpses still cooling behind Chadwick.

“Which, as it turns out, you’ve been practicing all morning.”

Chadwick’s fingers delicately took the proffered scroll, then he looked up, eyes gleaming with the same bloodlust from his earlier fights. “And once I have unlocked it, I can count on support to prepare for the duel that Scion Brightcoin now wants to happen?”

Varn nodded. “Yes, it will be my job to help you prepare. House Brightcoin has already begun greasing the wheels to make sure that it will happen by the end of the year.”

Chadwick didn’t need to hear anything else. He would have been content with simply driving the Blacksword bastard from the Imperial Academy, but killing him was fine as well. Perhaps even a better option, as it would allow him to tie his fortunes more closely to Scion Brightcoin. Whose House was positioning for a final conflict with House Blacksword, if the whispers he had been hearing were true.

He turned the scroll over in his hand, then nodded once, sharp and decisive.

“I will begin hunting down the materials immediately.”

“You will have House Brightcoin’s assistance with that as well.” As Varn turned to leave, he paused. “Oh, and Chadwick?”

“Yes?”

“When the day comes that you face Scion Blacksword…” Varn looked over his shoulder. “My lord wants you to make sure it is a spectacle.”

As Varn departed, Chadwick turned back to the center of the training ring, though his mind was elsewhere. He could almost see the duel already. An arena packed with faculty and students. The banners of House Copperhand raised high behind him. That Blacksword bastard standing opposite in the ragged armor of his diminished House, fear on his face. That damned bunnykin behind him, watching from the stands in horror as the fight progressed.

He’d draw it out.

He’d humiliate him.

He’d carve him open for every slight. Every stare. Every time that Blacksword bastard had failed to flinch. Failed to bow.

He’d earn his kill.

Because House Blacksword didn’t belong here, in the Empire’s most sacred halls.

And Chadwick Copperhand was going to make sure everyone remembered what happened to those who resisted the tides of change. Who should have stayed relegated to the corpse heap of old history.

“Bring the next ones.”

Update - 4/27/2025

Hey everyone,

Just wanted to give you all a quick update on my recent lack of posts. I got hammered by a nasty case of the flu this past week. I won't go into the gory details, but I lost track of a few days in the middle. Needless to say, writing was completely off the table. The good news, however, is that I'm finally on the mend. I'm really hoping to be back to 100% this next day or so.

Given the unexpected setback, I've decided to pause releasing new chapters to the public until the Patreon is back to being at least 10 chapters ahead. I've been trying to do both for a few weeks now, and it seems like little things keep coming up that have been preventing me from reaching that goal. The flu was only the latest instance of this. Since you all have been so kind in supporting me, I'm hoping shifting to this approach temporarily will give me some breathing room to build up a buffer again and ensure consistent updates for you all, my amazing patrons.

Thank you all so incredibly much for your patience and continued support during this less-than-ideal time. Knowing you're in my corner means the world, and I truly appreciate each and every one of you. Looking forward to getting back in the writing groove and sharing more of the story with you soon!

Chapter 112 - Dreadborne Harbinger

Farmer Donovan came charging toward them from the farmhouse, pitchfork in hand, wide eyes darting between the two dead Blaze Lions. His mouth worked through a combination of shock and awe, muttering things under his breath as he ran over to them.

Klarion kept his expression neutral as the farmer rushed their way, but he still felt a little frustrated. It wasn’t that he resented the farmer. Donovan had every right to be concerned, to come running out after he heard the sounds of fighting. It was just that there had been things that he had wanted to say to Hatsune,  praise about how she had fought, and concern about her being ok. But with the farmer’s arrival, whatever he might have said would be awkward.

He looked back at Hatsune, watching her carefully slide back a half step. For the briefest moment, their eyes met, and Klarion thought he saw that she had wanted to say something too. But it passed, unspoken.

“Donovan,” Klarion greeted the man when the farmer arrived in front of them.

“By the Seven,” Donovan said, looking from Klarion and Hatsune to the dead Blaze Lions and back. “I knew it was a Blaze Lion that was attacking our livestock, but I had no idea there were two of them. Are you alright?”

“We will be,” Klarion said, already feeling how his regeneration trait was kicking in to speed the process. From how Hatsune had been more concerned with checking on him than herself, he could tell she would be fine, too. “Though it’s a good thing that Hatsune was prepared to take on the other when it appeared. Without her doing so, things might not have ended so well.”

Donovan looked over at the Blaze Lion that Hatsune had killed, taking time to note the number of cuts across its body that were still oozing blood. He whistled at the final wound the Leporine had delivered through the monster’s chest. “That girl of yours is something fierce. ”

Hatsune tilted her head slightly, her ears shifting at Donovan’s words. When she looked at Klarion, he nodded in agreement, bringing a small, almost shy smile to her lips. He liked the sense of pride she took in having defeated it.

“She is, and I’m lucky to have her with me.”

Donovan prodded the Blaze Lion with his pitchfork, then inspected the still-smoldering hide. There was a mournful look on his face when he looked in the direction of his still clearly agitated cattle, but when he turned his attention back to Klarion, he had covered it back up. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Klarion, but I don’t suppose you might be willing to split this second one down the middle? The Expeditionary Mission I had listed said you could have to remains of the Blaze Lion — and I am not arguing there, no, I am not — but even part of this second one would go a long way towards repairing the damage done to our farm.”

Donovan’s voice had been steady, but Klarion was able to hear the stress hidden within it. Despite the words, he gave the impression of a man who now knew he came within inches of losing not just his livelihood but his family. His home. And had Klarion and Hatsune not shown up when they did… Klarion did not doubt that the farmer’s wife or son would have been a victim of the pair of Blaze Lions eventually.

“The second one’s yours,” Klarion said, making his mind up. While he knew he needed to bring back more wealth and resources, he had faith the next two Expeditionary Missions would be even more lucrative than the remains of a Blaze Lion. “Take the whole thing. Hide, claws, all of it.”

Donovan’s eyes widened, clearly not having expected who he still assumed to be the servant of a noble to grant him so much. “What—? Are you sure, lad?”

At Klarion’s nod, Donovan almost opened his mouth to protest, as he was a proud man, but paused when it was clear Klarion wasn’t going to budge.

“I appreciate that, I do, but I don’t feel right without giving you something in exchange,” he muttered, looking back at the corpse. “But one of those things is a lot to haul, even for a pair like you… Hold on, wait right there!”

The farmer turned on his heel and ran back toward the farmhouse, kicking up clumps of dirt as he went. Though Klarion wondered what he was doing, Donovan was quick in returning, a canvas satchel in hand. It was worn and old, but the farmer handled it carefully as he rushed back over to them. He handed it over to Klarion, a little sheepishly. “This here is my old one. Bought it years ago on a trip to Bastion, and I’ve saved it even after I was able to purchase a few newer, better ones. Reduces weight by seventy percent, give or take. Mouth of the bag is wide too. Should be able to fit the whole corpse in there if you work together.”

Klarion blinked as the farmer pressed the worn satchel into his hands. It was lighter than he expected, though that wouldn’t be the case for long. “I’ll take care of it,” Klarion said, reaching out a hand to shake. “And thank you.”

The farmer had a strong grip, and when the handshake ended, he lingered, looking at them both. “You two sure you don’t need anything else?After what you did... Even my old satchel doesn’t seem like enough.”

Klarion shook his head. “We’re fine. Get back to your family. They need to see you safe. We’ll straighten up out here, spend the night in the barn, then head out in the morning.”

Without another word, Donovan gave them a grateful nod and jogged back toward the house, calling softly for his wife and son as he disappeared into the farmhouse. The door creaked shut behind him, leaving Klarion and Hatsune, the scorched scent of burned grass and blood still thick in the air.

“Alright, I know you’re as tired as I am. Let’s get this done,” Klarion said, turning back toward the carcass of the Blaze Lion they’d claimed.

With Hatsune’s help, they set to work. Thankfully, with his stats, they didn’t have too difficult a time moving the corpse. In short order, they were able to slide the entire Blaze Lion inside the worn satchel, the opening having some effect that almost seemed to pull the corpse inside as they got it started. Thankfully, it had no effect on their hands as they did so. Klarion grunted as he picked it up from the ground.

Hatsune arched a brow, breath shallow but controlled. “Seventy percent lighter or not, that thing is still heavier than a horse.”

“It’s not too bad,” Klarion said, and it wasn’t. “I’ll get used to it on the walk tomorrow.”

The first one taken care of, they approached the second Blaze Lion — the one Hatsune had slain. Klarion said nothing as they moved it with effort to lie beside the barn, where Donovan could later see to preserving what he wanted. Hatsune didn’t speak either, but there was a quiet pride in her movements, a silent confidence that hadn’t been there before.

As soon as they were done, Klarion let out a long, tired breath. “Come on. We need rest.”

With no more threat of apex predators in the darkness, they stepped inside through the door of the barn. It still smelled of hay and animals, but now there was the faintest smell of ash as well. Probably some had blown in during the fight. Klarion gestured for Hatsune to climb the ladder first, only this time he made no teasing comments. He was too tired. Klarion followed behind her to the upper level, where they made quick work shifting things around for their sleeping area. For the first time since leaving Bastion, they wordlessly agreed to remove their armor—boots, mail, plate, gloves, all unbuckled and set aside. Klarion settled down with a tired sigh, his body finally able to breathe.

Beside him, Hatsune had stretched out, her silver hair spilling like moonlight across her shoulder as she removed the last of her own gear. The tension in the air had eased now, the fight behind them. But something else lingered—an almost contented stillness.

Klarion looked over at her, then let his eyes drift back toward the rafters above. “You leveled up, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she replied, her tone proud as she shifted to get more comfortable. “Three times, actually.”

He let out a low whistle, part impressed, part envious. He hadn’t looked yet, but he very much doubted he had leveled that many times. “Three?”

Hatsune nodded. “The Blaze Lion gave a lot more experience than I expected.”

Klarion focused on the notifications appeared back in his vision. He gave a short chuckle. “I only got one level from the other one.”

Hatsune snorted, flopping back onto the straw-covered floor with an exaggerated sigh of mock exasperation. “Oh no,” she said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “only one level, huh? Must be rough.”

Klarion glanced over at her, one brow raised.

She turned her head toward him, eyes gleaming in the dim light filtering through the barn slats. “Forgive me if I don’t weep for you. You get what—thirty free stats every level? And how high will that go once you unlock your class?” She gave a dismissive wave, ears twitching. “I have to claw and scrape for every point. You? You sneeze and gain handfuls.”

He laughed at that, then sat up a little straighter. His armor lay in a neat pile beside him, stripped down now to just the school uniform he had worn beneath it. He wondered again about how it had been made, as despite the travel and the battle, it did not smell or was damaged. A question for Alecto next time he visited the tailor.

“Well, guess we better take care of it now,” he muttered as he began reviewing each of the notifications demanding his attention. From how Hatsune shifted at his side, he knew she was doing the same.

Congratulations! You have unlocked the Essence of Fire!
A spark has ignited within you, a nascent ember of raw, untamed heat. The world feels subtly warmer, the sting of stray flames lessened, a whisper of defiance against the inferno. But to truly command the Essence of Fire, to weave its destructive dance and coax forth its creative forge, will require more than a flicker of will. It demands patient tending, a slow stoking of the inner flame, lest it consume or dwindle to ash. The potential is a raging inferno, locked within a fragile tinderbox, awaiting the careful hand of a master to unleash its true power.

Level: 1
Effects: +10% Fire Resistance; Unknown
Costs: Unknown

Klarion stared at the glowing notification, his breath catching slightly as he read over the formal acknowledgment. He’d done it. Even knowing that this had been one of his main goals, seeing the words now, they almost didn’t feel entirely real. Still, after a moment to enjoy his success, he reread the words. From what he could tell, it looked like the Essence didn’t come with a set path and was far more flexible than he had expected. Apparently, having an Essence wasn’t like having a list of set benefits or abilities. More, it seemed like it was potential. Raw, unshaped, adaptable. That idea stirred something in him. Klarion wasn’t sure if that was good or dangerous, but he knew he would have to make some time later to experiment with it later.

He closed the Essence notification and focused on the one about having gained a level. Time to distribute his points.

His build so far had been skewed toward Vitality and Strength. Necessary for staying alive, sure—but until he knew the way the Valiant Sunlord class worked, he wanted to spread his points out a bit. He dropped five points into Dexterity first. A little more speed and agility wouldn’t hurt, especially after the way the Blaze Lions had moved. Not all his fights would be brawls, and he certainly didn’t want to take more hits than he had to.

Next, he put ten into Intelligence. If Essence was like the magics he hoped to eventually unlock—or close to it—that stat might be important to how he used it. And with that thought, he put another ten into Wisdom. He hesitated only a moment before confirming that one. Instinct. Awareness. Perhaps even insight into how the Essence behaved or how enemies might strike. Wisdom felt less flashy than the others, but maybe more important. Especially given how he had spent the first few weeks at the Imperial Academy mostly reacting to his House’s enemies.

Finally, five points into Luck. He almost laughed at that. Luck was the vaguest of all the stats in his mind. But Klarion couldn’t help but feel like he needed something to tip the odds, given the number of enemies he faced and the potential threats that he still had to deal with to complete the other two Expeditionary Missions. Before accepting the placements, he looked over his character one more time.

Name: Klarion von Sturmwacht
Race: Human (Noresyn)
Class: TBD - Level 4 (Free Points = 30=>0)
Profession(s): TBD
Essence(s): Fire

Faction: Treverorum Empire - House Blacksword
Rank: Scion - Unlanded
Aura: -
Majesty: -
Eminence: -

Strength: 89
Dexterity: 64=>69
Vitality: 90
Endurance: 88
Intelligence: 57=>67
Wisdom: 47=>57
Charisma: 40
Luck: 16=>21

Traits: Regeneration (Minor) I; Greater Soul Oath (Unknown - Hidden)
Skills: Greatsword Mastery (Novice)
Abilities: N/A

Imperial Academy Currencies:
Seals of Valor (2); Seals of Cunning (0); Seals of Brutality (2); Seals of Discovery (0); Seals of Arcana (0); Coins of Knowledge (3); Coins of Service (0) Mark of Bonds (0)

Klarion stared at the character sheet for a few more seconds, scanning over his stat distribution one last time. Dexterity, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Luck—he had tried to strike a balance, a careful spread meant to hedge his bets while leaving room for adaptability. Until he was able to unlock his class, it felt like the right move. Or at least, the least wrong one.

He accepted the changes.

The moment he did, the changes began. It started with a subtle shift, almost imperceptible. A tingling sensation crept through his limbs, weaving itself into his muscles, his bones. At first, it wasn’t painful—just strange. Like pressure building behind his joints. His knees, shoulders, and elbows all began to thrum with an odd discomfort, like he’d been sitting in the same position for too long and his body had only just remembered how to stretch.

He gritted his teeth and sat up straighter, resisting the urge to shake his arms out. The sensation grew warmer, and for a moment, it almost felt like someone was twisting the connective tissue behind his knees and wrists—but just as the discomfort swelled to something more intense, it began to fade. His joints loosened, the tightness slipping away like morning fog in the sun

He leaned back in relief. That hadn’t been too bad.

But then the pressure shifted—rising up into his head.

A sudden lance of pain shot through his skull, and Klarion’s hand flew to his temple. The dull, steady throb quickly bloomed into a full-on ache. Not just in his head—his eyes, too. Behind his eyeballs, sharp and white-hot, like someone had taken a chisel of fire and jabbed it into the sockets.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard Hatsune ask if he was ok before she realized he was simply allocating his stats.

He wasn’t used to this. Leveling up never felt good, exactly, but this was different. Not like a sore muscle or a mild fatigue—it was deeper. Like his mind and body were trying to synchronize with a new rhythm, and the transition wasn’t clean. If having more points in these other stats to balance him out wasn’t so important, he might have chosen to focus his points in Strength, Vitality, and Endurance over the others in the future.

Finally, slowly, the pain began to recede. The pressure in his skull dulled, then dissipated. The burning behind his eyes dimmed, leaving only a ghost of warmth in its wake. Klarion opened his eyes cautiously. The world didn’t blur or tilt. No vertigo. Just the normal dimness of the barn loft, the soft shifting of straw beneath him, and the quiet rustle of Hatsune nearby as she adjusted to her own allocation of stats.

With no other changes coming, he minimized his character sheet and looked at the final notifications.

Academy Assignment - Essences of Being (Complete)

Congratulations, Scion Klarion Blacksword. You have successfully unlocked: Essence of Fire. Feel the primal power of fire within you. Embrace the heat, the passion, and the destructive force of your new Essence. But remember, Scion Klarion Blacksword, with great power comes great responsibility. Use your Essence wisely and for the greater good of the Empire.

Expeditionary Mission - A Farmer’s Struggle (Complete)

Despite the surprise of finding a second Blaze Lion where only one had been expected, you and your bodyguard were successfully able to defeat them, sparing the remaining livestock of the Donovan Farm, as well as protecting the farmer and his family from the increasingly emboldened monsters. Thanks to your efforts, Donovan and his family can breathe easy once more.

Conditions for Success: Kill or drive off the Blaze Lion menacing Farmer Donovan’s herd (Complete) (Bonus Objective - Killed second Blaze Lion)

Rewards for Completion: Blaze Lion Heart; Blaze Lion Pelt (Bonus Reward - Old Spatial Satchel)

With all the pop-ups finally dismissed and his stats confirmed, Klarion rubbed at his eyes. Sleep momentarily kept at bay, he stood, joints clicking softly in the dim barn loft, and stepped over to where he’d neatly set aside his armor. Quietly, he dragged one of the heavier pieces—his chestplate—across the loft floor and positioned it just in front of the ladder. It wouldn’t stop anyone determined from climbing up, but it would at least make enough noise to wake him or Hatsune if someone tried. That was all he needed. He gave it one last nudge with his foot, satisfied it would do the job, then turned back and picked up his greatsword. The metal was cool in his hand, the blade’s weight a familiar comfort. He set it down beside where he would be sleeping, within easy reach. Just in case.

The barn creaked softly around him, wooden beams groaning under the weight of time and wind, but it was peaceful. He could still smell the faint scent of fire on the wind, but it was fading.

Klarion stretched out, glancing once toward Hatsune. She was already settled in, still awake, but quiet as she focused on notifications only she could see. He didn’t want to interrupt her, so he would wait until the morning.

With one final exhale, Klarion closed his eyes.

Sleep came quickly.

Update - 4/13/2025

Hi everyone,

First and foremost, please accept my sincerest apologies for the lighter update this weekend. As you've likely seen, only one chapter went live, which unfortunately falls short of what I aim to deliver on a weekly basis.

The reason for this is that I've been quite sick with something since Thursday night. It hit me pretty hard, and since that night keeping anything down proved to be a real challenge. This significantly hampered my writing progress, and despite my best efforts, completing more than that single chapter simply wasn't feasible.

Thankfully, I started to feel a little more like myself earlier today, which allowed me to finally push through and finish that one chapter, as well as make some headway on parts of a few others. However, the next chapter in line includes some important stat and character sheet updates, and I really want to give that a thorough once-over when I'm feeling completely back to 100% before posting it. I want to ensure everything is accurate and clear for you all.

The silver lining to all of this is that even while feeling under the weather, I did manage to chip away at additional chapters. This means that the coming week is going to look a little different in terms of updates. Instead of just the usual 3+ chapters dropping next weekend, you can expect to see more chapter updates scattered throughout this coming week as I get them polished and ready. Think of it as a bit of a catch-up period to make up for the slower weekend.

Again, I truly apologize for not meeting my usual update schedule this weekend. I know many of you look forward to the new chapters, and I feel like I've dropped the ball. Your incredible support means the world to me, and I never want to take it for granted. Thank you so much for your understanding and continued belief in my work. I'm looking forward to a much more productive week ahead and getting those extra chapters out to you all.

Chapter 111 (Interlude 14) - Dreadborne Harbinger

The air practically burned around her, each breath scorched by the searing heat radiating from the Blaze Lion. Hatsune could feel the sweat gathering beneath her armor. Her muscles ached, and the edges of her vision blurred—but she didn’t falter. She couldn’t. Klarion was fighting his own battle, and she would not let him be the one protecting her. Not this time. Not ever again, if she could help it. She had to show him—and herself—that she was strong enough to stand at his side. Even if it meant facing the second Blaze Lion alone.

The monstrous beast snarled, its eyes like molten coals locked on her as it pawed the ground. Fire danced along its shoulders, rising in snapping waves from its mane. Its last roar had deafened the night, and its body tensed to leap.

But Hatsune moved before it could charge.

She darted sideways, a blur of silver and gray. Her long ears streamed behind her, such was the speed she was moving. She twisted her body low as flames descended toward her as the monster’s paw lashed out. The edge of the heat licked at her armor, but she was already past it. She leaped high, blade flashing as she slashed downward across the beast’s shoulder.

The Blaze Lion howled in rage, wheeling with terrifying speed—but she was already crouched and gone again, sliding beneath a sweeping claw that would have bisected lesser warriors without her training. Her boots danced across the ground as she pushed off and spun around its flank. Her focus was sharp and cold beneath the adrenaline, but she fought to keep her breathing steady.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement—Klarion, just reaching the edge of the field, his black and crimson silhouette wreathed in dying firelight. Her heart stuttered.

No. She couldn’t let him interfere.

“I’ve got this!” she called, her voice cracking with effort, her focus on the Blaze Lion and not on Klarion’s reaction. “Trust me!” She didn’t wait to see if he stopped. She trusted that he would. Trusted that he trusted her.

The Blaze Lion lunged, fire practically spitting from its maw. She pivoted, letting the flaming jaws snap shut just past her. Heat bathed her side, but she grit her teeth and pushed through the pain.

The beast roared, turning to chase her again. Its movements were faster than she expected, its claws digging trenches in the scorched dirt. But she was faster still. She stepped just outside its reach, dragging her blade across its side again. Part of her wished that she could simply overpower the creature, but she knew that would never be her strength. Her training had been geared toward precision and, when necessary, patience. So that was her plan. She would slice it to ribbons, one careful strike at a time. Wear it down. Bleed it out.

Her blade whispered through fur and flesh, scoring lines along its legs, its back, and its exposed neck when it lowered its head in frustration. Every strike cost her something—each dodge, each leap—her energy waned with every pass. But she could see it faltering too. Wounded. Slower. Angrier. Unfocused.

Perfect.

The Blaze Lion lunged wildly now, roaring with desperate fire. But she stayed calm, letting her instincts take over. Her feet flowed across the earth, each movement calculated. Beautiful. Deadly.

She danced around the beast, and with every step, she focused on her goal to kill the creature, to prove she could to herself and to him.

When the lion reared back for a final charge, its body streaked with blood, she struck. Her blade carved across its flank as she spun around it, then leaped high. It twisted, jaws opening, but she flipped midair, blade poised downward, and brought the full weight of her body into the strike. Her longsword bit deep into its back, right along the spine. The Blaze Lion bucked, shrieking, flames bright within its maw—but she held on. As she slid down its back, she twisted the blade free and dropped low into a crouch. In the same breath, she kicked out with a sweep of her powerful legs, knocking the monster’s weakened front limb from under it as it was distracted by the agony of her most recent blow.

The Blaze Lion crashed to the ground, a cry of pain breaking into a hacking rasp. It tried to rise, but its paw gave way.

Hatsune didn’t waste the opportunity and was already moving around to its side. Her blade flicked outward, slicing through the thick tendons just above the knee. Then again across its other forelimb. It collapsed further, its breathing ragged.

Hatsune stood over the creature, staring into its dying eyes. Its fire still sputtered, defiant even in defeat.

With a final surge, she drove her blade down—right into its chest, through fur and flesh and burning heat, until it reached the heart. The Blaze Lion twitched once. Then again. The heat given off by the monster fell and then disappeared as its fire guttered out.

Hatsune pulled her sword free and stumbled back, her chest heaving. Every muscle burned, but she kept her eyes on the fallen Blaze Lion, waiting… just in case.

But it did not move again.

A flicker of motion across vision showed she had gained at least one level. She minimized it by habit, resolving to deal with it later.

Behind her, she heard a footfall. She turned, and there was Klarion.

He stood still, greatsword lowered, his expression unreadable. His armor was singed, his face streaked with soot—but his eyes were locked on her, wide with something that looked like surprise. Perhaps even pride.

Klarion staggered then, a pained groan slipping from his lips as he shifted his weight, the toll the battle had taken on him showing in the rawness of his voice. Her instincts kicked in, and she was there in an instant, her arms reaching out, steadying his bulky frame against hers.

“You’re hurt,” she said, concerned.

Klarion’s tired chuckle made her heart tighten. “I noticed,” he muttered, the humor failing to mask the exhaustion he carried. “Armor’s held up, but it was like wearing an oven for a bit. And I won’t mind not dealing with monsters that have claws for a while.”

Despite herself, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He was trying to deflect the pain with humor, and part of her wanted to play along, to pretend that everything was fine. But she couldn’t. Not when she could see how he was hurting.

She guided him back towards the barn and to a patch of grass untouched by the fighting. The coolness of it contrasted sharply with the lingering heat of battle that clung to their skin.

“Sit down,” she all but ordered, not thinking about her tone. "Let me look you over.”

Klarion sat without a complaint, and she knelt to inspect him for injuries, but for all that she was focused on looking him over, her thoughts turned reflective as the adrenaline started to fade away. The second Blaze Lion had been hers alone, and she was glad that he had trusted her to handle the monster herself. Hatsune was happy that she had been able to kill it, and she now knew that she would be able to stand alone, blade in hand, and face whatever threats came after Klarion. She would just need to make sure that she continued training and gaining levels to win.

Klarion’s voice broke through her thoughts. “I just unlocked the Essence of Fire,” he said, almost to himself.

Hatsune looked up at him, startled. "Wait—really?" She had known that it had been Klarion’s goal to unlock that Essence, and that fighting the Blaze Lion was hopefully going to help, but it still surprised her that it actually happened. But then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have. The other scions had shared several conversations over time about how this pocket plane was special in some ways related to the unlocking of Essences.

Klarion nodded, the tone of his voice reflecting that he was a little surprised as well. “In the middle of the fight. The heat of the Blaze Lion was a lot easier to deal with after that.”

“I’m glad it happened like you’d hoped,” she said, returning her attention to looking him over for injuries. What few she was seeing were already in the process of healing, which made sense given the trait he had earned in the Dungeon back on the Academy’s campus. “You’ve been pushing yourself so hard. Trying to be ready for whatever’s coming.”

Klarion exhaled, leaning back against the barn as Hatsune finished checking him. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I have been. Still feels like I should be doing more, though.”

Hatsune wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him how proud she was that he had unlocked his first Essence. More, she wanted to say how much it mattered to her that she could fight beside him. But those words tangled with things—with feelings—she could not talk about until after they forged their swords. As much as she wanted it to be the case otherwise, the rules of her people’s culture, and her family’s expectations, were crystal clear. So instead, she patted his armored thigh lightly.

“All done looking you over. I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks to you,” he said, offering a crooked grin. The look on his face shifted then, becoming a bit more serious as she sat up to lean against the side of the barn, next to him. “You know, you didn’t have to fight that Blaze Lion alone, right?”

While Hatsune knew that Klarion was looking at her as he said those words, she kept her attention on the farmer’s house across from them. The words she wanted to say twisted and swirled within her chest, but rather than letting them burst forth all at once, she took a moment to make sure she knew exactly how she wanted to say it. It was important she get it right.

“I did though,” she said slowly. “Just like I needed to give you space and trust to face yours without distractions, I needed to face the second Blaze Lion in the same way. I needed to face it alone because I needed to prove to myself that I could do it.”

She could feel his gaze on her now, more intense than before. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was studying her profile, trying to understand. She could feel the weight of his attention, like a slow burn creeping through her veins. His presence was always there, unwavering, like the ground beneath her feet.

“You proved it,” he said softly, the words almost a whisper.

Hatsune didn’t respond immediately. She couldn’t. His words wrapped themselves around her chest, tight and unyielding, but there was something in them—something soft, almost tender. She fought the flicker of a smile, the soft tug at her heart that she couldn’t give in to. Not yet at least. There was still too many things they had to do before she could take that step. But still, a slight blush came to her face for a moment before she fought to push those thoughts down, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m serious,” he added, a trace of what she could now tell was pride in his voice. Pride in her. “You didn’t just hold it off until I could help. You killed it. That wasn’t luck. That was skill. Will.”

Hatsune shook her head. “Yes, but I still think I was slightly too sloppy with my strikes. Next time I will need to do better.”

“You fought a Blaze Lion by yourself. Don’t insult yourself trying to be perfect. You did well, and I liked watching you fight, though I would have preferred to help.”

A lump formed in her throat at his words, and she had to fight the urge to look at him. But she couldn’t help it. Her gaze slid over to him, her eyes searching his face. His red-gold eyes were fixed on her, and the look he was giving her reflected the feelings she felt within herself. This was what she had come to want more and more since she had been spending time with Klarion. To stand beside him. To fight with him. And one day, they would forge their swords together, the first step on a path that, if her family approved, would see their fates forever intertwined. The thought made her heart race once again and she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of it. Of them.

But before she could let herself drift too far into that thought, a sharp voice interrupted her reverie.

“Oi!” The voice rang out from the direction of the farmhouse, rough and panicked. “What’s going on out here?”

Hatsune’s head snapped back to the farmer’s house, and she lurched to her feet instinctively moving into a defensive stance, her hand reaching for her blade before realizing there wasn’t any threat. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Farmer Donovan rushing toward them, pitchfork in hand, his face red with exertion. The farmer cast a long shadow across the dirt, and she could see the worry in his eyes as he took in the scene of the two dead Blaze Lions.

She straightened, her shoulders stiffening as Klarion moved to stand beside her. The moment between her and Klarion, the one she had been savoring, slipped away.

But if everything happened like she hoped it would, she would share the same — and more — with Klarion soon enough.

Chapter 110 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The occasional clatter of tools or the distant thump of a gate echoed from around the farmhouse as Farmer Donovan and his family moved through the rest of their day. The farmer’s son—barely old enough to reach the latch on the pen—was shooing one of the shaggy blue-furred cows back into its stall with a stick that looked more like a toy than a proper tool. Klarion watched him for a moment, arms folded, noting how normal it all looked. As if a fire-breathing monster hadn’t been preying on this farm every few nights.

Still, as much as he tried to focus on the reason they both were there at the farm the calm pressed in, and Klarion felt a small part of him loosen. It wouldn’t last, he knew, but he let the moment stretch as long as he could. Birds with colorful wings that seemed to shift in the sunlight flitted between the beams of the barn roof above him. Somewhere out near the field, a dog barked twice and then fell silent again. The sound caused him to think over how Blacksword Manor, for all the new people living there, was still a relatively empty and quiet place. Perhaps he should look into getting a dog after he got back and unlocked his class. He’d always liked them, though he hadn’t had one since he had lived at home with his family back on Earth. His apartment back then hadn’t allowed any.

When the sun finally touched the horizon and began to bleed orange and red into the sky, Donovan gave a short wave from the porch and ushered his young son inside. Klarion nodded back with a polite, if muted, gesture. The man hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to them since earlier that morning—just pointed at the fence, gestured toward the barn, and grumbled something about how he expected the job to be done. Klarion didn’t blame him for the bluntness; he likely didn’t want his son to see another burnt carcass in the morning.

As the door closed behind them and the sounds of the family’s evening chatter faded into muffled quiet, Hatsune sighed loudly, opening her pouch and pulling out some of her dried rations.

“We could’ve joined them, you know. The farmer did offer,” she muttered, eyeing the distant house with a hint of longing. “I could smell the stew.”

Klarion smiled at her tone, pulling out his own rations. “And what if the Blaze Lion showed up while we were eating with them, and it got one of the livestock before we could confront it?”

“I would’ve brought my sword to dinner,” Hatsune gave him a flat look, then continued chewing to then swallow with a grimace. “I think we’d have reacted fast enough, too.”

When Klarion didn’t argue with her, instead focusing on his own rations, Hatsune simply grumbled under her breath until they were done eating. By that point, the last of the daylight was fading, and the world settled into a deep hush. He could barely even hear the crickets that should have been all around them.

Shifting position, Klarion moved to sit with his back against the barn wall, his greatsword resting across his lap. Beside him, Hatsune crouched near a corner of the fence, her long ears twitching slightly at every stray sound. A faint wind rolled over the grass of the nearby field, stirring loose hay and rustling dry stalks of grass. The shaggy-furred blue cows had moved in a group to settle down for the night in their massive stall, and somewhere off to the left, a nightbird let out a low trill, only to fall silent moments later.

It was the kind of quiet that made every small noise feel significant—every creak of the barn, every breath they took, every tiny shift in posture.

Klarion was sure of it now. This was only the calm before the storm.

“You alright?” Hatsune’s voice cut through the silence. She had moved to stand near him, her long silver-gray hair shifting gently in the breeze as she scanned the field, alert as he was for the arrival of the Blaze Lion.

Klarion didn’t answer right away. His gaze swept over the horizon, taking in the tall grass, a distant line of trees, and the faint flicker of the farmhouse windows behind them. Shadows stretched long across the area surrounding the farm, hiding a thousand possibilities. And yet… he wasn’t tense. He wasn’t anxious.

“I’m good,” Klarion said finally. “Feels like it’s almost time.” He felt it in his bones—a quiet certainty that something was coming their way. But, somewhat to his surprise, there was no flutter of nerves in his gut. Just a calm resolve. He stood up, then rolled his shoulders once and rested his hand on the hilt of his greatsword, the leather grip cool and familiar beneath his fingers. It was strange, he realized—how confident he felt. This wasn’t a sparring match at the Academy. This was real, like the Storm Wolves he had fought before. Though this time the monstrous creature was a fire-wielding predator hunting livestock and a threat to anything in its path. The kind of creature Klarion thought would make many warriors sweat through their armor just imagining it.

Despite that… Klarion felt ready.

Klarion didn’t know exactly when the shift had happened, but sometime between the Academy and this quiet farm, something inside him had changed. He wasn’t doubting himself the way he once might have. He was just... waiting for the moment of the fight.

He glanced sideways at Hatsune, who gave a slight nod without speaking, then resumed her stillness. He felt something thrumming in his chest. Not fear. Not anxiety. Just focus. And anticipation.

Then came the sound—a low hiss that didn’t belong.

Klarion’s hand tightened on the hilt of his greatsword, and his eyes narrowed in the direction he thought the sound had come from. It was subtle but unmistakable. Heat riding on air. Wrong. Unnatural in an evening that was starting to cool.

And then his saw a glow gradually building from the direction he was looking.

He stepped forward, slowly lifting his greatsword before him. The steel gleamed faintly, and he could feel the hum of power in his limbs—a product of his invested stats and the training he had been subjected to over the past few weeks.

The tall grass at the edge of the field shimmered, and then, like a nightmare dragged into the waking world, the Blaze Lion emerged.

It moved like molten steel, each step scorching the earth. Its mane blazed with hungry flame, licking the air like it wanted to devour all that came close to it. Fire coiled and danced along its fur, and every step it took left behind charred earth and shimmering heatwaves. It was a wonder that nothing had caught fire, but as his eyes dipped to look at the tracks the Blaze Lion left, the sparks that followed it along the ground gradually died the further the creature moved from them. Perhaps the clearly magical flames could not be sustained without the presence of the creature itself?

Klarion looked back up at the Blaze Lion, only to see eyes like burning coals had locked on himself and Hatsune, intelligent and full of malice.

The Blaze Lion took a single step forward, and the night split with a roar. A wave of heat erupted from its body, rippling out over the field and scorching the earth in a halo of blistering air.

But Klarion didn’t wait.

He launched himself forward, charging to meet the beast before it could reach the fence—before it could reach the shaggy blue-furred cows behind it. There was no hesitation, no faltering step. Hatsune called out behind him, but his greatsword was already coming up with practiced ease, the weight of it a familiar comfort even as the air began to grow heated around him.

The Blaze Lion’s molten eyes widened at his surging advance, and it reared up, flames spilling from its mouth in a torrent of orange and gold. Klarion ducked low beneath the blast, feeling fire graze his shoulder like a slap of pure heat. The edge of his cloak curled and blackened behind him, but he was already moving, momentum carrying him straight into the creature’s path.

Their clash came like a hammer blow.

Steel met claw in a shower of sparks and fury. The Blaze Lion’s talons slammed into Klarion’s blade with enough force to send a tremor up his arms. But, like he had hoped, his strength was high enough to face it up close. His boots dug into the soil, carving twin gouges in the scorched earth as he absorbed the blow. Even with his stats, the Blaze Lion’s strength was still monstrous, and the heat radiating from its body was like standing beside one of those forges back in Bastion. Still—he didn’t back up.

Klarion twisted his body, redirecting the next strike with a sweeping parry. The lion snarled, snapping at him with jaws wreathed in flame, but he turned his shoulder into the attack, the pauldron of his fieldplate taking the brunt of the darting bite. The metal screamed under the heat, but held firm and did not warp under the blow.

Before it could back up, Klarion retaliated in kind—his greatsword surged upward in a rising arc, slicing across the Blaze Lion’s shoulder. Sparks flew. Blood that seemed almost to boil burst from the wound, and the beast let out a furious, pained bellow that shook the night.

Where other creatures might have backed off, it lunged again, faster this time, all blazing fur and fury. Its paw slammed down at him hard, but Klarion sidestepped just in time. The strike smashed into the ground where he’d stood a heartbeat earlier, sending now smoldering dirt and grass flying skyward.

Even with the faith he had in his stats and how comfortable the greatsword felt in his hands, Klarion realized the Blaze Lion was too strong to exchange blows with for long. Klarion grit his teeth as he pivoted and slashed again—this time aiming for the creature’s flank. The sword bit deep, but the lion twisted, slamming its body into his side. The impact was brutal, but it only caused Klarion to stagger, not fall. He shifted his grip, reset his stance, and locked eyes with the beast once more.

That is when he heard it.

A second roar shattered the night—louder, closer, and unmistakably different.

“Shit,” Klarion cursed, his blood turning to ice despite the furnace-like heat of the Blaze Lion he still faced. A glow was building to his right.“There’s two of them!”

He snapped his head around just in time to see a second Blaze Lion charging from the far side of the field, its mane lashing like wildfire. He wracked his brains, trying to come up with a way they could deal with the other Blaze Lion, but nothing came to him. If only he had a class. He made to call out another warning to Hatsune, who had remained behind him waiting for an opening up until now.

But the Leporine was already moving.

Her silver-gray hair whipped behind her as she pivoted sharply, cutting across the space between them. She skidded to a stop between Klarion and the new threat, eyes narrowing, her stance instantly shifting into something sharp and lethal.

“I’ve got this one!” she shouted, and though her voice rang out with confidence, Klarion caught the slight tightness in it. Concern. Calculation.

“No—wait—” he started, stepping toward her, only to stop as the Blaze Lion he faced darted in to swipe its claws at his side. He only barely blocked the blow with the blade of his greatsword, though it still pushed him a step backward.

“Handle yours!” she barked back, blade flashing in her hands in a smooth, fluid motion. “I’ll be fine!”

She dashed toward the second lion without hesitation.

Klarion swore again, his gut twisting. He should never have tempted fate earlier. Of course, there would be two as soon as he believed they could easily handle one. The one he faced was already a nightmare—fast, strong, and cloaked in relentless heat. The second meant potential disaster if he couldn’t kill the beast he was facing quickly. As much as he might wish otherwise, there was no time to sort out a better strategy, no space to hesitate. He would just have to trust in Hatsune.

The first Blaze Lion lunged at him again, and Klarion spun back into motion. Perhaps emboldened by the arrival of its companion, the beast came at him like an avalanche of fire and fury. Claws raked through the air, blistering close, forcing Klarion to duck and roll beneath the swing. The ground was scorched beneath him, the grass turning to ash in an instant.

Klarion sprang back to his feet, sword up, lungs burning. He could hear the second Blaze Lion now—the clash of Hatsune’s blades, a grunt, a hiss of steam as fire met steel. His heart thudded painfully, torn between trust and fear. He had fought Hatsune before. He knew how fast she was, how smart she was, she would be able to handle herself.

He hated how that felt more like a prayer than a certainty.

The Blaze Lion before him growled, sparks spilling forth from around its fangs like molten rain. Its eyes were locked on him, unblinking, savage. But Klarion was not intimidated.

And then he remembered the other reason he had picked this Expeditionary Mission.

He gripped the hilt of his greatsword tight and exhaled slowly. His thoughts shifted—not away from the fight, but into it. Deeper. The memory of the Hall of Bonds, what he had felt when he had faced that cruel ogre, briefly came to him and faded to leave the only thing that mattered. The emotions. The almost clarity. He had hoped that the Blaze Lion was what he needed to fight to get him a step closer to the Essence he wanted to unlock first. He stared at it hard. Heat. Sparks. Fire.

And to face fire… he needed to be fire.

He shifted his stance, weight balanced, every muscle coiled and ready, but he didn’t strike. Instead, he watched, trying to center himself at the same time. The lion was aggressive but not reckless—its movements measured, waiting for him to flinch, to overextend. And that was exactly what he needed right now.

Klarion didn’t move. Not physically.

Inside, though, he reached for something deeper. Not the ice-steeled fury from before when he faced the ogre—but a smoldering rage that he hoped lived beneath his skin. He thought of the scars. The suffering. The expectations he’d never asked for. The burdens of being a scion of House Blacksword. Of the way the world had forced him day after day to become more and more of a weapon. That constant pressure—to prove himself, to be better, to be stronger. To survive.

His jaw clenched.

A feeling rose from deep within him then. But it was too similar to what he had felt before.

He didn’t want cold rage.

So he pushed it away and dove deeper.

He wanted heat. Righteous fury. An inferno that burned through chains.

And at that moment, without conscious thought, he didn’t resist the heat pressing in from the Blaze Lion—he embraced it. Let it mirror the growing blaze inside him.

Something flickered in his chest—like a coal catching the wind.

The Blaze Lion sprinted forward, roaring its hate.

Klarion’s eyes snapped open, and had Hatsune been looking into them at that moment, she would have said how the same gold-red eyes were glowing faintly.

Klarion roared as he swung his sword in a brutal arc, intercepting the Blaze Lion mid-pounce. Steel met flame, but this time, the fire didn’t recoil—it seemed almost to dance along the blade. The impact flared with a burst of ember and force, and the lion skidded back with a snarl of confusion. Klarion didn’t stop. He advanced, driving forward with all his stat-enhanced strength. The heat around him didn’t feel oppressive or threatening anymore.

That was when he heard another roar intermingled with a cry come from Hatsune’s direction. There was something in her cry that wasn’t part of the calm, composed warrior he knew. Frustration. Anger. Pain.

His heart seized.

He needed to end this quickly.

Klarion fully embraced the surge of fury that had ignited in his blood, and with it, he was able to push away the creeping exhaustion clawing at his limbs. Klarion clenched his greatsword tighter, his grip so fierce the leather wrapping strained beneath his hands. The Blaze Lion before him reared back, its jaws opening wide in another fire-breathing roar, a small ripple of flames spilling from its throat. But Klarion didn’t flinch.

He stepped forward into the fire.

The heat, which before had felt suffocating and wild, no longer scorched him the same way. His skin still prickled, and sweat still rolled down his back, but it wasn’t unbearable. It felt… manageable. Like standing near a forge’s hearth rather than in an open blaze. The heat was real, but it no longer burned him like it had before. But even as the fire no longer burned him, Klarion knew something was missing. The Essence of Fire within him stirred, yes, but it wasn’t leaping to his call. Not yet. He wasn’t channeling fire—he was merely resisting it. Holding it at bay. He pushed the thought aside, resolving to figure it out later.

The Blaze Lion lunged once more, its massive form again surging forward with terrifying speed for something so large. Its claws tore through the earth, molten eyes burning with madness at the human resisting it.

Klarion met the charge head-on.

He dodged left just enough to avoid the snapping jaws, then pivoted hard on his heel, using the beast’s momentum against it. His greatsword came up in a tight arc—then down in a devasting blow, catching the Blaze Lion’s neck just behind the jawline. There was a sickening crack of bone and a burst of boiling blood as the blade of his weapon sank deep.

The lion screamed, its body twisting violently, trying to regain its balance. Another, smaller blast of flame burst from its mouth, but the aim was wild. It fought to turn to face its attacker.

But Klarion didn’t let up.

With brutal efficiency, he wrenched his sword free, then struck again, this time across the spine, aiming to sever it. The edge bit through flesh and vertebrae alike with a jarring impact that echoed across the field. The lion’s legs buckled, its body shuddering as it collapsed sideways.

Even that attack wasn’t enough to kill it.

The Blaze Lion tried to lift itself, dragging its half-paralyzed frame forward in a last attempt to kill Klarion.

With a cry that carried every ounce of fury, fear, and desperation swelling inside him, Klarion raised the greatsword high and drove it down with both hands. The blade pierced the lion’s skull and pinned it to the scorched earth.

The Blaze Lion gave a convulsive shudder… then stillness. The fire in its mane flickered, already dying. Smoke coiled upward from the ruined body. The monster’s molten eyes dimmed, leaving only the corpse of a once-majestic beast behind.

Klarion stood over it, his chest heaving, his breath ragged. Sweat dripped from his brow and mingled with soot and ash. But there was no time to savor the kill.

Hatsune.

Chapter 109 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The sky was only just beginning to shift to a pale blue-gray when Hatsune nudged Klarion awake. His eyes opened slowly, the stiffness in his neck reminding him he’d slept in full armor. Not the most comfortable decision—but he had decided it was probably the smarter choice. Out here, with only Hatsune beside him and no idea what else might be stalking the edge of the Savage Wilds, he would rather wake sore and ready for a fight than wake unarmored and vulnerable.

Hatsune crouched beside him, ears still turned to the entrance of the tent, her voice soft. “Your turn.”

Klarion nodded, sitting up with a groan, hand already reaching to take the hilt of the greatsword he had laid at his side. The cold of the night clung to him as he stood and adjusted his cloak. Hatsune didn’t say anything else and simply stepped toward her bedroll. She was asleep in seconds, even though she too chose to keep her armor on and sword within reach. He spent a moment longer looking at her, curled under her cloak, her breaths already deep and even.

He stepped outside the tent, going over to the spot that Hatsune had been keeping watch from earlier. It was a good position, slightly covered from the view of the road, and near enough to the tent if he needed to rush to Hatsune in the event of an attack. Not that that seemed likely, what with the peaceful breeze and crickets playing their songs. Klarion stood alone for a long while, letting his eyes adjust to the murky edges of twilight. Thankfully, without a fire to ruin his night vision, it didn’t take him too long to adjust.

Feeling himself start to drift, he paced slowly around the camp, every few minutes adjusting position to resist the urge to sit down. If he did so, he worried that he would fall back asleep. A few times, he paused to listen—ears straining against the sound of wind through the nearby fields, the occasional chirp of a nightbird, or the rustle of some distant, unseen animal.

Nothing approached, thankfully. Still, Klarion kept his greatsword within easy reach, a hand never straying far from its hilt. The night might have been peaceful, but he’d learned by now that peace didn’t mean safety. By the time dawn finally began to break in earnest, golden light bleeding across the horizon, Klarion’s limbs ached and his shoulders had stiffened. He didn’t mind. At least they’d made it through the night without incident.

Taking one more look at the road to make sure no one was traveling along it this early, he stepped back into the tent and gently knelt beside Hatsune. A small sound escaped her lips as he came close, and Klarion paused. He hated to wake her; she looked so at ease, so far removed from the relentless pressure they had both been struggling with back at the Academy. But the sun was coming up and they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

“Hatsune,” he said softly. “Sun’s up.”

Her eyes blinked open at once—no groggy haze, no confusion. She was alert in an instant, trained reflexes evident even now. She sat up with a quiet stretch, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.

“Nothing?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Klarion confirmed. “The rest of the night was quiet.”

She nodded once as she stood, already moving to pack their things away. “Good.”

They didn’t linger long. Klarion initially struggled to collapse the tent, but with Hatsune’s help, they were able to make quick work of it. After a brief meal of dry rations, they pulled on their packs and made sure they hadn’t forgotten anything before heading off. Klarion took one last glance around the clearing before they moved on, brushing away the signs of their presence. No sense leaving an easy trail, even if he expected there would be no pursuit of them outside Bastion after they had lost whomever had been following them yesterday.

They started off slow, then gradually picked up their pace. Hatsune didn’t say much, though whether that was from being tired still or simply paying more attention to their surroundings, Klarion couldn’t tell. Honestly, he didn’t mind. The walk was peaceful and he just enjoyed her company.

Morning gradually gave way to afternoon, and the road Klarion and Hatsune followed had narrowed into a simple dirt track, flanked on both sides by swaying crops and wooden fences. Knowing they were heading the right way, they followed the track for a while, eventually finding the site of the first Expeditionary Mission he had accepted.

Ahead, rising from the flat land like a sturdy sentinel of labor and tradition, was a large farmhouse of rough timber and red-painted shutters. Its roof sagged slightly with age, but the structure stood proud nonetheless, nestled near a wide, open pasture.

In that pasture were a dozen or more shaggy-looking cows—though Klarion hesitated to call them cows exactly. Their bodies were broad and low-slung, their coats thick and blue as a winter sky. Curved horns peeked through tufts of fur, and their eyes, placid and dark, blinked slowly as they watched the approaching visitors to the farm.

Pulling his attention from the strange cow-like creatures, he stared at the large wooden barn beside the house, its design shockingly familiar. Klarion found himself slowing, eyes lingering on the weathered planks and wide sliding doors. It shared a lot of similarities with the barns he'd seen growing up back on Earth.

He gave a low chuckle, more to himself than anything.

Hatsune glanced from Klarion to the barn and back, then arched an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

Klarion shook his head. “Just… funny how some things are the same no matter where you go. Different world, same barns, same smell of manure in the air.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I could do without the last part.”

As they reached the fence line that separated the open field from the main yard, Klarion looked around, hoping to find someone to talk with about the Expeditionary Mission. There should have been at least a few people up and about, given the size of the farmhouse. The afternoon sun was already high in the sky, casting golden light over the wide, gently rolling pastures and the rough wooden fencing that framed them. As they came closer, he could hear the low grunts and snorts of the shaggy blue-furred cows.

From behind one of the fence posts, a small head popped up—no more than a flash of motion at first but Klarion immediately glanced in that direction. Straw-blond hair, freckled cheeks, and eyes as wide as saucers. A human boy. He looked to be around eight or nine years old, and the moment his eyes met Klarion’s armored frame and the steel hilt at his back, the child froze.

For a heartbeat, they stared at each other—just long enough for Klarion to register the boy’s startled expression.

Then the boy spun on his heel and bolted, bare feet kicking up small clouds of dust as he sprinted in full panic toward the farmhouse while shouting incoherently.

Klarion’s stride slowed and he motioned for Hatsune to do the same as he watched him go. He couldn’t blame the boy. He and Hatsune must’ve looked like something out of a bad dream to a child that age—two strangers clad in armor, armed to the teeth, striding in his direction without saying a word. Hatsune, with her long, silver-gray hair and Leporine ears, moved with the quiet grace of a predator. Klarion knew he himself cut a tall, broad figure, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow and his sword glinting in the sun. And that didn’t even take into account the scars the boy would have seen had he been closer. No, to the boy, they must’ve looked less like travelers and more like mercenaries… or worse, bandits.

Klarion muttered, “Well, that went well.”

Hatsune raised an eyebrow, though she didn’t take her attention from the farmhouse the boy had disappeared into. “Children can be good judges of danger.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Klarion muttered under his breath.

Still, the moment served as a reminder. Outside the Academy walls, he wasn’t just a student or a noble’s son preparing for service to the Empire. Out here, people didn’t see titles—they saw weapons and armor and didn’t wait to ask questions. He’d need to be mindful of how he carried himself. Especially when walking onto someone else’s property.

By the time they approached the house proper, the boy had already vanished inside. Moments later, the front door creaked open and out stepped a man with shoulders like an ox and a square jaw dusted with graying stubble. He wore a sleeveless tunic smeared with dirt and grease, and one gloved hand held a rusted but well-used pitchfork. His expression was hard and cautious, eyes flicking from Hatsune to Klarion with all the wariness of a man used to fending for his own.

“What business brings you to my farm?” he called, voice low and firm.

Klarion stepped forward, lifting one hand in a casual wave. “We’re here about the Blaze Lion.”

That made the man slow. He eyed Klarion more closely, then looked to Hatsune, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer on her before he shifted back.

“You’re from the Academy?”

Klarion nodded. “That’s right.”

The man—clearly the boy’s father, judging by the resemblance—grunted and rubbed at his chin. “You’re here to deal with the thing that’s been breaking into my pens and snatching cattle?”

Klarion nodded once again. “That’s the idea.”

There was a pause. The farmer's eyes narrowed slightly, as if measuring them both. “Haven’t seen your kind down this way in a while. Thought they'd send a group, maybe a hunter at least, not two kids looking to play soldier for the first time.”

Hatsune crossed her arms but said nothing. Klarion kept his tone even, though inside he was a bit irritated at being dismissed out of hand. “We can handle it. You’ll have no more missing livestock by tomorrow.”

The farmer didn’t look convinced, though his shoulders loosened a bit. “You’re not the first to say that. Hired a couple of sellswords to try their luck two weeks ago. One of them came back bloody, the other didn’t come back at all.”

“We’re not sellswords,” Klarion said calmly.

The man grunted. “No, I guess not. You look too clean.”

That earned a quiet snort from Hatsune.

“Name’s Donovan,” the farmer finally said, stepping closer and unhooking the gate latch that Klarion and Hatsune still stood on the other side of. “And if you’re really here to take care of the Blaze Lion, then you’re damn well welcome on my land.”

“Klarion,” he said, stepping forward and introducing himself, then motioned to his bodyguard. “This is Hatsune.”

Donovan gave a polite nod to them both but then frowned again as he opened the gate wide for them to pass through. “I’m guessing you’re here on behalf of some scion? One of the noble brats trying to reap the rewards of having his servants kill a Blaze Lion?”

Klarion glanced briefly at Hatsune, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“That’s right,” Klarion said, choosing not to correct him.

“Figures,” Donovan muttered, stepping aside. “Well, whoever your patron is, I hope they’re paying you well. That Blaze Lion’s been a right bastard. Comes in late at night, jumps the fence like it’s nothing, tears one of my cows to pieces, and vanishes before anyone knows it’s there. I’ve hired guards, rigged traps, even left out poisoned meat. Nothing works. Damn beast’s too clever.”

Klarion followed the man as he walked them past the barn and toward the fields beyond, Hatsune coming behind them both. “How often does it come?”

“Every third or fourth night. Last night was quiet, which means we’re due,” Donovan said grimly. “You planning to track it?”

“Tonight, we’ll wait for it,” Klarion said shaking his head. “If it shows, we’ll end it. If it doesn’t, we’ll see about how to track it down.”

Donovan shot him another sidelong look, still skeptical but not as openly dismissive as before. The farmer could now see the scars that traced up and down his face and hands. “You really think the two of you can take it down?”

Klarion’s voice was firm. “Yes.”

There was a long pause. Then, at last, Donovan nodded, choosing to take Klarion at his word. “Alright then. You’ll have a place to rest in the barn. And supper, if you’re willing to eat what the rest of us do.”

Hatsune perked up at that. “As long as it’s not more rations, I’m in.”

Donovan gave a short laugh, the first warm sound he’d made. “Aye, well. We’ve got stew tonight. Made with beef from before my animals started vanishing.”

Excusing himself, Donovan went back inside to set his son back to work. Not having anything to do for the moment, Klarion and Hatsune made their way over to the barn. The shaggy blue-furred cattle grazed lazily, but while the animals appeared calm, the farm itself bore scars of the recent violence.

The pens were bordered by sturdy wooden fencing—well-constructed, likely by Donovan himself—but there were clear signs of wear and stress that betrayed recent repairs. Some boards looked newer than others, their fresh wood lighter in color and still unweathered by sun or rain. Nails gleamed where they’d been hammered in hastily, and a few posts leaned slightly, as if they had been reinforced in a rush.

Klarion slowed his walk over to the barn, stepping closer to the fence. Deep claw marks had been gouged into several beams—long, raking streaks that split the wood and suggested a creature with immense strength and size. Some of the marks were old and weathered, while others were disturbingly fresh, the wood beneath still raw and splintered. Black marks singed all of the cuts, like a flaming brand had been rubbed against the grooves cut into the wood.

Looking down beneath a particularly damaged beam, Klarion saw scorched patches of earth had scarred the ground near the corners of the fencing, the grass burned away in blackened circles where flame had kissed the soil. The smell of char lingered faintly, especially where the damage was more recent. But what he didn’t see were any tracks. Donovan had probably covered them up.

The wooden doors of the barn creaked slightly as Klarion pushed one open to let them inside. The scent of hay and old leather filled the air. Sunlight spilled in through the gaps in the walls and roof, casting long beams across the interior. Like he had expected from seeing it outside, the barn was simple—functional, not fancy—but well-kept. Large piles of hay were stacked along the edges, and old tools hung from pegs on the wall: rusted shears, harnesses, a rake with one bent tine. A sturdy ladder rose toward the loft above.

His boots crunched against stray bits of straw as he moved to one of the walls and leaned against it, arms crossed. He looked over the structure, mentally noting the exits, the vantage points, the weak spots. While he had faith in his stats, and having Hatsune’s support, if the Blaze Lion proved to be more than they could handle, they’d need a fallback position. But part of him hoped they wouldn’t need the barn for that.

While Hatsune did her own inspection, his thoughts turned inward. Beyond the heart of a Blaze Lion needed to unlock his class, he hoped fighting the creature would provide the extra push needed to unlock the Essence of Fire.

Klarion returned his attention to Hatsune as he watched the Leporine begin to climb the ladder, her silver-gray hair cascading over her shoulders like a flowing banner, catching the light with each subtle movement. He couldn't help but appreciate the view from below, his eyes naturally drawn to the way her form moved with fluid grace. Her toned legs flexed as she ascended, and the curve of her waist and the firm, sculpted line of her backside caught his attention, a momentary distraction that seized his attention. He felt his body become heated as he stared at her from below.

When she glanced down at him, her eyes meeting his own, Klarion realized he had a smile on his face.

“You coming?” she asked, her tone still sharp, but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Klarion tilted his head, feigning deep thought for a moment even as he made up his mind. “I was considering staying down here,” he replied, his voice teasing, “The view is better from this angle.”

Hatsune’s eyes widened, and a blush crept up her cheeks, the faintest hint of embarrassment flashing across her face. She quickly turned her head, muttering under her breath. “Shut up, Klarion. Get up here already.”

Klarion chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect his teasing had on her, but after a beat, he did make his way over to the ladder. “Alright, alright. I’ll come up. But I’d be lying if I said the view wasn’t tempting.”

She chose not to respond to his comment, but Klarion could tell that it had landed with how tightly she had gripped the ladder after he said it. Once she was in the loft, he began his climb, each rung of the ladder groaning softly beneath the weight of his armor. When he reached the loft, he found it surprisingly spacious—at least enough for the two of them to lay out bedrolls and prepare their gear. Not ideal, but it would do.

Klarion dropped his pack near the wall and unbuckled the top straps of his armor, letting it loosen just enough to breathe without fully removing it.

Hatsune leaned against a support beam and eyed him. “You didn’t tell the farmer you’re the scion.”

Klarion shrugged, not surprised that she had turned the conversation away from his teasing. “Didn’t seem necessary.”

“He’s going to find out eventually.”

“Probably. But not for a while, hopefully.”

She gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, then moved to set up her bedroll to sit on. “You think it’ll come tonight?”

“From what Donovan said, it’s due,” he said, stretching out his shoulders and neck. “Hopefully it won’t be too late and we’ll have a bit of light for the fight.”

He turned his attention back to her, watching as she unrolled her bedroll. Something about the way she moved, so confident and sure of herself, made him feel a sense of calm, despite the upcoming fight. They had faced worse together before. One Blaze Lion shouldn’t be a problem.

Chapter 108 - Dreadborne Harbinger

They kept moving for a few minutes after ducking into that first alley. Klarion had pulled ahead slightly to lead the way, eventually cutting through another side street, then a covered passage that opened into a quieter section of the market. Only when he thought they had lost them did he finally ease his pace, glancing over at Hatsune as he pointed to his ear.

Figuring out what he wanted, Hatsune nodded and then closed her eyes. Her ears swiveled back in the direction of the covered passage they had just come from. They had passed no one as they had navigated it, so any sounds of movement that Hatsune could hear would likely be a sign that they hadn’t lost their pursuers after all.

After a few more moments of tense silence, she let out a slow breath and gave a small nod. “I can’t hear anything. I think we lost them.”

“Good,” Klarion exhaled, relieved. “Hopefully that stays the case.”

They hadn’t stopped walking completely, even when Hatsune had been focusing her ears back in the direction they had come from, but the tension in their steps now lessened somewhat. As the rush of adrenaline started to fade, Klarion considered what exactly had just happened. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure that wasn’t a random chance. The focus on them had been too targeted. Those hadn’t been some thieves looking for a quick score. The bulk of the armor they wore was obvious even under the cloaks they wore, which should have led thieves to look elsewhere for easier prey. But that hadn’t happened. There were a handful of options that might explain what that had been about, but none of them were good.

“Think they’ll keep looking for us?” Hatsune asked.

“Maybe. But I’d rather not take a chance finding out,” Klarion said. As much as he wanted to figure out what that had been all about, now wasn’t the time. Getting the supplies they needed—and getting out of the city—was far more important right now. Everything depended on the successful completion of the three Expeditionary Missions he had taken. “We should keep moving. The sooner we get the things we need, the sooner we can leave Bastion.”

Hatsune nodded, falling into step beside him.

They made their way back toward the more central streets, the tension of their earlier pursuit gradually falling away as the sense of being watched did not return. The street ahead of them bustled with activity, and given the number of stalls and people moving between them, it looked to Klarion like they had come across a market district. He looked over the stalls of varying sizes lining the road, their canvas awnings casting long shadows over tables stacked high with goods. Clothes and common trade goods figured most prominently. The smell of roasted meats and spiced bread mixed with the sharper scents of drying herbs and freshly cut wood to cover up the more unpleasant smells of the city.

Klarion felt the stirrings of hunger, his body reminding him that he had not eaten that much today. He tried his best not to look over the wide variety of street food on offer. But it was hard to resist the delicious smells. Especially the meat skewers that were just ahead of them.

Hatsune must have felt the same, as once they were next to the vendor’s cart, she plucked a meat skewer and took a bite before Klarion could say anything. The look on her face as she chewed said it was as delicious as it smelled.

“That good?”

Hatsune didn’t answer right away—she was too busy devouring a second bite. When she finally swallowed, she said. “Absolutely. Street food is some of my favorite food. You should try some.”

“You know what? I think I will.” Klarion chuckled at her earnest expression, already pulling out a few coins from what Solivair had given him. “But we need to keep moving, so let’s eat while we walk.”

As he said this, the half-orc vendor was already turning toward them, a deep scowl forming on his weathered face. Perhaps too many people like Hatsune had simply grabbed a skewer and walked off before paying in the past. Before the half-orc could utter a word, or demand payment, Klarion set two silver coins on the cart’s wooden surface next to the vendor’s clenched hand.

The vendor’s expression shifted instantly. A scowl turned into a calculating glance, and the half-orc weighed the overpayment before giving a satisfied grunt.

“We’ll take three more,” Klarion said before the vendor could sweep the coins into the pouch at his side.

“No haggling, huh?” The half-orc vendor eyed Klarion with a mix of curiosity and amusement, his thick arms flexing as he reached for the skewers Klarion wanted. “Not many your age throw coin around like that.”

Klarion met his gaze evenly. Had he overpaid by that much? He didn’t see posted prices, so it was difficult to say. Oh well, there was nothing for it now. “I pay based on what I think it is worth.”

The half-orc let out a rough chuckle of his own, shaking his head as he pocketed the two silver coins with his free hand before handing the fresh skewers over to Klarion. “Least you’ve got some manners. Your friend could learn a thing or two. Such as paying before eating a street vendor’s food.”

Hatsune, utterly unbothered, finished off her first skewer and promptly took a second from Klarion. “Or maybe you should keep a closer grip on your merchandise.”

Klarion choked back a laugh, while the vendor snorted, clearly more amused than offended.

“You keep her in check, lad,” he said before waving them off. “Or don’t. Either way, thanks for the business.”

Klarion nodded in acknowledgment of the vendor’s words. As the half-orc turned to begin cooking more skewers, Klarion motioned for Hatsune to keep moving. Mouth full, the Leporine simply nodded and made to follow him. The first bite of his own was every bit as good as he had expected. The smokey, savory flavor of the meat — seared just right—quickly disappeared off the first stick he held. He must have been hungrier than he thought because he finished both before Hatsune had taken her own last bite.

Gradually they moved out of the open-air market and into an area that had more permanent stores. They went into several that looked promising, but they either lacked essential supplies they needed or charged exorbitant prices, so they soon left them behind. Klarion was beginning to become frustrated at their lack of progress—it was edging past afternoon into evening—when they finally came across what looked to be a modest but well-stocked outfitter nestled between a smithy and a leatherworker’s shop. A faded wooden sign above the door simply read: "Gorvan’s Outfitting".

Upon coming to the front, Klarion took a moment to assess the shop. It lacked the gaudy displays of some of the other stores they had tried, whose windows were lined with gleaming armor and enchanted trinkets meant to entice wealthy adventurers. Instead, Gorvan’s had the quiet confidence of a store that didn’t need to advertise. Small bundles of firewood were stacked neatly to the side of the door, and a rack of reinforced bedrolls and heavy cloaks stood on the other side of the window of the shop.

Hatsune tilted her head slightly, looking where he did at the various displays. “This one looks competent,” she noted.

Nodding his agreement, Klarion led them through the door, a small bell chiming as they stepped inside. The shop had a compact but efficient layout. Rows of sturdy boots, camping tools, and insulated cloaks lined the walls, while wooden shelves held an array of practical supplies—flint and steel, cooking kits, waterskins. The counter near the back displayed more specialized items, though what they were, he could not make out. The atmosphere was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the warm glow of lanterns suspended from the ceiling.

Stepping out from a small doorway to the concealed back of the store came a beastkin man of a kind Klarion was not familiar with. The man’s fur was a mix of gray and brown, slightly unkempt but well-groomed enough to suggest he still cared about appearances. Beady eyes studied them with sharp calculation, taking in their posture, their attire, and—undoubtedly—the weight of their coin purse.

The storeowner—Gorvan, presumedly—must have caught something in Klarion’s gaze, as he said in a growling tone, “What? Never seen a Mustarine before?”

Klarion met the man’s gaze evenly. “No, can’t say I have. But you seem like a man who knows his trade.”

The Mustarine’s whiskers twitched at Klarion’s response, but a bit of the tension did seem to leave the man’s shoulders. “Hmph. You here to buy, or just taking a look?”

“We’re heading into the Savage Wilds,” Klarion said, gesturing to a nearby set of camping gear. “We need camping supplies and provisions that’ll last us two weeks.”

Gorvan grumbled something under his breath but stepped out from behind his counter and moved efficiently throughout the store, plucking items from shelves with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Soon there was a small pile at the front for them, but the Mustarine paused at the tents.

“How many tents do you need?”

Klarion turned to Hatsune. “One tent or two?”

She hesitated for just a moment. Then, with a slight pink tinge to her cheeks, she shrugged. “One is fine.”

With that, Gorvan quickly grabbed a tent sized to fit two and carried it back to the counter. While he did so, a realization struck Klarion. Back at the Academy, Hatsune had stayed in his room since she had become his bodyguard. But this felt different. More intimate, in a way. Camping had always been something Klarion associated with solitude or, back on Earth, something he had planned to do with a girlfriend someday. It was meant to be a personal experience—sharing the quiet of the wilderness, watching the stars from the same fire, waking up side by side in the same space. Something of those thoughts must have shown on his face because the pink tinge deepened and she moved past him to a row of shelves that held provisions. She looked them over but did not move to pick anything.

Refocusing, Klarion joined her, selecting packs of smoked meat, dried fruit, and dense travel bread. Simple, practical, and long-lasting. Though she had a frown on her face, Hatsune eventually followed him in picking out her own preferences. As they made their way to the front, arms loaded with rations, he passed a row of waterskins inscribed with runes. He picked one up.

“Is there something special about these waterskins?”

The Mustarine gave a curt nod but did not look up from his calculations of the prices of everything. “Holds five times its size in water. Doesn’t spoil. Costs extra.”

Klarion didn’t hesitate. Water was probably the most important thing to have on a trip like the one they were heading on into the Savage Wilds. Even if they were a bit more, the waterskins would be worth it.“We’ll take two.”

Hatsune set her pile of rations on the counter, Klarion doing the same, leaving the waterskins on top. It was quite the mound on the counter at this point. Based on the slight smile on the Mustarine’s face, Klarion’s money pouch was about to get quite a bit lighter.

“Do you have anything that can help with injuries?” Hatsune asked before Gorvan could rattle off the total.

The Mustarine grunted and pulled from behind the counter a bundle of vials and salves. He added it to the pile, and said, “Herbal mix. Speeds up recovery when you rest. Won’t fix a gut wound, but it’s better than nothing.”

“How much for everything?” Klarion asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

Gorvan didn’t respond immediately. He looked at the calculations he had written out, then eyed the items in front of him, and then his beady eyes drifted up to Klarion. It was if he was weighing the value of his customer just as much as the goods.

“Three gold, twenty-seven silver. I don’t haggle, so take it or leave it.”

Klarion resisted the urge to grimace. The number was high, but he hoped not unfair. Even if the Mustarine was gouging them, though, Klarion would still pay just to get on with being able to leave Bastion. He reached into his coin pouch, counting out the required sum. The Mustarine meticulously examined each piece before nodding in satisfaction and packing their supplies into a pair of sturdy leather packs. With quick, practiced movements, he tightened the straps and slid the bags across the counter.

“Pleasure doing business,” the Mustarine muttered. “Try not to die out there.”

Klarion nodded in thanks, lifting his pack onto his shoulder after passing the other to Hastune. “We’ll do our best.”

After securing her own pack, Hatsune secured the wrapped tent beneath her arm, adjusting the strap across her chest. “If he makes a bad decision, I’ll handle it.”

The Mustarine snorted, the first sound of amusement to come from the man since they had come into his store. “Smart girl.”

Without another word, they stepped back out onto the street. It had started becoming emptier as evening began to descend in truth.

Klarion adjusted the strap of his pack and motioned down the street they needed to head down to get to the nearest gate. “Let’s get a move on. I’d like to find a spot to pitch our tent before it becomes too dark.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, simply taking in the city around them. It was peaceful as shops began to close and people began to head home for the day. The early evening air was nice too. Which is why he was surprised when Hatsune suddenly let out a deep sigh next to him.

“You know, I should’ve made you swear in blood.”

Klarion blinked, turning to her as they walked. “What?”

She jabbed a finger toward the pack on his back. “You said you’d handle all the cooking on this trip.”

Oh. So that was why she had been frowning at the rations in the store. Klarion grinned, patting the pack. “And I am. These rations require no preparation. I have now successfully fulfilled my cooking duties.”

Hatsune stared at him, unblinking. Then, with deliberate slowness, she let out a second long, suffering sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“A promise is a promise,” Klarion said, his grin widening.

She crossed her arms, ears flicking in irritation. “I’ll remember this.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not getting out of your promise. I’ll collect on it later,” she said, voice edged with warning, though the glint in her emerald eyes was anything but innocent.

Klarion’s smile faltered—just slightly. He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, but something told him he wasn’t going to like it. Hatsune didn’t elaborate, however, even when he had asked what she meant. After the second time that he would find out later, he let it drop. Perhaps she would forget all about it. Actually, no, there was no way she would do that.

His concern at what Hatsune might demand of him fell away as they neared their destination. The atmosphere of the city began to shift as the roads became wider, the structures more fortified, and the presence of Iron Enforcers increased significantly. Unlike the inner city, where the guards were there to maintain order, here they were stationed for defense.  The massive gate ahead was a testament to that. It was a fortress within a fortress, built to withstand any threat from the Savage Wilds, its walls reinforced with layers of some strange-looking metal. A pair of Iron Enforcers stood watch by the gate.

One of the guards, a broad-shouldered half-ogre with a thick beard, narrowed his eyes as Klarion and Hatsune approached. “Business beyond the walls?” he asked, his voice rough but professional.

“Travel,” Klarion replied simply, not wanting to elaborate further.

The guard looked them both over, his gaze lingering on Klarion’s posture, his mannerisms—something about him must have given away his scion status. Klarion controlled a wince as he saw the realization settle in the guard’s mind, the man’s stance stiffening almost imperceptibly. He didn’t bow or acknowledge Klarion outright, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. But, to his credit, the guard remained professional, merely nodding.

“Be advised—the roads are clear for now, but beasts and other threats aren’t uncommon past the farmlands.”

“Understood,” Klarion said, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment.

The Iron Enforcers stepped aside, motioning them through. The moment they passed the threshold of Bastion’s gates, Klarion felt something… shift. It truly sank in that, for the first time in weeks, he was simply a traveler, making his way down a well-kept road, with the only company he truly trusted at his side.

They made their way down the empty road that stretched before them, a well-maintained path of stone and dirt, wide enough for merchant carts and patrols on horseback. On either side, rolling fields of what looked to be wheat and barley swayed gently in the evening breeze. At first, it felt a bit strange how peaceful everything was. After all, Klarion had expected the land known as the Savage Wilds beyond Bastion’s walls to feel more… dangerous. But maybe they were still too near the city itself to see the difference.

Setting such thoughts aside until tomorrow, Klarion simply enjoyed the walk with Hatsune. The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the countryside in warmth, and the only sounds were the gradually increasing chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of wind through the crops on either side of the road they walked.

They didn’t travel far before spotting a good place to make camp—a small clearing just off the road, shielded by an isolated cluster of tall trees. The ground was even, with just enough cover to remain unseen from passing travelers, while still offering a view of the road in case trouble came their way.

“I think we’ve found our first campsite,” Klarion said, setting down his pack.

Hatsune nodded in agreement, though her eyes and ears were still tracking their surroundings. “I’ll check the area to make sure we’re alone.” Without another word, she set down her own pack and the tent, then vanished into the trees, her movements silent as a shadow.

While Hatsune did her duties as his bodyguard, Klarion set to work, unpacking the tent and bedding they had purchased at Gorvans. It took only a few minutes to set everything up, and by the time he was finished, Hatsune had returned.

“No threats in the area,” she reported as she moved to help him finish setting up the tent. “Just the usual signs of wildlife like squirrels. Nothing that’ll bother us.”

Klarion nodded and, after they finished with the tent, moved to unroll the heavy woolen blanket inside the tent. “Do you want to sleep first or would you like me to?”

“I’ll take the first watch.”

“Alright. Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

It took him less time to get comfortable on the ground than he expected. The last thing he saw before sleep took him was Hatsune’s silver-tipped hair as she sat quietly near the edge of the camp, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble.

Chapter 107 - Dreadborne Harbinger

Klarion stood in line with Hatsune at his side, his eyes scanning the towering gate that separated the Imperial Academy from the city of Bastion. The sheer fortifications were a statement in themselves—thick walls reinforced with some sort of black stone, which he assumed to be further supported layered enchantments to enhance their strength still further. From beyond the gate, he could already hear the hum of city life just barely out of sight.

A pair of Sentinels stood before the gate, their stance conveying alertness even as their masks didn’t. It quickly became clear to Klarion that their purpose wasn’t to prevent anyone from leaving through the gate, but simply to issue the same warning to each scion as they passed. Some of the scions passing through the gate stiffened at what was being said to them, but they went through all the same. When it was his turn, Klarion finally heard what that warning was.

“Sentinel jurisdiction does not extend beyond the Academy campus. In Bastion, you are subject to the city’s laws as imposed by their Iron Enforcers, and you should behave accordingly. Your status as a scion of the Empire will shield you from much, but not everything. Enjoy your time away from campus, scion.”

Klarion nodded in acknowledgment of the warning and the well-wishes from the Sentinel. As he moved towards the gate as the other scions and their escorts had done, Hatsune stepped closer beside him, her silver-tipped ears still oriented towards the Sentinel that had given Klarion the warning.

“I think I already know the answer, but will you be sharing your title and House with those we interact with in Bastion on our way to the Savage Wilds?”

“No,” Klarion shook his head, drawing the cloak tighter around him as he did so. Solivair had done an excellent job picking them out for both of them. As fine a quality as it was, the look of it was understated enough that it would allow Klarion to hide his status as a scion somewhat. Even with the bulk of his armor underneath it readily visible, he hoped that wouldn’t be that uncommon with those making their way through Bastion to the Savage Wilds. “If at all possible, I would like to keep my status as a scion concealed until we return. Beyond the possibility there might be enemies of House Blacksword out there, I also want to see the Empire as it really is, not simply through the lens of my position.”

Hatsunedidn’t bother covering for the long sigh of relief she made. “That is wonderful. Hopefully, we will be able to avoid any more attempts at assassination or duels then.”

“You make it sound like those kinds of things happen all the time to me.”

“Klarion,” Hatsune patiently said, coming next to him, “most people I know haven’t had as many attempts on their life in years as you have had in these past few weeks.”

Klarion shook his head, still slowly making his way to the open gate, though he was not able to deny what the Leporine had said, nor did not cover the amused look that came to his face. “Fair enough. I promise I’ll try to keep a low profile.”

Hatsune gave him another sidelong glance, the corner of her lips tugging up slightly. “You? Low profile? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Before he could respond, the pair of scions in front of him moved forward through the gate and it was their turn to go next through the imposing stone archway.

Contrary to what he had been expecting, a view of the city was not the first thing he saw.

Six figures loomed before them as they crossed over into a long enclosed stone passage that stretched to another gate into Bastion from the Imperial Academy. Unlike the Sentinels, who generally exuded a silent, detached presence, what Klarion guessed to be the Iron Enforcers were something else entirely. They were massive—each one standing at least a head taller than Klarion, their forms encased in thick steel armor that looked heavy enough to snap a lesser man’s spine under its weight. Their weapons weren’t elegant blades or enchanted staves. Instead, each guard carried a massive wooden club—thick, solid, and reinforced with bands of iron. The sight of them alone sent a clear message: the Iron Enforcers weren’t in Bastion for their precision. They were there to break anything that disturbed the peace.

Each guard also bore a tower shield, emblazoned with what Klarion could guess was the symbol of Bastion—a massive, stylized fortress, its battlements raised like a challenge to all who would seek to breach its walls.

Hatsune’s keen eyes flickered across the six, her body subtly shifting into a stance that would allow her to pull her sword with less than a moment’s notice. “They don’t look like the type to exchange pleasantries.”

Klarion gave a short nod, and though he didn’t expect trouble, he also reached out to gently take his greatsword from Hatsune. “My guess is you are right about that. They are not someone I want to piss off.” He glanced at the thick clubs again, his lips pressing into a firm line. “Looking at those clubs, I think if someone were to cause trouble here, they wouldn’t ask questions. They’ll just beat you into the ground and throw you into a cell.”

One of the guards stepped forward, his gaze drifting over Hatsune and the way her hand had come to rest on the hilt of her sword before he turned his attention to Klarion. The gray skin of his face, visible through the open-faced helm he wore, alongside the sheer bulk of a half-ogre physique similar to what Rolfun had made the Iron Enforcer an even more intimidating presence than the rest. He grunted, motioning toward the main road ahead.

“Don’t cause trouble,” the half-ogre rumbled simply. “Break Bastion’s laws, and you won’t get a second warning.”

Klarion met the Iron Enforcer’s eyes briefly, giving a curt nod, even though he had only the vaguest ideas of what laws the Iron Enforcer was referring to. They almost certainly centered on those he was already familiar with back in Volkstrum on Earth, however. “Understood.”

The Iron Enforcer then stepped out of the way, motioning for Klarion and Hatsune to step past the rest of the guards and through the second gate. Dismissed, they both did just that, Klarion leading the way.

The moment they stepped beyond the Academy’s gates, Bastion’s true nature unveiled itself before Klarion. Unlike the Imperial Academy, where grand towers and sweeping archways—not to mention all the gaudy ornamentation in so many places—spoke of prestige and scholarly ambition, Bastion was a fortress city built for one purpose alone.

War.

The streets that stretched before them were wide, paved with thick slabs of reinforced stone that looked to have been placed to accommodate marching soldiers, supply convoys, and the occasional mounted patrol. There were no winding alleys or twisting roads so close to the Imperial Academy, like one might find in a different civilian city—everything was laid out in a rigid, militarized grid, designed for efficiency and control. Buildings loomed on either side of them, and not the elegant, gilded apartments and manors of noble houses whose scions attended the Academy. No, these were buildings of reinforced stone, their walls lacking ornamentation and instead lined with iron bands for added durability. Every structure resembled a stronghold, built to withstand siege, sabotage, and time itself.

And looming above it all were the watchtowers.

Though still shorter than the walls surrounding the Imperial Academy, which explained why he hadn’t seen them before entering into Bastion itself, they were strategically placed at regular intervals, ensuring no corner of this part of the city was left unwatched. Even from the gate, Klarion could see the armored forms of other Iron Enforcers within them, their helmets gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

His first impressions were that Bastion was a city of function over form, where every brick and beam served a purpose beyond mere aesthetics. Honestly, that hadn’t been what he had been hoping to find in the city encircling the Imperial Academy. Rather, he had been hoping for something closer to what a city would be like elsewhere in the Empire. Though perhaps the ways things seemed to be here so close to the gate was not the case everywhere. Maybe it was different in other parts of Bastion.

Not wanting to linger, and even less wanting to attract attention, Klarion led Hatsune down the street, deeper into the city. At first, the stark, disciplined nature of Bastion seemed all-encompassing. The roads were too straight, the buildings too uniform, and the ever-present patrols of Iron Enforcers only reinforced the sense that this place was more fortress than city.

Yet, thankfully—and as he had hoped— as he and Hatsune moved deeper into the city, the rigid military atmosphere gradually began to fade. It began to shift when they came to an area that was thick with heat and industry. A number of armories and forges replaced the regimented stone buildings, the scent of smelting iron mixed with the ever-present tang of oil and sweat. The clang of hammers striking metal reverberated through the street, punctuated by the hiss of quenched steel and the low murmur of trades being brokered.

Mentally making a note that this might be an area to look into later when he and Hatsune moved forward with forging new weapons, he nonetheless kept moving forward, not willing to get distracted. They still had a bit to do in terms of purchasing supplies, and a ways to go to get outside the city, before they could be done for the rest of the day.

Gradually the streets became less rigidly structured, winding ever so slightly in ways that suggested organic development rather than the strict design closer to the Academy. The buildings, once stark and uniform near the gate, began to take on more character. Some were older, their facades bearing signs of age and history. Others had balconies or painted shutters, small personal touches that spoke of actual residents rather than just the constant presence of soldiers focused on defense.

Even the air itself began to feel different, at least once they were past the armories and forges nearer the city center. The scent of metal and oil that had lingered near the outer defenses was gradually replaced by the more familiar smells of a true city—baking bread, roasting meat, the faint spice of incense wafting from a small corner shop of some sort. The clanging of hammers faded next, giving way to the more chaotic but lively sounds of daily life—street vendors hawking their wares, children laughing as they darted between pedestrians, the strumming of an honest-to-god lute from a small open-air tavern.

As the latest song faded away to quiet applause, Klarion took a moment to remind himself that this wasn’t some incredibly realistic game he was playing around in but instead an incredibly real—and incredibly deadly—life that was now his own. Despite that reminder, he could still feel himself relax somewhat.

This had been exactly what he had been hoping to find after leaving the campus. Unknowingly, Klarion slowed his pace down the street as it became more crowded, so much so that Hatsune looked worried for a moment, until he indicated he was alright, just taking in everything. She nodded, slowing her stride as well, but stepped in closer. There if he needed her, which he appreciated.

Ignoring the people around him, he took in the small shops lined the streets, some selling practical wares—tools and clothing mostly—while others were more indulgent. A confectioner’s stand displayed candied nuts and sugar-dusted pastries, and an elderly woman sold colorful silk ribbons from a makeshift stall. He even spotted a bookshop, its sign swinging gently in the breeze, promising histories, fables, and arcane tomes. God what he wouldn’t give to spend some time in a bookstore again. He almost stepped in that direction before again getting a grip on himself.

No, he couldn’t browse right now.

He could look later once he attained the Essences he needed, unlocked his class, and slaughtered that bastard Chadwick.

Setting visions of books aside, Klarion turned his attention back to the crowd around him, picking up his pace slightly as he did so. The crowd around Klarion and Hatsune seemed to pulse with life, a mixture of individuals from all walks of life, and none so more than the children. After seeing none for weeks in the Imperial Academy, the kids darting in and out of the spaces between adults were some of the first people he noticed. Some of the younger ones —an elven cast to their features— still had a hesitant look about them, clutching the hands of older family members as they navigated the busy streets, eyes wide at the colorful market stalls and the smells of fresh bread and sizzling meats. He also saw a small group that looked to have orcish blood go scurrying past, their hands full of sweet pastries, laughing as they competed to see who could run the fastest. The air was filled with their joy, a contrast to the more serious expressions of the adults around them.

Not far from that group of children, Klarion noticed a human woman haggling with a vendor over the price of a bundle of herbs. Her face was weathered, the lines around her eyes and mouth speaking of years of hard work and hard living. She was older than most of the crowd, her back slightly bent with age, but she still held herself with quiet dignity.

As they continued down the street, the diverse array of people continued to expand. A good majority of them were of races that he expected, given the scions he had seen in the Academy, but by no means did he recognize every race of people around him. A group of people that looked like a cross between velociraptors and bears was one such, but before he could get a closer look at them, they had already swept past in another direction.

Klarion’s gaze then landed on what could only be a group of legionnaires. They wore armor that would not have looked out of place in ancient Rome, but rather than tense, their postures were relaxed as they stood outside a different tavern from where the music had come from before. Their laughter rang out loud, filled with camaraderie and good-natured ribbing.

Klarion continued to move forward, his senses alive to every shift and movement in the crowd. Hatsune remained close, her body language alert as she surveyed the people around them. Her posture remained loose but coiled, ready for action at a moment’s notice. He almost made a comment about her needing to relax, but he held his tongue, thinking over how many people in the city might not have the best opinions of House Blacksword, or scions generally. And, as if to reinforce the thought, he began to notice there were other scions in this part of the city.

Even among the crowded street, scions commanded attention. Wherever they walked, space formed around them, a subtle but unmistakable widening of the streets as everyone moved aside, avoiding unwanted entanglements. Some of the scions that he saw seemed to revel in it, moving with their bodyguards in formation, making no effort to conceal their aristocratic presence. In fact, a few in his line of sight seemed to outright flaunt it.

“This is why I wanted to blend in,” Klarion said, motioning to a group of scions farther down the street. “Unlike those like them.”

Hatsune followed his gaze toward a cluster of scions further up the street. Unlike Klarion, they had made no effort to hide their status—fine armor with the marks of their Houses prominently displayed, flowing capes that seemed to drift everywhere they walked, and all the while armed bodyguards trailed behind them like not-so-inconspicuous shadows. They moved with the easy confidence of those who expected the world to move aside for them. And for the most part, it did.

Yet Klarion also caught something else, and based on Hatsune’s expression, she had caught it too. The subtle resentment in the glances cast at the walking scions, the way grizzled veterans tightened their grips on their weapons, the way shopkeepers adjusted their pricing boards the moment the nobles passed. All that said the scions—and those like them— were given respect, yes, but it was the kind that came from fear rather than admiration.

Hatsune snorted softly as one of them pulled out several gold coins and began to juggle them for the amusement of his friends. “They might as well be shouting to the world, ‘Rob me.’”

Klarion chuckled, nodding in agreement before catching sight of a different group on the other side of the street from them.

“Apparently,” Klarion began, nudging Hatsune to look in the direction he indicated with his eyes, “not all of them are like that.”

At an open-air bar opposite the preening scions, seated among laborers and legionnaires, was another scion dressed in simple leathers adorned with the mark of his House, laughing over a drink. His hair was unruly, his posture relaxed, and he spoke easily with those around him. Unlike the others, he wasn’t being avoided—he was being welcomed.

Hatsune raised an eyebrow. “Guess some of them have the sense to adapt.”

Klarion nodded slightly. “Or maybe he was raised differently.”

Leaving the other scions behind, Klarion and Hatsune ventured deeper into the city. Unfortunately, it was that much longer until Klarion was reminded of one of the other things cities —no matter where they were in the Multiverse it seemed — were known for.

At first, the stares were innocuous. The kind of casual curiosity anyone might expect when walking down the streets of such as massive city like Bastion.

But Klarion had spent too many years living in Volkstrum, reading the way people moved, how they watched, and more importantly—why. Most gazes that landed on them only looked on with passing interest, scanning their faces before moving on, nothing more than bystanders registering an unfamiliar presence. And, to be fair, Klarion knew that in his armor and carrying his greatsword, he represented a potential threat to many. But those weren’t the looks that had him subtly glancing around.

It was the looks that lingered a little too long. No, not in admiration, though he occasionally got those to Hatsune’s frustration. No, it was the looks of calculated assessment.

After the first few years working in Volksturm back on Earth, he had learned the difference between a glance and a predator’s gaze, between a person curious as to where someone was going and a criminal sizing up their mark

And right now, he and Hatsune were being sized up.

Klarion let his steps remain measured and even, showing no outward reaction, but he made sure to let Hatsune know that someone—or several someones—was watching them.

He worked to track the figures in the periphery of his vision. There were those whose movements spoke of training—mercenaries or former legionnaires, their postures too disciplined to be common thieves. The ones that had seen battle carried themselves with a subtle weight, a presence honed through conflict and survival. He discarded those few outright, knowing they were not likely those watching them.

He focused harder, seeking the ones whose steps made no sound even on the heavy stone streets. Seeking the ones whose hands never strayed too far from their belts or sleeves, where hidden daggers and poisons might rest.

There.

Hatsune had noticed them too. Though to anyone else, she appeared completely at ease, Klarion could see the minute shifts in her posture. Where before at the gate she had been obviously on guard, her movements now had become subtly more fluid, yet her weight remained balanced for immediate action, her long, silver-tipped ears directed slightly in the direction of the same figures Klarion had noticed.

“They’re watching us,” she murmured, her voice barely above a breath as she pointed at a nearby food stall to cover for it.

Klarion nodded in acknowledgment, playing it off like he had been agreeing with her about whatever she might have otherwise said about the stall.

The first one, a wiry man with a scar bisecting his left brow, leaned against a building as if merely resting, but his fingers tapped against his leg in an unconscious rhythm—signaling.

The second was a broad-shouldered woman with short-cropped hair, wearing the kind of patched leather armor that suggested she was either a poor mercenary or otherwise worked outside the law. She had a blade strapped to her thigh, positioned for quick access, and the way she kept her distance yet never left their line of sight was telling. When she shifted in response to the tapping of the first man, Klarion knew she was no down-on-her-luck mercenary.

And the third…

It took him a few moments longer to find them. A youthful figure, wrapped in a hooded cloak, who walked through the crowd with a fluid, effortless grace—as if he belonged to it but never truly touched it. His gaze was not the brash, obvious stare of a thug looking for a fight.

It was the gaze of someone who watched people for a living.

Klarion let out a slow, measured breath.

This wasn’t just casual curiosity. These people were watching them specifically.

Why?

No. It didn’t matter why.

Klarion set aside his first instinct to puzzle their attention out—to weigh possibilities, to wonder if this was an unrelated coincidence, if he had been noticed for who he was, or if they were merely targeting them as a new facea in Bastion. But in the end, none of that truly mattered. What mattered was that they were watching them. What mattered was that they had been following him and Hatsune through the streets, their movements too practiced, too purposeful to be anything but intentional.

They were threats.

And threats needed to be dealt with.

He didn’t share his thoughts with Hatsune aloud. He didn’t need to. A brief glance in her direction was enough. Her green eyes flicked to him for half a heartbeat before returning to scanning the street. She understood.

Now they needed to lose them.

Klarion shifted his pace slightly, just enough to look natural, but also enough to give the illusion that they weren’t yet aware of their pursuers. He let his gaze wander toward a busy row of market stalls, noting the shifting tide of foot traffic. Vendors called out their wares, coins clinked as buyers haggled, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air.

He caught sight of a narrow alley between two shops, the shadowed space offering a potential route out of sight. He memorized its location even as he kept walking. A few more steps, a little more distance… Then they would vanish before their pursuers even realized they were gone.

A patrolling group of Iron Enforcers passed in the street behind them, briefly cutting them off from the view of the three following them.

“Now.”

When the figure in the hooded cloak stood where the Iron Enforcers had been walking moments later, neither Klarion nor Hatsune was anywhere within sight.

Chapter 106 - Dreadborne Harbinger

As they set off together, Klarion let himself enjoy the simple rhythm of the walk. For once, there was no immediate threat looming over him. Just the steady sound of their steps on stone and a slight, comfortable breeze. With Valdre leading the way, it wasn’t long until the conversation turned to their experiences with their classes so far. To Klarion’s lack of surprise, his friends had quite a bit to say about Etiquette and Courtly Manners.

Valdre sighed as they walked, rubbing a hand over his face. “I swear, if I have to sit through another class on the proper way to use a fork, I’ll lose what is left of my patience.”

Redrek let out a short laugh. “You think that is bad? We took a break from fine dining to work on the proper ways to greet another noble beyond the walls of the Academy. I had to practice bowing for a full hour yesterday. Bow too shallow, it’s disrespectful. Bow too deep, it’s mockery. I swear, if my professor had her way, we’d spend a week on the proper angle for groveling before someone of higher rank. Which, for me, will be practically everyone!”

Klarion couldn’t help the smile that came to his face at Redrek’s expression. While he sympathized with the hobgoblin scion, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one of his friends having difficulties with that class.

“If someone tries to embarrass me at a banquet over these stupid rules,” Redrek continued, ignoring Klarion’s expression, “I’ll just challenge them to a duel. Problem solved.”

Klarion chuckled but shook his head. “I don’t like the class either, but it’s not useless.”

While Valdre nodded in agreement, Redrek shot him a skeptical look. “You actually care about it?”

“I wouldn’t say I enjoy it,” Klarion admitted. “But it’s still important.” He glanced at his hobgoblin friend. “You think the Empire is built on brute strength alone? Politics is just another battlefield. If you don’t know how to navigate court, you’re just waiting for someone more powerful than you to use your ignorance against you.”

Redrek almost said something, then paused, frowning. “Damn it. I know you’re right, despite my wish that wasn’t the case. I guess I should actually put in more effort?”

“Yes, that is what I think you should do. I’m not saying you have to like it, though,” Klarion said. “But if you continue to think it doesn’t matter, you’ll regret it the first time some noble plays you into a corner with nothing but words. Or for using the wrong spoon.”

“The wrong spoon? I’m guessing there is a story behind that?” Valdre asked.

“Just something my professor shared with the class after another scion was a bit too loud complaining about what we were learning,” Klarion said. “Apparently some noble used how a rival of his used the incorrect spoon at a banquet as an excuse to engage him in a duel. The result was the challenger’s victory, the death of his rival, and the ending of an entire House of nobility.”

“All over a spoon?” Redrek said with an incredulous laugh. “That is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard.”

“Ridiculous?” Valdre shook his head. “From everything my father has said, that’s just court politics, Redrek. You better start paying attention. Or it will be someone else coming after you with a spoon.”

They shared a long laugh at that, with even their bodyguards cracking a smile at the mental image of a dolled-up scion chasing after Redrek with a spoon.

“Alright,” Redrek said after he finally got his breath back. “I suppose you’re right. Still, I’d rather be swinging a sword than memorizing the correct placement of a wine glass.”

As their conversation drifted to other subjects, Klarion caught fragments of another discussion happening just behind him. Hatsune had fallen into step with Garran and Kael, the three bodyguards speaking in low tones. Klarion kept his attention on Valdre and Redrek, but his ears remained open to what was being said.

“…nothing but words, so far,” Kael was saying, the words edged with frustration. “But it’s constant.”

Garran let out a low grunt of his own. “Same on my end. A few members of the Ivory Banner have taken an increased interest in Valdre since the duel. It’s always the same—pointed comments, little remarks designed to get under his skin.”

“They haven’t done anything else?” Hatsune asked.

“Not yet,” Kael muttered. “We think they are testing our reactions. Seeing how much they can get away with.”

Hatsune’s voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable steel beneath her words. “So long as they only talk, it’s not worth acting on. But if they try to take it further—”

“They won’t, at least not for a while yet,” Garran said firmly. “Not after Klarion killed one of theirs in that duel. They are worried about what might happen if they push too hard. And they are likely waiting to learn about the outcome of the Noble’s Agreement with Scion Copperhand.”

Kael exhaled. “That’s the only reason Redrek thinks they’re sticking to words. But they won’t forget. The Ivory Banner doesn’t let grudges die easily.”

Klarion’s expression didn’t change, but as he continued walking with his friends, a slow, simmering irritation settled in his chest. So, the Ivory Banner was still waiting. Watching. Looking for another opening to strike out against his friends. He would have to ask Hatsune later if there had been anything else he had missed in their conversation. If his friends needed help, he would make sure to give it to them.

The rest of the walk to the Expeditionary Hall was long—longer than Klarion had expected. The Imperial Academy was vast, structured in a way that made every part of it feel like its own miniature city. Must of it he hadn’t even been able to see yet. But even with that in mind, he hadn’t realized just how far the Expeditionary Hall was from Blacksword Manor. It sat practically on the opposite side of the campus, close to where the great walls of the institution met what Klarion now knew to be the city of Basion beyond.

When they finally arrived in the open square that held their shared destination, it was like entering into an entirely different world. The Expeditionary Hall was a fortress in its own right. Unlike the regal marble of the Lecture Hall or the militaristic austerity of the Martial Hall, this place looked alive—as if it was a constantly shifting entity rather than a mere building. Its massive wooden doors stood open, scions and their bodyguards flooding in and out in a constant stream. Klarion barely had time to take it all in before the full force of the hall’s chaos hit him as they stepped inside.

The interior of the Expeditionary Hall was a maelstrom of movement and noise. Long wooden counters lined the walls, where scribes and administrators barked orders, processed requests, and stamped official seals onto mission contracts before they were entered by hand in a central terminal of massive size against the fall wall. At the center of the hall stood a massive circle of smaller mission boards, each a screen providing access to the current list of missions the scribes and administrators had approved in hard copy to be added for the consideration of the scions of the Academy.

Scions, bodyguards, and other servants crowded the space, calling out over one another as they negotiated the creation of groups for more difficult missions, others attempting to strike deals or form temporary alliances for a period of time. Klarion had seen videos of stock market trading floors back on Earth, and to him, there seemed to be a lot of similarity to what he was seeing in front of him now.

A sharp laugh from Valdre barely cut through the noise as he clapped Klarion on the back. “Welcome to where the real work gets done.”

Klarion turned to him, arching a brow. “This is madness.”

Valdre grinned. “Of course it is. But it is also where the scions of nobility get the chance to begin proving themselves.”

Klarion followed Valdre’s gaze as the elven noble gestured to the mission board, where scions impatiently waited for their own turns to get access to the terminals. Without another word, both of his fellow scions moved off in search of a shorter line to access a terminal. Both Garran and Vael moved close behind them, ready for trouble. For his part, Klarion couldn’t blame them. The chaos and sheer press of bodies was almost overwhelming, especially as the swirling maelstrom of movement and voices was tainted by what Klarion could only assume was the intangible presence of various Essences lingering in the massive room. The room was thick and oppressive in places, like the air just before a storm.

After moving past the fourth area of such pressure, Klarion realized that was he was feeling was the presence of older scions. This wasn’t just a place for fresh Academy scions like him, Valdre, and Redrek. No. The missions of the Expeditionary Hall likely attracted everyone—not only the young scions looking to prove themselves but also the older, more seasoned scions who had been at the Academy for years, honing their strength, accumulating levels, and solidifying their foundations for what would come after they graduated.

Klarion slowly made his way through the crowd, taking in the sight of scions of all shapes and sizes. Some bore obvious signs of power, their armor or robes inscribed with glowing runes, their very presence seeming to radiate with the Essences they had unlocked. One towering figure, clad in blackened plate armor etched with pulsating crimson runes, moved with a predatory grace that belied his size. The air around him shimmered, distorting the light. His eyes, bright crimson visible through the slit of his helm, burned with an unholy intensity, and everyone that they landed on hurried out of his path without thinking.

Others were more subtle, their strength lurking beneath controlled expressions and measured movements. One such was a gaunt figure in voluminous black robes with hands that ended in wickedly sharp, metallic claws, who stood motionless near one of the Mission Boards Klarion passed. His presence was a chilling stillness, a void in the bustling energy of the hall. The very air around him seemed to crackle with latent energy, a silent promise of devastating power held in check. His eyes, when they finally Klarion looking at him, shifted to stare into his own and they were like shards of ice. Thankfully, the figure’s attention soon returned to looking through missions without a word.

For every individual that caught his attention, there were at least a handful more that were equally worthy of respect.  From so many of them pressed in so clase, Klarion felt the weight of the power gathered in this one place, pressing against him like a physical force. Yet, despite the overwhelming strength present, the hall wasn’t a battlefield.

The Sentinels saw to that.

Once he found his place at the end of a shorter line than most, Klarion looked around to see that the guardians of the Academy were everywhere. Standing at key points, their presence ensured that the chaos did not spiral out of control. Much like with each of the ones he had met so far, their armor and featureless masks gave them an almost inhuman presence, especially as they stood motionless. They stood like watchful sentinels, hands resting on shock rods, eyes hidden from sight yet undeniably aware of everything happening. Their presence made it clear that the moment anyone crossed a line, the Sentinels would react. Brutally. Efficiently.

Finally, it was Klarion’s turn to step toward the mission terminal. Up close revealed it to be a large, rune-inscribed device embedded into a wooden framework holding it in place. The screen glowed faintly as he placed his palm on it like he had seen other scions do, which apparently allowed the terminal to temporarily attune itself to him. A soft hum followed, and the interface shifted, awaiting his search parameters.

With methodical precision, Klarion keyed in his criteria of materials he needed to find to use for the unlocking of his class, then further specified for combat missions to maximize the odds of his unlocking the Essences he wanted as well. The glow of the terminal flickered as the board refreshed, populating a list of available contracts.

After scrolling through the few pages of options, three options eventually stood out to him:

Expeditionary Mission - A Farmer’s Struggle
The usually peaceful fields surrounding Donovan Farm have become a hunting ground for a ferocious Blaze Lion. Its fiery mane and powerful claws have terrified the livestock and put Farmer Donovan's livelihood at risk. He's desperate for aid and promises a fair split of the beast's valuable components to any capable adventurers who can rid him of this threat. Find him at his farm, a short trek west of the city walls.

Conditions for Success: Kill or drive off the Blaze Lion menacing Farmer Donovan’s herd
Rewards for Completion: Blaze Lion Heart; Blaze Lion Pelt
Accept: Yes/No

Expeditionary Mission - Culling the Barrow Lord
Ten years ago, an ancient battlefield from some forgotten world was integrated into the pocket plane, and now its undead denizens threaten to overrun neighboring areas rich in valuable resources. Frequent cullings are required to keep the undead in check. The strongest of these is a Restless Barrow Lord, its power a dark echo of the planar rift, who must be vanquished as well. Venture into the corrupted zone of undeath, and stem the tide before it engulfs neighboring areas.

Conditions for Success: Kill Restless Undead x 30; Kill Restless Barrow Lord x 1
Rewards for Completion: Unknown; Relic: Blood-drenched Blade
Accept: Yes/No

Expeditionary Mission - The Dryad’s Tithe
An Elder Dryad Grove requests an envoy from the Imperial Academy to come to collect their tithe of Essence crystals for services rendered in the past. In return for your service, the dryads offer three Essence crystals of your choosing, and the opportunity to tell stories to location-bound dryads within for other potential rewards.

Conditions for Success: Deliver tithe of Essence crystals to Imperial Academy
Rewards for Completion: Essence crystals (various) x 3
Bonus Rewards: Unknown
Accept: Yes/No

Without hesitating, in part because he was worried someone else would select them before he could, Klarion indicated his acceptance of each of the three missions. As soon as he did so, a short pop-up confirmed his acceptance of each, and then a map appeared in his vision.

Klarion's breath hitched in his throat.

He'd hoped for a map, of course, or at least some sort of visual aid to guide him to where he and Hatsune would need to go. But what materialized before him was... colossal. A shimmering, holographic projection unfolded across his vision. It wasn't just a map; it was a vista of what he assumed to be the entire pocket plane, or perhaps just the largest fragment of it, given that the edges appeared cracked in some areas for some reason.

Bastion, the fortress city he had yet to see, which he had been told was vast and imposing in size, was reduced to a mere pinpoint at the map's center. The Imperial Academy, his entire world for the past few weeks, was in turn an almost invisible speck within that pinpoint. It was a humbling, almost terrifying, perspective shift. The scale was dizzying.

Doing his best to set the scale aside, he looked over the map to find the markers of the three missions he had accepted, each of which was a glowing rune pulsating with a soft light. They were spread out, yes, but even so they were all to the west and within a short distance of the dot that was Bastion. But even that total distance between the four points looked to be a journey of at least several days. Now having seen the map of the pocket plane, it was starting to make a bit more sense to him why there had been relatively few older scions on campus that he had come across. With missions from the Expeditionary Hall being apparently so important for power and wealth, it was more than likely that many of the older students at the Academy were either in class or exploring beyond the walls of Bastion.

He looked over the general area of the three missions he had taken in search of a bit more detail. As he mentally zoomed in, he was able to make out that there were vague markings of what he assumed to be hills, several distinct forests, and, next to the battlefield where he would have to fight the undead, a small marking that indicated some sort of settlement. Closer to Bastion itself were also some markings for farmland, with the farm he needed to go to somewhere in the middle of one part. From there, the next mission he would want to complete was hunting the undead, as the ancient battlefield that held the Barrow Lord’s domain was the next closest dot on the map. Last was the mark for the Elder Dryad’s Grove, which was a bit further out and right on the edge of a densely forested area. If Klarion followed that route with Hatsune, they’d be able to hit everything and then loop back to return to Bastion and the Imperial Academy directly.

Decisions made, Klarion mentally closed the map of the pocket plane. Looking around, he saw that Redrek and Valdre were standing back near the entrance, having finished looking through the missions themselves, their bodyguards standing beside them. Motioning to Hatsune, who had been hovering nearby, he went in the direction of his friends.

“I’ve taken three missions,” he half-shouted to Hatsune as he leaned in close as they walked. “First, we're hunting a Blaze Lion that’s been terrorizing farmland to the east. Then, we move on to culling a Barrow Lord and clearing out undead in an old battlefield. After all that, we’ll head to an Elder Dryad Grove to collect a tithe of Essence crystals to the Academy and return from there.”

Hatsune’s long silver-tipped ears shifted slightly at his words, absorbing the information. When she didn’t respond at first, Klarion glanced over at her to see her eyes were fixed on the middle distance. Apparently she had access to the missions he had taken and was looking over the map while he had talked, as she said, “That’s a good route. Efficient. And… coincidentally, those missions work well for me, too.”

“Oh?” Klarion could have kicked himself. He had completely forgotten to check with Hatsune as to what she needed to unlock her own class. He’d been too focused on pursuing his own needs for the Valiant Sunlord.

The Leporine nodded. “The battlefield and the dryad grove—both places have what I need for my class. The first will have some Wraithsteel, which can only be harvested from the weapons of certain undead, and some specific Essence crystals, which I’ll be able to find at the Dryad’s grove when we get there.”

“That’s good. Was there anything else you needed to unlock the Yamabushi Shadowblade class?”

“No, but it’s nice of you to ask,” Hatsune said, and for a moment he wondered if she had missed his lapse in checking with her, only for his hopes to be dashed with her next words. “Especially since you hadn’t thought to check before accepting those missions.”

“Yeah…sorry about that,” he said a little sheepishly.

“It’s fine, I already know how you can make it up to me,” she said in a light teasing tone. They were almost to the others, so her next words practically tumbled one after the other out of her mouth, “You can do all the cooking for both of us until we return to the manor. Deal?”

“Deal,” he hurriedly agreed just as they arrived where his friends had been standing. He enjoyed cooking, and if it helped make up for his lapse with Hatsune, he was happy to do it.

Valdre turned away from where he had been talking with Garran. “Found what you needed?”

“Yes,” Klarion nodded. “We are going to leave immediately. The longer we wait, the more I’ll risk running out of time, especially if the Essences prove harder to unlock than I hope.”

“Probably for the best, even though it would be nice to have one more meal at The Hearth & Ember before you both set out,” Redrek extended his clawed hand. “Well, don’t get yourself killed, yeah?”

Klarion snorted, then grabbed the hobgoblin’s offered hand. “That is the plan. We’ll celebrate at The Hearth & Ember after we return and unlock our classes.

Valdre laughed, then extended his own hand as Klarion released the hobgobin’s. “Somehow, I have no doubt that is exactly how things will happen. Hopefully, we both will have good news for you about our own progress as well.”

Klarion offered a brief nod as he shook the half-frost elf’s hand. He didn’t ask what missions they had taken—if they had wanted him involved when he got back, they would have said so. Garran and Kael offered their own well-wishes then, and after that, his friends left the Expeditionary Hall, going off to whatever they needed to do next.

“Alright,” Klarion said, turning back to Hatsune. “Let’s get going. I want to see what Bastion is like while we still have some light.”

Chapter 105 - Dreadborne Harbinger

Without prompting from Klarion, Redrek continued explaining, “The Savage Wilds is the name given to the rest of the pocket plane beyond the walls of Bastion. It is wild, dangerous, and filled with monsters that have no business existing so close to civilization.”

“More than that,” Valdre added, “the Savage Wilds are unstable. In many places, the terrain itself shifts over time, as if everything beyond Bastion is never truly settled. And it isn’t.”

Klarion frowned at that, having a difficult time visualizing what Valdre was describing. “What do you mean?”

“The Savage Wilds is not some distant province or a wild frontier on an Imperial world. This is a pocket plane.” He gestured vaguely around himself. “Beyond the stability of the Academy and Bastion, the nature of this place is change. New territories appear, old territories vanish. And it’s not just the land itself. It is the same with the monsters too. Some are remnants of old worlds. Others?” He tilted his head. “Abominations. Things that should not exist. Things that defy reason.”

“The worst are the Voidborn.” Redrek shuddered at the word. “They don’t have a fixed form. Not truly. Sometimes, they resemble humanoids with stretched limbs and too many joints. Other times, they take on the shapes of beasts—wolves with eyeless faces, serpents with gaping maws where their torsos should be. They are shadows given form, nightmares given flesh.”

“And these things just… appear?”

Redrek nodded. “They are rare, but from what my father said about his time here, they are one of the more common things to emerge when the periphery of the pocket plane shifts. Especially when, sometimes, it pulls in a piece of something it shouldn’t. Entire regions blink into existence for a time—fragments of lost worlds, broken pieces of places that no longer exist. And from those places, Voidborn are some of the things that crawl out.”

Klarion took a drink, considering what his friends were telling him and what it might mean for his efforts to unlock Essences and to get the materials needed for his class. One potential issue came to his mind before any other. “If the land is always shifting, how do maps work? How does anyone navigate?”

Redrek let out a dry chuckle. “They don’t. Not reliably. But everyone, especially the Expeditionary Hall, tries. Each mission you accept at the Expeditionary Hall comes with access to relevant records and the most current map. Some regions stay stable for years, even decades, especially the closer you are to Bastion itself. Weeks away, deep in the Savage Wilds though, places out there might only last a week before vanishing entirely.”

Valdre nodded. “And then there are the dungeons.”

That caught Klarion’s attention. He had nearly died in one already, after all. Yet, despite the danger they posed, they also were filled with opportunities and the chance to get better gear and levels.

“Dungeons?”

“Oh yes,” Valdre said, his grin returning. “More of them than you’d expect. The nature of the pocket plane makes them more common than on other, terrestrial worlds.”

“So let me get this straight,” Klarion said, crossing his arms. “Beyond the Academy, beyond the walls of Bastion, the land itself changes. Monsters unlike anything seen in most settled Imperial worlds roam freely. And dungeons appear, offering both riches and death in equal measure.”

Valdre inclined his head. “That about sums it up.”

“And this is where scions are expected to venture?”

Valdre chuckled, shifting in his chair from excitement. “Most scions do more than venture into the Savage Wilds. They actively seek. Because—for all the horrors lurking in the dark—the Savage Wilds hold the potential for greater power and wealth than one can obtain almost anywhere else at the early levels of our classes. Essences have a higher chance of being unlocked, more so than in the controlled environments of the Academy. Ancient artifacts, rare materials, and even inheritances might all lie buried in forgotten ruins or Dungeons, awaiting the right hands to claim them.”

Redrek smacked his clawed hand against the table, his excitement making their drinks jump. “And that’s where the Expeditionary Hall comes in. The missions posted there aren’t just things that others are requesting help with—they’re opportunities. Each mission is a test, a proving ground, and a chance to rise above the rest of your competitors at the Academy.”

Klarion sat back. He had been so focused on the Academy itself—on its courses, its rigid structure, and the power he needed to claim—that he had ignored even looking into the existence of anything beyond the campus itself. He had thought the Academy was the crucible where his power would refined, but now he was beginning to understand: the Savage Wilds was likely where it would be truly forged.

“And the nobles take these missions willingly?” he asked, arching a brow. “I ask because it’s been my impression so far that there are more than a few scions looking to simply drift through their classes, not doing anything beyond what is required of them.”

“Willingly or not, they will have to at some point. If not here, then after they graduate,” Valdre said firmly. “Part of being one of the nobility is to fulfill this duty. Every scion who graduates to become a full-fledged member of the nobility will be required to go on missions for conquest, exploration, or securing vital resources for the Empire. After all, the strong protect and expand the Empire. ”

“Then I suppose it’s time I pay a visit to the Expeditionary Hall,” Klarion said standing up. “Since you have been there before, would you mind coming with me to show me the way?”

“Of course,” Valdre nodded, Redrek voicing his agreement a moment later. The half-frost elf continued, “We should see if there are any new missions that fit our needs as well.”

The three of them left the parlor, each moving with purpose. As they made their way to the front of Blacksword Manor—where his friend’s bodyguards had stayed behind to talk with Hatsune—Klarion’s mind was already turning over his next steps. But before he could take more than a few strides, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Scion Blacksword.”

Klarion paused, glancing over his shoulder. Solivair stood down the hallway, his posture as composed as ever, his expression schooled into his usual mask of calm efficiency. And yet… Klarion thought that he caught something different in the old Vilborn’s eyes. A flicker of hesitation. Perhaps concern.

Valdre paused at Klarion’s side, arching an eyebrow. “Your steward?”

Klarion nodded, already turning back. “Go on ahead. I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” Valdre said as both he and Redrek continued on. “Don’t take too long. We’ll be waiting out front.”

Klarion turned back to his steward, approaching a more comfortable distance for the kind of conversation he expected Solivair wanted to have.

“What is it, Solivair?”

Solivair wasted no time. From within the folds of his coat, he retrieved a small but weighty pouch and extended it toward Klarion. “For your trip,” he said, his voice even, measured. “You will need supplies, and it would be poor form for an Archducal Scion to be found lacking.”

Klarion accepted the pouch, rolling it lightly in his palm. The weight of the gold inside was substantial enough to cover expenses for weeks, if used well. He knew that because it was the same pouch he had given the steward earlier to use to begin fixing the manor. Quite a bit lighter now, it still felt like there were at least twenty coins inside. “You almost sound as if you expect me to waste it.”

“I expect you to spend it wisely,” Solivair corrected, his sharp eyes locking onto Klarion’s own. There was an intensity to his gaze, one that carried layers of meaning beyond the words spoken. “And, if possible, return with more than you left with.”  He reached into his coat again and pulled free a pair of heavy cloaks, which he had held folded against his side. “You and your bodyguard should wear these over your armor while traveling beyond the Academy’s grounds. You both will draw attention as it is—best not to make yourselves too obvious.”

Klarion took the cloaks, noting the fine craftsmanship. Though they appeared simple at a glance, the material was durable, meant for harsh conditions. “You had these prepared in advance.”

Solivair gave a small incline of his head. “After learning a bit more about the campus myself, I anticipated you would not waste much time before seeking the Expeditionary Hall. And I would prefer you not walk into the unknown wholly unprepared. Now come, there is more we must discuss. In private.”

Klarion didn’t ask what Solivair wanted to discuss. Instead, he simply nodded and followed along as the Vileborn turned on his heel and led the way through the manor’s halls, until they reached Klarion’s personal chambers, and he pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside. The room was as Klarion had left it earlier in the day—dimly lit, orderly, the scent of oiled steel lingering in the air from the weapons and armor racks now positioned near the far wall. His fieldplate armor awaited him there, freshly polished, prepared for the trials ahead.

Solivair closed the door behind them, ensuring their conversation remained unheard. “You should change,” he said, nodding toward the armor. “We will speak while you do.”

Klarion set the pouch and cloaks on the nearby table before approaching his armor stand. Piece by piece, he began the process of equipping himself, starting with the underlayers—padded gambeson and fitted leather that sat comfortably over his school uniform, all of which would lie beneath the heavier plates. He moved with rough efficiency, his relative lack of practice making the process slower than he wanted it. Like so many things here, he would simply have to keep at it until it became second nature. Only when Klarion began strapping on the gauntlets did he finally speak to his steward, having guessed what the old Vileborn wanted to talk about.

"You’re worried," Klarion said, his voice low but steady. He reached for the helmet, holding it in his hands for a moment before tucking it under his arm.

“Of course I am worried,” Solivair said, baring his fangs momentarily before recovering himself. “There are only four things in the Multiverse I care about, and three of them are scattered around Blacksword Manor, shoring up its security as we speak.” Solivair’s voice did not increase in volume, but there was an unmistakable edge, something sharper, more cutting. "You are a scion of House Blacksword, and I—we— swore our service to you. But the truth, Klarion, is that you are a scion of a house that lacks the strength of many of the others here at the Academy. You are isolated, surrounded by enemies who see you as nothing but an obstacle. Worse, you have no meaningful allies. Not yet. And the other houses—the other scions—will not hesitate to destroy you if it means strengthening their own positions.”

Klarion felt that same heavy weight that had settled in his chest some time ago when Jezeri had provided him with that list of the enemies conspiring against him. He knew the scions of the Academy weren’t just ambitious—they were predators.

Solivair’s voice softened, but only slightly. "I have made a life for myself through subtlety, through manipulation. I know what it means to have no power but your wits, to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground you gain. But this—" He gestured toward Klarion’s armor, to the human who was only fresh into adulthood, yet had been thrust into a world of power struggles. "This is different. And I will not sit idly by while you play the game by their rules.”

“You are right about the dangers I face,” Klarion responded after it was clear Solivair had said his piece. “But you’ve made a mistake."

Solivair’s head tilted, his gaze still steady as he waited for Klarion to elaborate. The silence between them was thick, a challenge, a subtle invitation for Klarion to continue. It was as if the older Vileborn man were testing him, measuring his resolve. Which, given what he could guess about the Vileborn’s time as a crime lord, was only to be expected.

Klarion met Solivair’s gaze with a quiet intensity. The fire in his eyes burned with conviction, something stronger than the uncertainty that had defined him during the first week of his time at the Academy.

“You’re worried about me surviving, which is perfectly rational. I won’t sugarcoat it. There is a long, winding road of violence in front of me — and I am concerned myself.” Klarion shook his head, raising a finger in the air as he did so. “But if you think I’ll just play the game they want me to, you haven’t been paying very much attention to me these past few days.”

Klarion’s jaw set as he moved to finish strapping on his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, each piece of the fieldplate clicking into place like the assembling of a weapon. His gaze never left Solivair, and with each word, his voice grew colder, more determined. "I’ve been on the defensive, fighting off the attacks they’ve already launched, protecting my back every step of the way. But that changes as soon as I unlock my Essences and my class. Once that happens, I won’t cower and wait for their moves. I’ll go on the offensive. I’ll make them regret ever coming after me."

Solivair didn’t respond immediately, his face unreadable, but Klarion could feel the shift in the air between them. He could sense Solivair waiting for him to explain further—waiting to see if the scion truly understood what it meant to seize control of his fate and, more importantly, how far he was willing to go to protect himself. And to protect those around him.

Klarion’s hands tightened within the gauntlets, his knuckles cracking as he looked directly at Solivair. "I’ve seen the other scions. I’ve felt the whispers behind my back, the schemes they’ve woven. Alliances, deals—every one of them trying to bring me down. They see me as nothing more than another son of an old and weakened House, another figurehead for them to target in a game they’ve played for decades now. But they don’t know what I’m capable of."

The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with the promise of something darker, something more lethal. For the most part, Klarion knew he was still the same person as he had been back on Earth. His memories of his old life were as sharp as ever. He could still recall the way he used to think, the way he analyzed problems, the way he handled conflict. He had never been one to start fights. He had believed in fairness, for the most part. Though even then, he hadn’t been naive—far from it. He had understood the necessity of power, the reality that strength dictated outcomes, and that control was the difference between survival and failure.

But here, in the Empire, that understanding had evolved into something sharper, something colder. Even in the brief few weeks that had passed since leaving Earth, he had come to know there was no room for hesitation or idealism. From the moment he had learned what it meant to bear the name Blacksword, he had realized that survival alone would never be enough. This new existence he was living was not like his previous one back on Earth. The rules were different. Here, power was not merely an advantage—it was everything. And power without the will to wield it was just an invitation to be crushed.

His enemies had wasted no time in reminding him of that truth. Even before he had fully understood the dangers of the position he was in, others had already moved against him, seeking to kill him before the year had even really started. He had spent these past days reacting—surviving threats, avoiding open conflict, trying to gather information before making any reckless moves. He had tried to be careful, and yet, despite his caution, the attacks had come. The scions who wanted him dead weren’t waiting for him to grow stronger. They weren’t giving him the time to find his footing.

If he stayed on the defensive, he would die.

The Klarion who had lived on Earth would have hesitated. He would have questioned whether it was right to strike first, whether it was necessary to be ruthless. He would have weighed his options, looked for the most measured, strategic path forward. But the Klarion who stood here now, wearing fieldplate that would have once sent him to his knees under its weight, knew hesitation was a weakness he couldn’t afford. This new existence of his didn’t reward restraint—it rewarded dominance.

No, he wasn’t different, not truly. He was still the same person—his core beliefs, his sense of purpose, his need to protect those who stood with him. That part of him hadn’t changed. But what had changed was his willingness to do whatever it took to ensure his survival and the survival of those who swore themselves to him. If that meant being vicious, he would be vicious. If that meant being ruthless, he would be ruthless. He would not let sentimentality be his downfall.

"When I unlock my class," Klarion said, his voice steady, "when I take that power and wield it as my own—I will not hesitate. I won’t wait for them to make the next move. I’ll strike first. Hard. And it will start with Chadwick who will be dead before the year is out.”

Solivair’s gaze narrowed, his fingers tracing the edge of his coat, but his face had returned to being impassive, likely to cover his reactions to his words. Even still, based on how fast those fingers were now moving, Klarion could tell that the old Vileborn was intrigued, waiting to hear how far Klarion’s resolve truly stretched.

“And after Scion Copperhand, how do you plan to make them regret coming after you?” Solivair finally asked, an unmistakable curiosity in his voice now. "How will you turn the tables on them?”

Klarion took a slow breath, his fingers drifting down to check straps one last time, the metal creaking under his grip. He could feel the weight of his resolve, the certainty that had settled in him like a core of steel. He looked Solivair directly in the eyes, his voice colder, but no less determined.

“I’ll play their game better than they can,” Klarion said, his voice sharp and deliberate. “And when I do, I’ll rip the ground out from under them. I won’t wait for an opening—I’ll carve one into their flesh. I’ll destroy what’s theirs, piece by piece. Their power. Their influence. Their allies. And at the same time, I’ll build my own strength. I’ll make them regret every move they made against me.”

Solivair watched him in silence, his expression still the same as before, but now there was a look of approval in his eyes. Solivair’s lips curled into a thin, approving smile. The Vileborn man nodded, his approval for what Klarion had said clear.

"Good," Solivair murmured, his voice steady. "That’s what I needed to hear. A scion who knows that survival is not enough. It’s about domination. And you’re starting to understand that."

With the conversation that he wanted to have done, Solivair quickly updated Klarion on the progress of repairing the manor, after which he ended with a request that he return with more gold if at all possible to continue the efforts they were making to get Blacksword Manor back in order.

Once the Vileborn had left, Klarion threw on his new heavy cloak and grabbed the heavy pouch of coins Solivair had given to him, securing it as best he could. Then, his gaze fell on the greatsword resting near the weapon racks—Rolfun’s parting gift. He lifted the massive blade, testing its weight more out of habit than anything. He then grabbed his harness for it and left his bedroom, going to the front of the manor.

Hatsune was already there, standing tall in her armor. Her silver-tipped ears twitched slightly, sensing his approach before she even turned to look at him. She was already armed, her own sword resting at her hip.

Klarion stopped in front of her and held out the other cloak. "Wear this," he said. "Solivair suggested we keep a low profile outside the Academy."

Hatsune took the cloak without argument, inspecting the material briefly before securing it around her shoulders. It was well-made, durable—practical for travel. Klarion then handed her the greatsword.

"Hold onto this for me until we leave the campus.”

“Of course,” Hatsune nodded, taking the weapon and harness from his hand to equip it herself for now.

With that, Klarion led them outside, where Valdre and Redrek, alongside their bodyguards, were clearly beginning to become impatient to be off. Seeing that Klarion and Hatsune were finally ready, they started walking without another word.

The path finally set, Klarion couldn’t wait to see the Expeditionary Hall.

Chapter 104 - Dreadborne Harbinger

Klarion sat slightly uncomfortably in one of the new high-backed chairs that someone — probably Margaret — had placed in the newly refurbished parlor room within Blacksword Manor. It’s not that the chair was even that uncomfortable. In fact, it was likely the softest chair he had sat in since leaving Earth. No, the problem was that he was itching to get started on unlocking his Essences and gathering the resources necessary to unlock his class. But he knew he needed to talk with his friends first to get their input on his plan. Which is why he just finished telling his two fellow scions about Professor Thrain’s advice.

Across from him, Valdre lounged in his own chair in a way that said he was quite enjoying it, though he did have a thoughtful expression on his face to show that he was considering what he had said. Redrek, in contrast, leaned forward, his red-tinted skin and the harsh angles of his hobgoblin lineage giving him a far more grounded presence. He had one clawed hand resting on the arm of his chair, his expression serious.

“So, let me get this straight,” Redrek said, rubbing his chin. “You actually had a professor tell you not to go to class?” His sharp teeth showed something between amusement and incredulity. “Damn, I think that might be a first.”

Klarion shook his head. "It wasn’t exactly an encouragement to slack off. Professor Thrain specifically said that if I’m serious about unlocking my class, then I need to stop wasting time and dedicate myself to it fully."

Valdre let out a low grunt of agreement. Or perhaps it was a grunt of satisfaction at the comfort of the chair. “That’s… heavy advice. But he’s not wrong.”

Klarion turned his gaze to Valdre, frowning at the studious elf’s complete agreement with the professor’s advice. He had expected him to disagree a bit more. “You agree with him?”

Valdre gave a slow shrug. “With the deadline imposed by the Noble’s Agreement with Chadwick, you’re essentially behind at the moment, Klarion. Not by your own fault, of course, but because of everything stacked against you since arriving here. If ignore the professor’s advice, trying to balance everything—combat training, academic lectures, noble etiquette, and unlocking your class—you might well end up failing at all of them.”

Redrek nodded in agreement at the other scion’s words. “Essences don’t just unlock themselves. And the materials you need? They’re not just lying around. The process to attain both takes time, effort, and, let’s be honest, a good bit of luck.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have the luxury of waiting until the Festival of the Dawn to start. If you want to stand a chance, you need to start now."

Klarion drummed his fingers against the armrest, his mind racing. He had expected resistance, or at least a warning against throwing himself entirely into one pursuit. Instead, both of them agreed with Professor Thrain’s assessment. Thankfully, that was in line with how he was thinking about it.

“I was thinking about listening to the professor, I just wanted your advice before fully committing to it,” Klarion admitted. “I asked you both here because I trust you, and I need to know what you think—really think."

Valdre shifted in his chair, reaching up one hand to begin rubbing his temple before shaking his head. "Right or wrong doesn’t matter in a situation like this. What matters is whether or not it’s necessary. Based on everything you’ve told us, my opinion is this: If you don’t do this, you won’t unlock your class in time, and if that happens… you won’t survive the duel with Chadwick.”

Redrek grunted. “I still can’t believe you entered into a Noble’s Agreement with Copperhand. I know you did it to buy time, but now that duel is hanging over your head like a damn executioner’s axe.”

“It was the only way to get uninterrupted time," Klarion said, his voice hard. "If I hadn’t, I’d be dodging challenges and provocations every week. This way, they have to leave me alone. At least, until the Festival."

“Until the Festival,” Valdre echoed. “Which means you have that long to become something they can’t kill.”

Valdre chuckled, shaking his head. “A dangerous gamble, Klarion. But not a foolish one.” His fingers traced the rim of the cup that had been left before him by one of Klarion’s maids. “Still, unlocking Might and Fire in such a short time… and finding the right materials to unlock your class… That is still no small feat, even without interference from Copperhand and his sycophants.”

Klarion nodded. “Which is why I need to start immediately.”

At Klarion’s determination, Valdre and Redrek shared a look before the half-frost elf turned back to him. “Well, Professor Thrain’s advice makes one thing clear—our time is short. If we are going to want to stand with you — as your allies and friends — that means we need to claim our Essences and Classes as soon as possible as well.”

Redrek leaned against the table, his expression tempered by a rare seriousness. “It’s a good thing we both have already been thinking over Essences and classes that align with our strengths. Unfortunately, that means we won’t be able to go along with you in your pursuit of the Essences of Might and Fire.”

“So you’re both going off on your own?” Klarion asked, having already somewhat expected that.

“Temporarily,” Valdre clarified. “I need to find a place where Ice Essence is said to manifest naturally, since that will likely make it easier to unlock it myself.”

“And I,” Redrek chimed in, “need to immerse myself in a place where the lines between shadow and reality blur. There are supposedly places where the darkness is practically alive. If I want to claim the class I want, I need to find a place like that to gain a Shadow Essence.”

“That makes sense to me, on both counts. I just wish we had enough time to help each other more fully,” Klarion said somewhat regretfully. “But as things stand, I think it is best that I head over to check the Central Archives for any assignments that align with what I need.”

Redrek scoffed before he realized Klarion was serious. “The Central Archives? Why would you need to go there? That’s where the bookworms go to play with parchment and professors get scions to complete tasks they’re too lazy to do themselves. Even if they reward Coins and Seals, those won’t be useful for you in your efforts to unlock Essences and your class. If you want real assignments that will help, you should go to Expeditionary Hall instead. The Mission Boards there will actually give you something worthwhile.”

Klarion raised an eyebrow. This was the second time he had heard of an alternative to the Central Archives for tracking down the materials he needed. “Professor Stormcloak mentioned that to me as well, but I haven’t been to the Expeditionary Hall yet to look at the Mission Boards.”

Valdre and Redrek exchanged a glance, though this time it was a look of shared exasperation.

“You’ve not been to the Expeditionary Hall yet?” Valdre asked, his brows furrowed. “I thought you would have at least gone to look into it, since it’s where scions go for real work. You know, the kind that actually gets you out of the Imperial Academy into the fortress city of Bastion and beyond.”

Klarion leaned forward, frowning. “Wait, there’s a city outside the Imperial Academy?”

Now it was Redrek’s turn to blink in surprise. “Of course. Where did you think all the supplies, workers, and trade came from? You don’t think the Academy just conjures everything into existence, do you?”

Klarion opened his mouth, then shut it. He had never questioned it. Everything he needed he had been able to find without looking too hard. He had been so consumed by his studies, his training, and the constant concern of surviving each day that he had never considered if there was anything beyond the Academy’s walls. Of course, there would be something else beyond the Imperial Academy.

Redrek let out a deep chuckle at the slowly dawning look of comprehension on Klarion’s face. “You mean to tell me you’ve been here all this time and never once explored beyond the Academy grounds?”

Klarion's face flushed slightly, a mix of embarrassment in the midst of the realization washing over him. "Well… I’ve been a bit preoccupied. You know, with classes, figuring out the Essences I need to unlock, trying to figure out… everything." He gestured vaguely, his hand encompassing the room, then the implied expanse of everything new he had just learned about. "It’s been one thing after another, really. From the moment I arrived, it’s been a whirlwind. I’ve been so focused on just keeping my head above water that I never even considered… going anywhere else. I just assumed the Imperial Academy was it, and for getting the Essences and class I wanted, the Archives were the place to go, you know? It never even occurred to me there was another option.”

“That’s because you’ve been too focused on the Academy itself,” Valdre said, shaking his head. He looked to Redrek, but the hobgoblin waved him on, so the half-elf turned his attention back to Klarion. “Bastion is the city — the fortress-city, really —that surrounds the Imperial Academy. It is layered with walls upon walls, each one more imposing than the last, all constructed to shield the Academy from the dangers lurking within the rest of the pocket plane.”

Valdre then spread his hands wide, as if to encompass the enormity of Bastion itself. “At its core, it houses the estates of a number of noble families assigned as caretakers for the pocket plane and Bastion itself. Their influence is woven into the fabric of the city, and a significant part of what lies beyond the Imperial Academy lies within their purview. But beyond that? The outer rings are filled with merchants, artisans, and the countless others who exist to serve them and the residents of the Imperial Academy itself.”

Redrek at this point chimed in, adding his thoughts. “Bastion is not just a fortress city—it’s a testament to the power of our Empire. It is where commerce thrives, where rare materials are refined, where alchemists and enchanters ply their craft, and where the political games of scions just emerging from the protective embraces of their familial Houses play out in the shadows.” His eyes gleamed with something sharp as he stared hard at Klarion. “But more than that, it is opportunity. A chance for those not born to noble blood —or those still fresh to it, like my family — to carve out a place for themselves.”

“Though still lacking compared to the resources and support provided to us here, in the Imperial Academy, Bastion is still one of the greatest paths to power in the Empire,” Valdre continued when the hobgoblin briefly turned his thoughts inward. “Outside the pocket plane, a commoner could live a dozen lifetimes and never hold wealth or status beyond what they were born into. Here? Here, the strong rise. The cunning thrive.”

Redrek grunted, finally stirring from his thoughts. “And the foolish are devoured.”

“So, much like the Imperial Academy itself, it’s a potential source of power and wealth, but also dangerous to the unwary?” Klarion asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Yes. Think of Bastion as... a pressure cooker," Valdre began, shifting in his chair as he worked to find the words. "It's this pocket plane, see? And it's where anyone in our corner of the Empire might be sent if they have a spark of potential, regardless of their position or background. Humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—anyone can potentially get access. It's a chance, an escape for a lot of them, because the Empire... well, it's got its rigid ways. Inside Bastion, though? It's different. It's a free-for-all. You don't get handed status; you take it. A blacksmith can become a legend by forging the best weapons, an alchemist can brew potions that'll bring even the weakest individual power, and a merchant can strike it rich trading in stuff you can't find anywhere else. It's all about skill, ambition, and how tough you are.”

"But it all comes back to the Imperial Academy…” Klarion said as the pieces clicked together in his mind. "Everything, everything, still comes back to the Academy and its Scions, right? The merchants? They're angling for contracts with noble houses, which means dealing with Scions. The crafters? They're making gear for future nobles and Imperial officers, which, again, means Scions. The taverns and other sources of entertainment? They're all catering to students who need a break from classes and training.” His eyes widened as a final piece clicked into place. “They know that if they impress a Scion and get into their service, they're set for life. It's like the Academy's the heart of the whole damn place, pumping life into everything, even when people are trying to escape the Empire's normal rules…”

“Exactly.”

As Valdre and Redrek nodded in agreement, Klarion leaned back in his chair, staring at the table as he worked to process everything. A city—Bastion City—right outside the Imperial Academy, vast enough to rival the Academy itself. He could practically kick himself for not having considered it already. Everything he had needed had been provided—food, weapons, training halls, libraries—but he had never thought to ask where it all came from.  But now that Valdre and Redrek had said it outright, it seemed absurd that he had never considered it.

Klarion clenched his jaw, annoyance flickering through him. He had begun to feel a little pride about how he was becoming steadily more aware of his surroundings, and of moving from the defensive to the offensive against Chadwick and his other enemies.

Valdre tapped a long finger against the table, watching him. “I can see the wheels turning. Don’t take it too hard, Klarion. The Academy keeps its scions busy. I’d wager there are still a good number of first-years that haven’t yet learned about Bastion.”

While Klarion appreciated his friend saying so, it didn’t help with the self-recrimination he was feeling. “That doesn’t make it any less of a mistake on my part.”

“Perhaps,” Valdre said, conceding the point. “But now you know, and that’s what matters.”

“Alright, and how do these Mission Boards and the Expeditionary Hall play into things?”

“The Mission Boards, and the Expeditionary Hall in which they lie, is the nexus of Bastion's power. It's not some quiet library; it's a storm's eye. It's where deals are struck, where lives are wagered, where fortunes are made and lost. It's the central hub of the pocket plane where opportunities are offered and accepted. Tasks that will test your skill, your courage, and your very limits. Tasks that will, ultimately, shape who you become before you graduate from this place."

“I’ve been there once already, and it is not just the Academy throwing out tasks," Redrek added, bringing Klarion’s attention back to him. “The residents of Bastion, the nobles, merchants, the artisans, everyone including the… less reputable elements, they all post missions. They need things done, things the Academy doesn't concern itself with. And most of those missions go beyond Bastion itself.”

“Beyond Bastion?”

“Yes,” the hobgoblin nodded, his expression a mix of excitement and fear. “Most every mission I saw was not one able to be completed in Bastion itself.”

“Where did they have to be completed, then?”

“The Savage Wilds.”

Chapter 103 - Dreadborne Harbinger

He should have listened to Professor Thrain.

Klarion sat stiffly in his chair, jaw clenched as he stared down at the plate before him. The meal, an artful arrangement of roasted venison, seasoned root vegetables, and a delicate drizzle of sauce, should have been a feast for his senses. His fingers twitched against the fine silverware, the polished handles feeling foreign in his grip. Across from him, the assistant assigned to his table by Professor Vale let out an exasperated sigh.

“Scion Blacksword, for the third time, you do not use the fish knife for venison,” the assistant said, barely attempting to conceal his irritation anymore. The man made obvious glances at the array of utensils before Klarion, as if personally offended by the choices he had been making since he had joined him for the practice meal. Finally, frustration bleeding through a bit more, he pointed, “That is the main course knife. The one to your right. No, your other right.”

Klarion inhaled sharply through his nose and reached for the proper knife, trying to ignore the slight tremor of frustration in his hand. The cutlery gleamed in the warm light of the chandeliers above, mocking him with its sheer number. A fork for salad, another for fish, yet another for the main course. Knives of different shapes and sizes. Spoons that served various purposes he could barely keep track of. It was beyond maddening.

The assistant pursed his lips as Klarion adjusted his grip. “You’re holding it like a commoner gutting a boar in the woods. The blade is angled incorrectly. Your posture is slipping as well. Straighten your back.”

Klarion resisted the urge to angle the knife at the man and instead forced his body into the rigid posture expected of him. His hunger had long since faded, replaced by irritation that only grew with each correction that pompous man gave him. He wanted this class to end. Desperately. It was the last one of the week, and once it was over, he could finally turn his attention to what actually mattered—unlocking his class so he could start preparing for the inevitable duel with Chadwick.

While the assistant chastised him for his latest mistake, Klarion turned his attention to what he would need to do between today and tomorrow. Perhaps the most important thing on his mind was how he would need to meet with Valdre and Redrek. The possibility they might have some ideas or thoughts on what he should do was something he didn’t want to miss. Once he had spoken with them, he would officially start skipping classes and begin searching for the materials and Essences he needed. Professor Thrain’s advice had been clear—unlocking his class mattered far more than sitting through another week of these lessons, and, after this mindnumbing hour in Etiquette and Courtly Manners, Klarion was inclined to agree.

Another, deeper sigh from the assistant finally dragged him from his thoughts. “You are butchering the venison, Scion Blacksword. That is a precision cut of meat, not a battlefield ration. Small, deliberate slices.”

Klarion fought the urge to give a sarcastic response. Swallowing the unflattering words, he adjusted his grip once more and worked at slicing it as carefully as he could manage. The assistant still looked unimpressed, but at least he didn’t offer another damned critique. Klarion lifted the bite to his mouth, looking forward to trying the delicious-smelling piece of meat.

Only for the man to clear his throat sharply.

“Pause.”

Klarion set the fork back down, not bothering to hide his irritation anymore. It rolled off the main like water off a duck’s back.

“You have not properly dabbed your lips with the napkin before taking another bite,” the assistant said, nodding toward the neatly folded cloth beside his plate.

Klarion snatched up the napkin, smashing it against his lips. Not that there was anything to clean up, as he hadn’t even taken a bite yet. His face practically polished under the pressure of rubbing his napkin across his face, Klarion slammed it back down into his lap. At least he knew that from growing up with his family on Earth.

Satisfied, the assistant nodded. “Proceed.”

Klarion finally took the bite, chewing slowly. The flavor almost made the entire ordeal worth it. The venison was perfectly cooked, the flavors rich and layered. But he had swallowed it all too soon. Now he would have to go through the entire process again, only this time he was sure the assistant would find other things to correct him on. How could he enjoy a meal when every small action was scrutinized, every slight mistake pointed out with an air of superiority?

It was at that point that Klarion thought he had an epiphany.

This class wasn’t about dining—it was about control. About shaping nobles into creatures of refinement, into people who lived and breathed etiquette as naturally as they did the air.

Too bad Klarion had no patience for it.

The delicate clink of fine porcelain and polished silver filled the air as the class continued its grueling ordeal of refinement. He forced the frustration he was feeling down into cold resignation. Part of him knew he would have to master these things eventually, but for right now, with unlocking Essences and his class looming before him, it was hard to care. In the face of all that, it didn’t matter if he got this meal right—especially because he had the suspicion he couldn’t. If not the wrong cutlery, then the wrong angle, or the wrong timing. The rules seemed endless, a labyrinth of decorum meant to strangle any enjoyment from something as simple as a meal. And he knew, he knew, the assistant assigned to him was taking devilish delight in pointing each and every error out. The only bright spot to the whole class so far was how Chadwick and his sycophants had studiously ignored his existence.

And yet, despite how miserable he felt, he wasn’t the one who broke first.

A loud clang rang through the classroom-turned dining room, followed immediately by the scraping of a chair as someone abruptly pushed themselves back from their table.

“Are you kidding me?!”

The outburst froze the room. Heads turned. Instructions and corrections died off. Even Klarion, who had mostly resigned himself to the situation, glanced over in mild curiosity to see what was going on.

A human scion a few tables away stood rigidly over the assistant assigned to him, his face flushed in anger. He held a spoon in his hand—the wrong one, apparently, because the assistant at his table looked both scandalized and furious in turn. Another spoon lay on the floor beside him, though whether it had fallen there or been thrown down, Klarion couldn’t tell.

Professor Vale, who had been moving about the room with his usual air of refined authority, turned his head at the disturbance. His attention focused first on the fallen spoon and then on the flustered scion. The scion did not seem to notice or care. He threw his arms wide, addressing not just his assistant but the entire class.

“What is the point of all this?” he demanded, voice still raised in frustration. “Blood and Ash! Why does it matter which damn spoon I use for soup?” He shook the offending piece of silverware he held in his hand as if daring someone to justify its existence. “This one, that one, the other one—they all do the same thing! Who decided that one spoon is more correct than another?”

A hushed murmur swept through the room in response to his words.  Some scions watched with wide eyes, scandalized by his outburst. Others exchanged glances, clearly sharing his frustration but lacking the boldness—or foolishness—to say anything aloud. Klarion saw nearly immediately, however, that it was only the scions speaking. Every assistant that the professor brought in for the class dining practice sat silent and watched.

The assistant at the angry scion’s table had gone pale with horror, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Before he could manage a response, Professor Vale’s voice cut through the silence.

“Scion Woodcrest.”

Scion Woodcrest stiffened, some of his defiance faltering at the professor’s tone. His hand lowered slightly, but he did not yet back down.

“Professor Vale,” he acknowledged, his voice more even but still tense with the frustration he had just been expressing.

Professor Vale strode toward him with measured, deliberate steps. He did not hurry, nor did he look particularly angry. If anything, the professor’s expression remained the same—cool, controlled, and vaguely disapproving.

If the professor was like some of the people Klarion had grown up with, however, that could very well be far worse than outright rage.

As he approached, Professor Vale reached down and retrieved the fallen spoon from the floor. He held it between his fingers, considering it for a moment before lifting his gaze back to the scion who had caused it to languish on the floor.

“You asked a question, and so I shall answer.” His voice was steady, but more than one scion flinched. “What is the point of this? Why does it matter which spoon you use? Why do we adhere to these customs, these rules of etiquette?”

Scion Woodcrest didn’t respond, but he did nod once.

Professor Vale lifted the spoon slightly. “You see this as nothing more than an eating utensil. A trivial distinction. But that is because you are thinking like a soldier, not a noble.” His dark eyes sharpened. “Tell me, Scion Woodcrest—what happens when you sit at a banquet with high-ranking officials, where every gesture, every action is an unspoken language? What happens when you reach for the wrong utensil and insult a foreign dignitary whose people hold such things as sacrosanct?”

Scion Woodcrest hesitated and ultimately chose not to respond. To be fair to the man, however, Klarion didn’t think any scion in the room would have been able to find the words to protest what the professor was saying.

Professor Vale took a step closer into the silence of the scion’s lack of response. “What happens should you be invited to dine with the Emperor himself, and your lack of refinement brands you as unworthy before you even speak?”

By the last word, every scion in the room was keenly aware of the anger beneath Professor Vale’s words. A few of them shifted in their seats, backs stiffening as if preparing for rebuke. Others, more composed, simply lowered their eyes to their still mostly full plates, unwilling to risk meeting the professor’s now angry stare.

“Every detail matters,” Vale continued, his voice carrying across the room. “Etiquette is a weapon. The ability to navigate the social battlefield is just as critical as any skill with a blade. You may not think much of which spoon you use, but to those who wield power, these distinctions are everything. The Empire does not suffer those who cannot rise to its expectations.”

His point delivered, and Scion Woodcrest abruptly sitting — perhaps more falling — back into his chair, the professor turned his attention to the rest of the class, his presence now a towering force despite his composed demeanor. As he did so, he turned the spoon he held between his fingers, treating it as if it were an artifact of great consequence.

“Your frustration is understandable,” he said, his voice cutting across the room. “Shortsighted and foolish, but understandable. Many have thought as you do. That these rules are trivial. That etiquette is a game played by those with nothing better to do. That these distinctions—between one spoon and another—are meaningless.”

Professor Vale strode back to the front of the room, tapping the spoon he still held lightly against his palm.

“Allow me to tell you a story,” he said, coming to a halt where the entire class could see him.  “Some years ago, there was a noble of considerable standing: Lord Hadrian Ciermont of House Ciermont. His lineage stretched back over five centuries, a family with an unblemished record of service to the Empire. Loyal, respected, and unwavering in their duty. One evening, Lord Ciermont attended a banquet, seated beside another noble—a man named Lord Marcius Vaelor of House Vaelor. Both were men of influence, but Lord Vaelor was known for his cunning, his ability to navigate the treacherous waters of courtly life with an ease that others envied.”

Professor Vale’s fingers closed around the spoon, and though his next words were softer, every single scion heard them.

“It was during the second course that it happened. Lord Ciermont, in a moment of absentmindedness, reached for the wrong spoon. The error was small,” Professor Vale continued, spoon now spinning deftly between his fingers. “Perhaps to you, it would seem insignificant. But Lord Vaelor saw it for what it was—an opportunity. He paused, allowed just enough silence to settle before he spoke. And then, in front of the entire gathering, he remarked—loudly—on Lord Ciermont’s breach of etiquette.”

Scion Woodcrest, as if prompted by some tiny devil sitting on his shoulder, couldn’t help himself and asked loudly, “All over a spoon?”

“Yes,” Professor Vale said simply, though he did direct the scion a look that suggested that he better hold his tongue. “A spoon. But more than that, it was an insult delivered before witnesses. Where it could be interpreted as a calculated, public slight. And, as a result, Lord Ciermont, for all his years of loyal service, had no choice but to answer.”

He lifted the spoon in his hand slightly.

“The challenge was issued before the banquet was even finished. A duel to first blood—or so it was said.” Professor Vale’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. It had too many teeth for that. “But Lord Ciermont never left the field that night.”

“Lord Vaelor killed him?”

Professor Vale nodded at the question that came from somewhere else in the classroom. “Indeed. You see, Lord Vaelor had been waiting for such an opportunity. He needed a reason to remove Lord Ciermont—a justification that no one could contest. And Ciermont handed it to him on a silver platter. And so the duel was held at dawn the following day, and it was witnessed by lords and ladies, sealed in honor. When it was over, Lord Ciermont lay dead, and House Ciermont—after five hundred years of service—was left without an heir. Its holdings were soon dissolved, its banners lowered, its name spoken only in whispers as a cautionary tale of the dangers of court life in the Empire. And what punishment was handed down for this? Anyone care to offer a guess?”

The professor paused, giving the opportunity for any scion to venture a guess. Most simply stared at their plates harder, cowed under the lesson Professor Vale was seeking to teach them. Scion Woodcrest looked like he was going to speak, but perhaps that devil on his shoulder had moved on, because he ultimately closed his mouth.

“None.”

The word left Klarion’s mouth before he even realized he had spoken. The silence that followed made it clear that others had noticed too. He felt a flicker of surprise—not at the answer itself, which he believed to be correct, but at the fact that he had been the one to give it.

Professor Vale’s eyes snapped to him, appraising. For a brief moment, there was something unreadable in his expression. Perhaps it was acknowledgment. To Klarion’s further surprise, the professor gave him the smallest nod—so subtle that he almost missed it. It was gone in an instant.

“Indeed, Scion Blacksword. Because Lord Vaelor had been insulted, and he had found a justified reason to strike.”

The weight of those words settled over the room like a blade at one’s throat. Some students swallowed hard. Others sat stiffly, understanding at last the lesson Professor Vale had been trying to teach them.

It was never just about the spoon.

Without warning, Professor Vale moved.

A blur of motion—so fast it was almost imperceptible—before the thunk of metal embedding itself in wood rang through the chamber.

Scion Woodcrest flinched so violently that he almost fell from the chair he was sitting in. His hand had been resting on the table—mere inches from where the spoon was now embedded, its handle still quivering from the force of impact.

“That,” Professor Vale said, voice finally returning to what it had been, “is the spoon you should be using with that soup.”

Scion Woodcrest did the only thing he could do.

He nodded and pried the spoon free from the table, and proceeded to use it with the indicated soup.

The professor’s arms fell back to his sides, satisfied with the lesson he had taught, and returned to his measured stride through the room. “Now,” he said, as if nothing had happened, “return to your meals. I expect you all to have mastered fine dining prior to your final exam.”

Every scion present obeyed, and the room was soon filled again with the sound of silverware on dishes and low admonishments from assistants as their assigned scions continued to make errors. Though, perhaps, there were now a few fewer corrections than there had been before Scion Woodcrest’s outburst.

Klarion glanced at his own cutlery. He had been frustrated before—impatient for this class to end, eager to move on to more important matters. But now…

Now, he understood something else.

He would try.

He would not like it, nor would he ever enjoy it.

But he would not let himself be caught unprepared, either.

Not when Professor Vale had so well made his case that this was simply another battlefield he would be expected to fight on.

Just as he took up another knife, the assistant at his table cleared his throat pointedly.

“Scion Blacksword,” the man said, exasperation once again heavy in his voice, “that knife is not for this dish. You should be using the other one.”

Klarion did not even resist the urge this time.

It might have been the deepest sigh he had ever made.

But he did, slowly, deliberately, set the offending utensil down and pick up the correct one.

Update - 3/23/2025

Hey everyone!

I hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was pretty productive on the writing front, and I was really rolling with Dreadborne Harbinger. Chapters 101 and 102 came together nicely, and I was feeling good... until I hit Chapter 103. My initial version was falling a bit flat, and it wasn't conveying what I needed it to. Sometimes that happens, though I would like to say that is generally rare for me. As a result, I spent a good chunk of time trying to fix it, but I eventually decided to take a step back and rework it.

So, the bad news is, there won't be a third new chapter tonight. I'm really sorry about that!

The good news, however, is that I'm almost there with Chapter 103. I've got it much closer to where I want it in terms of it giving a bit more insight into the world of nobility in the Empire, and I'm confident it will be worth the wait. Plus, I've also made significant progress on Chapters 104, 105, and 106! This means that instead of waiting until next weekend for more content, you'll be getting all of these chapters dropping over the next few days.

Many thanks to all of you, both my long-time supporters and those who have recently joined the supporters of Dreadborne Harbinger. Your patience, understanding, and continued support mean the absolute world to me. I truly appreciate each and every one of you! Stay tuned for these new chapters over the next few days!

Chapter 102 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The sounds of scions and bodyguards gathering their things to leave the class still echoed in Klarion’s ears are he left the sparring lesson behind him. His muscles were still tense from the rigorous training, thankfully they were already starting to loosen as he followed in the direction Professor Thrain had gone. He had no idea what this was about, but clearly the professor wanted to speak with him away from the rest of the class.

Stepping back into the hallway from which they had previously entered the class, Klarion saw that the professor was moving slowly, and had not waited for Klarion to follow. Without a word, he rushed to catch up to Professor Thrain, Hatsune following close behind.

The professor led them toward a side hallway deeper in the Martial Hall than Klarion had yet gone. Unlike the grand entrances and wide corridors meant for students, this hallway was narrow, almost utilitarian, lined with thick stone walls and dimly lit torches that cast an orange glow. Not much farther and they started to come across sealed rooms with placards denoting what kinds of equipment, armor, or weapons were inside. It felt more like a fortress armory than part of the Academy.

As they walked, the professor spoke without looking back. “How close are you to your class?”

Klarion nearly lost a step, as out of all the potential questions, he had not expected that one. “Why are you asking?”

Professor Thrain snorted, the sound halfway between amusement and derision. He finally looked back over his shoulder at Klarion. “Campus talks. And the word is you entered into a binding Noble’s Agreement with Scion Copperhand. One in which you might have to leave campus or face a duel to the death.”

Klarion felt a small flash of irritation, though not at the professor. He had expected people to find out eventually, but the speed at which rumors traveled at the Academy was unsettling. It hadn’t even been a full week since that particular decision had been made.

Klarion rubbed the back of his neck, deciding to be truthful with the professor. “I’ve constructed the list of what I need to unlock a class, and I’m about ready to go in search of the materials. Why?”

Professor Thrain stopped in front of a reinforced door, one heavier than its neighbors, and turned fully to face them. His dark eyes studied Klarion with an expression that was difficult to read—part scrutiny, part something else.

“Let’s just say I’ve heard a bit about some rumors,” he said, voice low, “and I wanted to advise you to get a move on.”

Klarion’s brows furrowed. “I thought professors weren’t supposed to take sides.”

Professor Thrain’s lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We don’t. But that doesn’t prevent us from having opinions—or from giving out free advice, within the scope of very specific boundaries.”

To his side, Klarion felt more than saw Hatsune tilting her head slightly. He could practically feel how her green eyes sharpened with interest but she remained silent, letting Klarion take the lead.

“That’s a bit cryptic.” Klarion folded his arms, meeting the older man’s gaze. “You make it sound like I need to hurry.”

Without answering, the professor unlocked the door with a heavy iron key that he pulled from an inner pocket. He pushed the door open, revealing an armory. Weapons lined the walls—blades of various shapes and sizes, polearms, even a few weapons Klarion couldn’t immediately recognize. The space was lit by enchanted crystals that cast a steady, pale light over the racks of armor that rested on stands around the small room.

“Timing matters,” Thrain said as they both glanced around the room. “Some things can wait. This isn’t one of them.” He gestured for them to step inside.

Klarion did so, Hatsune right behind him, and the weight of the words settled over him. Whatever the professor said, Klarion got the sense already that this was about more than just casual advice. The air in the private armory was thick with the scent of oiled metal and aged leather. Klarion spared a brief glance at the impressive collection, but Professor Ardek Thrain’s voice pulled his attention back.

“You should know,” the professor said, stretching the words out, “there’s no required attendance in these first-year classes. You just have to unlock a class and pass the exams at the end of the year.”

Klarion blinked in surprise, his attention shifting fully to the professor as he was caught off guard by his words. No required attendance? That was the first time he had heard anything of the sort. Every instructor thus far had all but emphasized the rigor of their courses, the importance of absorbing every lesson, of mastering every topic before the exams at the end of the year. Why was Professor Thrain telling him about this?

Professor Thrain let out a sharp exhale at Klarion’s expression, almost a chuckle but devoid of humor. “You’re sharp, Blacksword. Strong, too. But neither strength nor wit will do you a damn bit of good if you’re walking around without a class while the rest of your peers start advancing. You think this place is ruthless now?” He let out a low scoff. “Wait until the gaps start forming. Until the ones who’ve unlocked their classes start testing themselves against the ones who haven’t. You’ll find out real quick where you stand then.”

Seeing he wasn’t quite getting through to Klarion, the professor unfolded his arms and took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough that the weight of his words pressed down heavier. “Listen to me, boy. You will unlock your class. You will do it before you return to class or my training field, before you step into another damn lecture hall, before you even think about keeping up with the rest of your lessons.” He held up a hand to prevent Klarion from interrupting him. “You might think you have everything sorted out, that you have enough time if you wait until the start of the Festival to start attempting to unlock your Essences and gathering the materials to unlock your class. But you need to listen to me when I say this: You need to get a move on. These things take longer than you expect sometimes, and my gut tells me you might need every spare minute.”

Klarion clenched his jaw, frustration boiling through. He respected Professor Thrain—and everything he had seen so far told him he was right to do so—but the professor didn’t understand just how far behind he was. Nor how new everything was to him after living his entire life on Earth. But he couldn’t tell him that.

“You don’t get it,” Klarion said, shaking his head. “I’ve been behind since the moment I stepped foot in this Academy. Half these other scions have had their paths set in stone for years. I’m still scrambling to put mine together.” His fingers dug into his palm. “If I drop everything to focus on unlocking Essences and the class I have chosen, what happens when I finally do it and realize I’ve fallen so far behind in my other lessons that I can never catch up?”

Professor Thrain’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze hardened, unyielding. “Falling behind in classes isn’t what will get you expelled,” Thrain responded patiently. “And if you do fall behind, you can always purchase private tutoring later. The Academy has an army of instructors and tutors where you can purchase anything from single lessons to years of help for Coins of Service.”

Klarion was at once relieved to know that was an option, and frustrated to know how much that might cost him. From what little he knew already, Coins of Service were a valuable resource, and not one easily acquired. He didn’t like the thought of relying on such things to keep up, but the professor’s words carried an unspoken warning. He wasn’t just advising Klarion to prioritize survival; he was hinting that the pressures and dangers surrounding him would only grow. And that the only way he would survive them is if he set everything else aside to get his Essences and class now.

Hatsune, standing slightly behind Klarion, flicked an ear but said nothing. She was watching Thrain carefully, her green eyes narrowing just slightly.

After a long pause to give Klarion time to think over what he had said, Thrain exhaled sharply and changed the subject. “Whether you take my advice is up to you, but while I have you here, I had something else I wanted to talk with you about. Do you have any armor yet?”

Klarion shook his head, happy to change the topic for now. “No, not yet.”

Professor Thrain nodded as if he had already anticipated the answer “Then let’s fix that.”

When the professor waved him over, Klarion followed Professor Thrain as the older man strode toward a side rack where older sets of armor were displayed. These were not the polished ornamental pieces that Klarion visualized nobles as favoring but suits that had seen real combat. The steel was dull with age, marred by the passage of time and battle. Some bore scratches, others dents, yet all remained sturdy, their craftsmanship unyielding. All were spare sets in storage, perhaps? Or maybe pieces for practice sessions that required sometime closer to live combat?

Professor Thrain stopped before a particular suit of field plate, its darkened steel holding the faintest sheen under the flickering torchlight. He ran a hand over the chest piece, inspecting the leather straps before nodding to himself. “This one should do.”

Klarion stepped forward, resting his palm against the cool metal as the professor gestured for him to take it. It was heavier than he expected, solid and unyielding beneath his touch. Perhaps it wasn’t made from just steel.

“This is for me?” Klarion asked with some confusion, glancing toward the professor.

“It’s one of the benefits of being a professor in the Martial Hall, that we can loan out equipment to first-year scions who we believe will be working to unlock their classes soon.” Professor Thrain nodded. “We’ll see if this fits, but even if it does you will have to bring it back after unlocking your class or pay for its replacement. Now, go ahead, try it on. It will fit over your uniform.”

Klarion hesitated only a moment before beginning to lift the armor from the stand. As he struggled to put the first pieces on, Hatsune stepped forward, her fingers deftly securing the buckles and adjusting the fit without a word. She moved with practiced efficiency, her sharp green eyes flicking over each plate as she tightened the straps. Klarion wasn’t sure if she had ever helped someone don armor before, but she worked quickly, each motion precise. He’d have to ask her later to help him practice the process.

As the last strap was secured, Klarion rolled his shoulders, adjusting to the weight. Unlike the decorative sets he had thought about in the past, this armor was meant for war. It bore no unnecessary embellishments, only function and purpose. It was heavy but it did not feel uncomfortable. Though that likely was the influence of his stats kicking in.

Professor Thrain stepped back, his keen gaze assessing Klarion in the newly fitted armor. After a long moment, he nodded. “Good fit. Field plate like this is built to take a beating. Should serve you well until you unlock your class.” The neutral look on the professor’s face faded to be replaced with one more grim as he waved them out of the room. “Think about what I said, but regardless if you heed my advice or not, you will not be welcome in my class until you have a class.”

Without another word, Professor Thrain quickly locked the door and turned on his heel, and strode away, deeper into the Martial Hall, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor.

Klarion watched Professor Thrain go, his mind turning over the man’s parting words. The armor was a gift, albeit one he would have to return or pay for after unlocking his class, but the more he thought about it, the more he valued the conversation they had more. Professor Thrain’s words echoed in his mind, resonating with something deep inside him. The professor had not spoken them lightly, nor was he the kind of man to waste time on empty advice. He had seen something in Klarion—potential, perhaps, or maybe just the raw hunger to improve. Whatever the case, his message was clear.

Klarion exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders to test the weight of his new armor. The fit was near perfect, the craftsmanship solid. It would serve him well in the days to come. Looks like he would be moving up his timeline to work on claiming the Essences that would allow him to unlock his class. Reading between the lines of what the professor had said, he would likely not wait any longer than his Etiquette and Courtly Manners class the next day.

Hatsune stepped closer. “If what the professor was hinting at is true, we should be extra careful, even with the Noble’s Agreement you made,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

He glanced at her, noting the tension in her stance, the way her ears flicked ever so slightly as she listened for threats that might not yet exist. Klarion adjusted one of the straps of his armor, securing it slightly more firmly before meeting her gaze. “We will be. Let’s get going.”

Satisfied, she gave a small nod, though the tightness in her expression did not fade. Together, they left the armory behind, eventually emerging into the cool air outside the Martial Hall. Most of the scions that had been in his class had already departed with their bodyguards, but some few yet lingered. None approached them, however.

As they walked, Klarion let his thoughts settle into order. Professor Thrain’s advice wasn’t something he could afford to ignore, but neither could he act recklessly.

Tomorrow’s class, Etiquette and Courtly Manners, was one class that he thought would be unavoidable. He likely could skip it, but given how the professor had initially treated him, he didn’t want it to get back to the man that he had attended all his other classes this week and then decided to skip out on his. Even if he wished he could do so. No, if he skipped without a reasonable excuse, it would just draw attention he didn’t want. So he would attend that class tomorrow, play the part expected of him, and then move forward with his plans as soon as it was over.

That reminded him: He needed to speak with Redrek and Valdre. Both of them were strong in their own ways, and both had become friends he trusted. Redrek, with his pragmatism, would understand the necessity of this move. Valdre would likely agree as well, and while the half-frost elf might not approve of skipping classes, he wouldn’t try to stop him either. If anything, Valdre might even offer insights into the best ways to acquire what Klarion needed. Once he was done speaking with them, he would focus only on working to unlock the two Essences and then his class.

Hatsune must have noticed the shift in his expression as he made up his mind because she spoke again, softer this time. “You’ve decided, then?”

“You know me too well,” he said with a smile at the Leporine as they continued making their way back to Blacksword Manor.

She sighed, crossing her arms. “And I also know that when you set your mind to something, nothing short of death will stop you. So if we’re doing this, we do it right. No reckless fights. No unnecessary risks.”

“I never take unnecessary risks,” he said, though he knew it was a lie and she wouldn’t believe it.

Her ears flicked in exasperation, but she didn’t rise to his bait.

They continued walking, the campus gradually becoming more quiet around them, most students having gone off to get a meal or to socialize with friends for the rest of the day. Despite the stillness, Klarion felt more alive than he had in days. He was no longer just reacting to the pressures placed upon him—he was making his own decisions, seizing control of his future rather than waiting for it to be dictated by others.

Tomorrow, he would play his role within the academy. He would endure Etiquette and Manners, after which he would meet with Redrek and Valdre, solidify his next steps, and then commit to what he needed to do to get the class he wanted. And once he did, no one—not Chadwick, nor the other scions arrayed against—would be able to stand in his way.

Chapter 101 - Dreadborne Harbinger

When Klarion and Hatsune arrived for Combat Studies, Professor Thrain already stood with a long wooden pole in hand at the center of the class of scions, his eyes raking over the gathered students like a blade scraping across steel. Klarion couldn’t guess what the professor was thinking, but if his expression was anything to go by, the lesson today was going to be intense. Perhaps more so than the first class.

After they selected their practice weapons, Klarion went about finding space off to the side for himself and Hatsune to stand, when he noticed that most of the gathered scions and bodyguards weren’t paying that much attention to the professor. Not that he could blame them, as this time Professor Thrain was not alone.

Following the gaze of his nearest neighbors, Klarion looked over to see that, scattered throughout the training hall, there stood several assistants that the professor had apparently brought along for the class. To a one, they were human men that Klarion quickly assumed to be veteran warriors, each wielding a long wooden pole similar to the professor’s own. They were men of solid build, their expressions as hard and unyielding as the wooden weapons they carried. Some bore the scars of past battles, their presence a silent testament to the kind of experience no textbook could impart. All carried themselves with the disciplined precision of former legionnaires.

Klarion’s curiosity sharpened, as the professor did not strike him as one who would waste time on theatrics.

Professor Thrain let the unease settle a few minutes longer as the remaining stragglers trickled into class. When he finally spoke, his grizzled voice cut through the low whispers.

“Assume sparring positioning, scions and bodyguards.” He rolled his shoulders to loosen them, the casual motion somehow carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. “Today’s lesson is simple—combat awareness.”

The professor lifted his pole and tapped it lightly against his open palm. “While you spar, my assistants and I will be moving through the hall. We will strike at random. If one of us lands a hit on you, you owe me a lap.” A slow, sharp grin spread across his face. “If you get hit twice, you owe me two. And so on. Simple enough, isn’t it?”

The air in the hall grew heavier, tension crackling like a drawn bowstring, and while no scion protested, Klarion did see more than a handful of frowns. Apparently, a good number of his classmates were not looking forward to the lesson. Klarion’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered Professor Thrain’s challenge. Hopefully, his stats would give him an advantage in practicing combat awareness.

“Let me be clear,” Thrain continued, pacing now, his steps slow and deliberate. “I don’t care if you’re fighting the best duel of your life—if you don’t see me coming, you lose.” He flicked his pole toward one of the assistants, a burly man with a shaved head. “And if one of my assistants gets you instead? You still lose.”

The assistant in question gave a vicious smile and gave his pole a testing spin. The man had the look of someone who was going to enjoy his work — probably with harder blows than necessary. A few scions stiffened, some exchanging uneasy glances with their bodyguards.

Thrain’s grin widened, dark amusement flashing in his gaze. “Well? What are you waiting for?” He jabbed his pole against the stone floor with a sharp crack. “Get to work.”

As the scions and bodyguards surrounding them began sparring, Hatsune stepped closer to him, silver-tipped ears twitching as she assessed the challenge. She looked at him with the faintest hint of amusement. “This should be fun,” she murmured.

Klarion exhaled, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. “Perhaps for you. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a few laps today.”

After making sure no one else was too close, and double-checking the professor nor his assistants were too close yet, Klarion raised his greatsword in one of the guard positions Rolfun had taught him. In response to Klarion raising his sword, Hatsune slid into a ready stance, her weight balanced perfectly, her movements fluid as ever. Klarion shifted on the balls of his feet, trying to keep his focus on Hatsune, but not to the point he forgot everything else around him. He knew he had improved since beginning to learn how to wield the greatsword in his first sparring sessions with Rolfun, but he still felt he was slower, and less precise, than he should be. If he wanted to win—not just against Hatsune, but against all the enemies gathering against him—he had to push himself further.

"Come at me," Hatsune said, voice even. "And try not to get poked while you're at it."

Barely had the Leporine finished speaking when Klarion lunged forward, aiming a strike at her midsection. She pivoted effortlessly, his practice greatsword thrusting through empty air. Her counter came swift and from an unexpected direction—a quick kick aimed at his ribs. He barely blocked in time, his forearm stinging from the impact.

"You're still too focused on me," she noted, resetting her stance. "You need to pay attention.”

Stepping backward, Klarion followed Hatsune’s advice to take a quick look around for the professor and his assistants. Unsurprisingly, Professor Thrain moved like a predator through the Martial Hall, his wooden pole held loosely in one hand, tapping against his palm with an idle rhythm. His steps were slow, measured—no wasted movement, no hurry. He didn’t need to be fast.

Even in that brief glance, Klarion could tell that more than a few of his fellow scions were too focused on their own fights. Pairs clashed across the stone floor, scions and their bodyguards locked in fierce exchanges, their breath coming heavy with exertion. And through them, Thrain prowled. As Klarion watched, the professor’s pole lashed out without warning at an angle behind him. A sharp crack against an unwary scion’s shoulder rang out. It was soon followed by a sudden jab to another distracted scion’s ribs.

“Take your laps.”

The professor didn’t linger after landing a hit. There was no need. His victims staggered back, realization dawning too late, and then they ran.

Some tried to watch him. Tried to track his movements while keeping their focus on their sparring partner. For too many, it rarely helped. If they hesitated, their bodyguard punished them for it. If they committed too much to their fight, the poles wielded by Thrain or his assistants found them instead. The ones who managed to dodge him once—rare as they were—only bought themselves a few minutes. Either the professor or his assistants always circled back around within.

Klarion returned his attention to Hatsune, but even as he exchanged blows with Hatsune, even as he ducked and countered and fought to keep up with her relentless attacks, he tried to keep an eye out for anyone wielding a wooden pole.

Hatsune swung her sword in a feint, and Klarion barely avoided a sharp knee to his side from Hatsune before stepping back, trying to steal a glance around him when he realized he couldn’t see the professor anywhere.

“Sloppy,” Hatsune chided, closing the distance in an instant with her practice sword extended.

Klarion raised his greatsword just in time to block a rapid flurry of strikes, but the impacts still drove him back a step. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t afford to lose focus on Hatsune, but he also couldn’t let his awareness of his surroundings slip either.

“Better,” she said with a slight smile, then lunged without changing expression.

A pole whistled through the air nearby, and Klarion blocked Hatsune’s strike while twisting instinctively. He moved just enough to let the strike of the wooden pole pass a hair’s breadth from his ribs.

Professor Thrain let out a low chuckle from behind him, and Klarion quickly stepped to keep both him and Hatsune in his line of sight. “Not bad, Scion Blacksword.” His gravelly voice carried a note of approval, though it was tempered with something else. Amusement, perhaps. “At least a few of you lot know how to keep an eye on their surroundings.”

Klarion barely had a moment to feel a small sense of pride at the compliment before Hatsune moved.

His bodyguard’s foot hooked behind his ankle and, before he could react, Hatsune swept his legs out from under him, and gravity did the rest. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through his back and shoulders.

Hatsune loomed over him, the tip of her sword pointed down at his face, her expression gleeful at having beaten him. “Your awareness is improving,” she said lightly, “but don’t let the professor’s approval distract you.”

Thrain’s sharp grin widened. He tapped his pole against the ground, shaking his head. “She’s got the right of it. While you should feel some pride at my compliments, as they don’t come easily, if you don’t keep your head, you will quickly end up on your ass. Or dead.”

Klarion exhaled sharply, irritation flaring in his chest as he pushed himself back to his feet. He wasn’t frustrated at Hatsune, nor even at the professor, though. He should have known she’d exploit an opening like that. He should have been ready for it.

Thrain shifted slightly, planting his pole against the stone floor, studying Klarion with those sharp, assessing eyes. “Survival’s about balance, boy. You did well avoiding me, but you lost sight of your real fight.” He jerked his chin toward Hatsune. “And she reminded you why that’s a mistake.”

Klarion pushed himself up, wincing slightly as he rolled his shoulders. “Understood. I’ll do better.”

Thrain snorted. “We’ll see.” Then, without another word, he straightened, spun on his heel, and strode away—back into the swirling chaos of the sparring matches.

Klarion briefly watched as the professor drifted between pairs like a wraith, his pole striking with uncanny precision, his victims cursing as they were sent off running laps. Another scion yelped as the wooden tip thumped against their ribs.

“Lap.”

Similar calls came from other directions now, as the various assistants moved between the sparring pairs like the professor was. A different student, attempting to dodge, took a strike to the thigh instead.

“Two laps,” came the call.

Klarion exhaled, shaking off the remaining irritation he felt at himself. Without a word, Hatsune offered him the hilt of his practice greatsword, and he took it, resetting his stance.

The smack of training weapons against one another and the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground surrounded him as Klarion sank into an almost meditative state while sparring with Hatsune. His greatsword met her longsword in a flurry of swift exchanges—his strikes powerful and sweeping, hers quick and precise. Every step, every pivot, every clash was beginning to feel more instinctual, the rhythm of combat sharpening his focus.

For her part, Hatsune moved more and more like some sort of specter, her silver-tipped ears twitching at the smallest shift in the air. She was relentless, slipping past his defenses, forcing him to react, to adapt. Klarion countered with controlled power, leveraging his greater reach to keep her from closing in completely. Even then, however, he kept his awareness about him, making sure neither the professor nor one of his assistants were able to strike him with the poles they carried. He wasn’t sure how long it was that they sparred, but he was proud that he had been able to dodge six pole strikes.

A sharp crack echoed through the hall as Thrain slammed the wooden pole he had been using against the palm of his free hand, a sharp, percussive sound that cut through the din. The students hesitated, turning toward him, some startled, others visibly annoyed at the interruption.

“Enough!” Thrain barked. “Cease sparring and line up. Now.”

The scions and their bodyguards obeyed, though some did so with barely concealed irritation. Thrain ignored the rolling eyes and scattered sighs. Their attitudes meant nothing to him in the face of the need for them to excel in their training.

“While I am proud of a few of you, from what I have watched, there are still a good number of you who waste my time and your own with this farce of training. If you aren’t sure to whom I am referring, it is more than likely my words are meant for you.” Professor Thrain’s gaze swept the hall, pausing here and there on a scion to drive his anger home. “Your bodyguards hold back, while you prance around as if you're playing at war. But war is not a game, and you will learn that sooner than you think.”

The professor let the silence stretch uncomfortably before speaking again.

"When you leave this Academy, you will no longer be in the safety of these halls. You will not be fighting in controlled duels or training exercises where bruises or easily healed injuries are the worst consequence of failure. You will be on battlefields. You will be hunted by enemies who do not care for your titles or your pedigrees. You will watch men scream as they are cut down. You will feel the spray of blood on your face—yours, or someone else's."

Several students flinched at his words, and a young woman on the far side from Klarion gagged at the mention of blood, but Professor Thrain did not relent.

“You will know fear. It will crawl through your veins like ice. You will feel the red mist descend—the madness of battle, where men lose themselves to bloodlust, forgetting discipline, forgetting tactics, losing all reason. I have seen men who were considered 'elite' abandon their training in the face of that terror. I have seen commanders, noble-born and raised, piss themselves and try to run when the charge came. Do you think the enemy cared who their fathers were?”

Silence now hung in the air.

“Discipline and training are all that will keep you alive. Strength alone will not save you. Rank will not save you. It is your training supplemented by your will to stand firm, to master your fear, to fight even when your body screams for you to flee, that will decide if you live or die."

Klarion glanced around at those the professor had singled out earlier. A few of the bodyguards nodded, understanding his words. They had seen battle before. The scions, however, were a mix of uneasy, defiant, or outright indifferent. Klarion thought the professor was about to continue making his point when, from the line of students, a voice rang out, laced with anger and frustration.

“What if we don’t want to fight?”

The question came from a young noble, his face set in a scowl, arms crossed over his fine academy-issued uniform. The mark showed he was from a Baron’s House. “Some of us are here because of tradition, because our families demand it. Not because we want to swing swords and march in formation. What if we refuse?”

Thrain slowly turned to face the young noble, his expression unreadable. Then, in a tone devoid of the fire from before, he spoke. “You think you will have a choice?”

The scion hesitated, before starting to say angrily, “My father—”

“Will. Do. Nothing,” Thrain interrupted, his voice low and cold. “When the Empire calls, you serve. You do not get to choose whether war comes for you. You do not get to decide if Imperial lands are threatened, if Imperial families are put at risk. If your name is called upon to defend the Empire’s interests, you will serve in whatever capacity the Emperor and the Seven Princes need. The moment you were born into nobility, that choice was taken from you.”

Professor Thrain took a step forward, his presence somehow growing to seem more imposing. “Tell me, Scion—if you refuse to fight, will you tell your men to stand down when enemies breach your walls? Will you watch as your people are slaughtered because you decided war was beneath you? Will you expect someone else to die in your place?”

The young noble's face paled in the face of the professor’s words, but he held his ground. “Not all of us are meant for war. Some of us have other strengths.”

Professor Thrain let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Then you had best find a way to make those strengths useful in combat. Because if you think war will pass you by, if you think the Empire will not call on you, you are a fool.”

The words hung heavy in the air. No one else dared speak. Professor Thrain stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the class once more.

“I will not waste my breath any further convincing you of reality. Either you understand, or you don’t. If you refuse to take this class seriously, do not return. I would rather spend my time on those who wish to live than coddle fools who think themselves invincible or exempt from serving the Empire.”

Thrain turned on his heel, striding toward the exit with the same unhurried confidence he carried into battle. At the threshold, he paused, his dark eyes sweeping over the exhausted students.

“Class dismissed.”

The words rang like a final verdict, cutting through the lingering tension in the air. Relief washed over some, while others stood frozen, still caught in the weight of the lesson. But as the students began to gather their things and file out, Thrain’s voice cut through the noise once more.

“Scion Blacksword. With me."

He didn’t wait for a response, simply continuing forward, his heavy boots echoing as he left the rest of the class and his assistants behind.

Chapter 100 (Interlude 13) - Dreadborne Harbinger

Solivair rose from his chair, stretching out his limbs with a low, satisfied grunt. The office had served well for his musings, but there was work to be done. A steward’s duties did not end with numbers on a ledger or conversations about coin. No, he needed to see the progress with his own eyes, to ensure that the staff—his staff—were settling into their roles.

It was not so different from how he used to operate.

Running an estate and running a criminal enterprise had more in common than most would care to admit. The names changed, the setting shifted, but the fundamentals remained the same. Power required structure. It required discipline. A house, whether noble or criminal, could not function if its foundation was weak. The only real difference was that in a crime syndicate, weakness led to betrayal. Here, it led to inefficiency.

A steward managed people. A crimelord did the same.

A steward ensured that resources were properly allocated, that work was carried out without delay, that those under his care performed to the best of their abilities. A crimelord ensured that his subordinates followed orders, that they understood the consequences of failure, and that no part of his empire fell into disrepair. Both required a keen eye for talent, a steady hand when discipline was necessary, and an understanding of people’s natures. Fear motivated. So did ambition.

Loyalty, however—that was the true currency of power.

And, from what he could tell, it seemed like Klarion had an instinctual understanding of that.

He adjusted the cuffs of his new well-fitted but unadorned black coat, smoothing out the fabric before making his way out of his office and down the halls of Blacksword Manor. His long red tail swayed behind him as he moved, the sound of his boots echoing faintly against the still-sparsely decorated corridors.

Solivair found the kobold maids—Vaila, Shaya, and Noqui— hard at work, their tiny frames bustling with purpose. Though kobolds were often underestimated, Solivair had always respected their industrious nature. Even more so, he respected their uncanny way of getting in and out of small places unobserved. The three of them were small for their species, yes, but still possessed a tireless work ethic. And with a bit of guidance, they were proving to be quite capable in their roles.

Vaila, the eldest of the three, was the first to notice his approach. Her eyes widened slightly before she quickly turned back to her work, her tail flicking nervously. Shaya, the smallest of the trio, froze entirely, clutching a dusting cloth as if it might protect her. Noqui, the most confident among them, hesitated only a moment before straightening her posture.

“Steward,” Noqui greeted in a small voice but with a respectful nod.

Solivair didn’t respond at first, opting instead to clasp his hands behind his back and survey the work they had done. The improvement was evident. The long-neglected baseboards now had a luster to them, and the floors—once covered in a thick layer of dust—were practically gleaming.

“You’re all doing fine work,” he said, his voice even and measured.

The three kobolds exchanged glances, as if unsure whether to believe him.

Solivair allowed a slow smile to cross his face. “I don’t waste words, and I don’t give praise I don’t mean.” He gestured toward the room. “It’s not an easy thing to restore a place like this, but progress is being made. I notice it.”

Vaila’s tail twitched slightly, her grip tightening on the broom in her hands. “T-thank you, Steward.”

Noqui straightened further, looking proud, while Shaya gave a quick, nervous nod before returning to dusting as if she might somehow disappear into her work.

Solivair chuckled. “Keep up the good work. The manor is beginning to feel like a proper residence again. And that is, in large part, thanks to all of you.”

The kobolds beamed—well, as much as their reptilian faces allowed—and Solivair gave them one last approving nod before continuing on his way.

As Solivair stepped away from the kobold maids, he allowed himself a small, satisfied nod. They were coming along well—better than he had expected, truth be told. Hard work was in their nature, but broken things, whether places or people, took time to mend. Still, the difference was beginning to show.

He strode down the corridor, boots tapping against the polished stone floors, his mind already shifting to the next task. Baruk would be in the kitchen at this hour, likely preparing for the evening’s meal. The orc cook was competent, but Solivair knew better than to leave a crucial cog in the machine unchecked. Kitchens were the heart of a household, as vital as any war room, and if it did not run efficiently, the entire manor would suffer.

The scent of something rich and savory filled the air as Solivair entered the kitchen. The space had been in a barely respectable condition when they first arrived, but Baruk had wasted no time in making it fully functional again. Now, the room carried a sense of quiet order, the steady bubbling of simmering pots and the rhythmic chop of a cleaver against wood filling the silence.

Baruk stood behind a sturdy wooden table, his dark green skin unmarred by the scars so common among his kind. It was an oddity, one Solivair had noticed before, though he had never commented on it. Orcs of his size and stature rarely reached adulthood without bearing some mark of battle, but Baruk’s flesh was unblemished. The orc’s broad shoulders and thick arms spoke of strength, but there was an unusual tension in the way he held himself, his hands clasped behind his back whenever they weren’t occupied, as if restraining an unseen restlessness.

He barely glanced up as Solivair approached, his focus on the thick slabs of meat he was cutting with practiced ease. “Steward,” he greeted, his deep voice even.

“Baruk,” Solivair responded smoothly, stepping further into the kitchen to lean against an empty counter, watching as Baruk continued his preparation. “What’s on the menu for this evening?”

Baruk grunted, finishing his last cut before setting his cleaver down with a heavy thud. “Roast venison, slow-cooked with root vegetables and thick gravy. Fresh-baked bread, now that I’ve that fancy oven. And a simple but hearty stew for those who prefer something lighter.”

Solivair nodded in approval. “Sounds fitting. Lord Blacksword will be pleased, I’m sure.”

Baruk exhaled sharply, neither a laugh nor a sigh, just a sound of acknowledgment. He reached for a cloth to wipe his hands. “Not cooking for the young lord alone. Whole household eats well. If they work hard, they deserve good food.”

Solivair couldn’t help the smile that came to his face at the earnest statement. “That is a fine philosophy.”

Baruk shrugged, tossing the cloth aside. “Orc clans are the same. A warrior who doesn’t eat well can’t fight. A worker who doesn’t eat well can’t work. Simple.”

It was a sentiment Solivair could respect. Too often, those in power neglected the importance of proper care for those beneath them. He had seen it many times—criminal bosses who hoarded wealth, nobles who squandered resources on luxuries while those who served them suffered. But if one wanted true loyalty, true efficiency, then those who worked the hardest needed to be valued.

“And how are supplies holding?” Solivair asked.

Baruk’s hands clasped behind his back again, his shoulders tightening slightly as he considered the question. “Could be better, could be worse. We’ve got enough for now, thanks to your purchasing of supplies, but if the young lord plans to host guests anytime soon, we’ll need more stock.”

Solivair stroked his beard in thought. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll see if Klarion has plans for ways to earn additional coin soon.”

Baruk nodded once, a sharp movement. Then, without another word, he turned back to his work, pulling out a bundle of herbs to chop. The conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over.

Solivair lingered for a moment, watching the orc move with efficiency, his hands steady even as that underlying tension remained. He had met many orcs in his long life—fighters, mercenaries, thugs—but Baruk was different. Unscarred, watchful, always assessing. There was a story there, one that Solivair had yet to uncover.

But that was for another time.

“Carry on, then,” he said, pushing away from the counter.

Baruk didn’t look up, merely waving a massive hand in dismissal.

As Solivair stepped back into the halls of Blacksword Manor, he allowed himself a small, satisfied breath. The pieces were coming together. There was much to be done, of course. More funds to secure, more work to finish, more power to seize. But that just was the way of things. The way of the Multiverse had always been struggle. Power was never simply given—it was taken, earned, carved from the hands of those too weak to hold it. Solivair had learned that lesson young, and he had spent his life ensuring his family would never be at the mercy of another’s whims. His face briefly took on a grim look tinged with a deep rage. Too bad he had failed in the end.

Pushing darker thoughts aside, he moved through the dimly lit corridors of Blacksword Manor with quiet certainty, his footsteps steady against the polished stone. The structure was ancient, its foundations holding the weight of history and expectation, yet within its walls, Solivair had the sense that something new was being built. Klarion Blacksword was nothing like the scion the old Vileborn had expected him to be, given the House he belonged to.

His grandchildren had been patient. They had given him space, trusted him to make the right decisions for their future, and now the time had come to give them the answer they had been waiting for. He was not a sentimental man, but when he thought of them—of the bloodline he had fought to preserve, of the quiet hopes and fears he had seen in their eyes—he felt something deeper than duty. And that was why he had spent so much time observing — and thinking — about their new lord.

Klarion Blacksword was a noble of the Empire, true, but not in the way that word usually meant. Nobles were, as a rule, predictable creatures—scheming, vain, bound by their own excesses and the weight of their ancestors’ deeds. They wrapped themselves in bloodlines and oaths, pretending their privilege was something earned rather than inherited through the might of their classes and Essences.

To his initial surprise, Klarion had not fit neatly into that mold.

Solivair had seen it in the way the young lord carried himself—calm but not complacent, sharp but not yet honed. There was ambition there, but not the lazy, overfed hunger of an aristocrat who had never known struggle. No, Klarion had the look of someone who had fought for what he had, even if Solivair did not yet know the details of that fight.

And that, more than anything, made him dangerous.

It was easy to predict the moves of a noble born into comfort, a man who had never bled for his own survival. But for some reason, Klarion struck him as being far more similar to some of those that he had fought and fought alongside before his family had been betrayed. It was strange how certain he was about that, given how little he still knew about Klarion.

Why was that?

Solivair turned the question over in his mind, considering the human—not as a lord, not as a player in the Empire’s grand games, but as a man. He was young, certainly. Perhaps a touch too idealistic. But there was steel beneath the surface, something waiting to be tempered. He had seen it in the way Klarion had spoken to him, neither dismissive nor deferential, simply weighing him as one might weigh a blade in hand. There had been no false pleasantries, no wasted words.

And there was something else.

A lack of cruelty.

It was not softness—Solivair had no use for soft men, and Klarion did not strike him as one. But the young lord had not taken them as slaves, had not treated them as disposable. That, alone, was rare. He had not pitied them, either. He had merely… claimed them, in the way a man might claim valuable tools he intended to use well.

It was pragmatic. Efficient. And, for now, that was enough.

Solivair had owed his loyalty to others before. Some had deserved it. Others had proven unworthy. Trust was not a currency he spent lightly.

But Klarion had saved them from the Arena. That meant something. He had not expected to be saved. If anything, he had expected to die fighting, taking as many of those Academy whelps with him as possible. Instead, he had been given another chance, another game to play. And Klarion… Klarion was a piece worth betting on.

Perhaps even a piece worth sharpening.

Solivair reached the final hallway, his pace unwavering despite how chaotic his thoughts were. Beyond that door, the discussion that would shape the next stage of his family’s lives awaited. He exhaled once, steadying himself. Then he reached for the handle, pushing the door open to their shared quarters, where he found his grandchildren already waiting for him. The room was modest but well-kept, a far cry from the cell in the Hall of Bonds, or the wretched confines of the labor camp they had narrowly escaped before that. A sturdy wooden table stood in the center, chairs gathered around it, while their beds were neatly arranged along the walls.

Damian, the eldest, leaned against the table with arms crossed, his crimson skin and dark horns a mirror of Solivair’s younger days. His eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto his grandfather as he entered. Kodrian sat on the edge of his bed, flipping a dagger he had found somewhere between his fingers—a nervous habit, one Solivair had long since stopped reprimanding. He was the quiet one, but observant. Lilian, the youngest, perched on a chair, her long tail curled around one leg, her sharp features unreadable. She had always been harder to gauge, guarded in a way that made her dangerous to those who underestimated her.

“Finally,” Damian said, speaking up as his grandfather entered the room. “Thought you’d keep us waiting all evening.”

Solivair gave a patient smile at Damian’s impatience, settling down into his own chair as he stretched out his legs. “Patience, boy. A man who rushes his play loses the game before it even starts.”

Damian scoffed but didn’t push the matter. Kodrian set his dagger down on the table with a soft click and rested his elbows on his knees, while Lilian simply watched, sharp-eyed and waiting.

Solivair let the silence hang for a moment longer before speaking. “You’re all settling in well, I take it? No trouble adjusting?”

Kodrian snorted. “We’re not dead.”

Lilian shot him a look before clarifying, “What he means is we’re fine. Baruk actually let me help in the kitchen today. Margaret still treats us like we’ll break something just by existing, but I don’t think she dislikes us. The kobolds keep to themselves, but they don’t seem to mind us either.”

Solivair nodded. Margaret would warm up in time—if she didn’t, he’d have a word with her. As for the kobolds, they were practical creatures; as long as the work got done and they weren’t mistreated, they’d keep to their own affairs.

“And you, Damian?” he asked, turning his gaze to his eldest grandson.

Damian exhaled, raking a hand through his dark gray hair. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the security of the manor, like you suggested. It seems to have been designed with defense in mind, but given the size and lack of dedicated guards, there are many gaps. I don’t think it’s a problem yet, but if Lord Blacksword starts making enemies, we’ll need more than what we have now.”

Solivair’s lips curled slightly at that. If he didn’t miss his guess, Klarion had already started making enemies. The human was from an ancient, formerly powerful Archducal House. One with many enemies. Solivair would be surprised if there were less than a dozen other scions arrayed against Klarion already.

“Good. Keep watching,” he said instead.

Damian frowned. “I will. But that’s not really why we wanted to talk tonight.” His eyes locked onto Solivair’s, sharp and steady. “What’s the plan for us? Where do we go from here?”

Kodrian straightened at that, and even Lilian’s usually neutral expression hardened slightly.

Solivair sighed, leaning back. “I’ve turned it over every way it can be turned. And the truth is, even if we wanted to walk away, there’s nowhere left for us to go.”

Damian frowned, his sharp gaze narrowing. “That doesn’t sound like you, Grandfather. You always have a plan.”

Solivair allowed a small, knowing smile to bloom across his face. “And I do. But first, you need to understand where we stand.” He leaned back forward, his hands clasped together. “We are bound to Klarion Blacksword. That’s a fact. Breaking that bond would be difficult, dangerous, and ultimately pointless. Even if we could, where would we run? Back to the Arena to fight and die for some other scion to gain levels? Or perhaps we would return to the Hall of Bonds to be sold like livestock to someone else? Make no mistake, here at the heart of the Imperial Academy, those would be our only options.” He shook his head. “And neither of those is a future I will allow for you all.”

Kodrian shifted uncomfortably, but he did not argue. Lilian’s expression remained unreadable, but Solivair could see the slight tightening of her jaw. She understood.

Damian exhaled through his nose, his frustration evident. “So what? We just serve him? Hope he doesn’t toss us aside when we’re no longer useful?”

Solivair’s smile widened slightly. “You misunderstand me, boy. We do not simply serve. We build.”

Kodrian leaned forward slightly. “Build what?”

“A foundation,” Solivair said. “From everything I have observed so far, I believe Lord Blacksword to be young, ambitious, and far from foolish. I believe he has an instinctual understanding of power, for all that he does not yet wield it fully. That will change. And when it does, we will be at his side, not as mere servants, but as something greater.”

Lilian spoke then, her voice soft but cutting. “And if he fails?”

Solivair gave a low chuckle. “Then we make sure he doesn’t.”

A silence settled over the room, heavy but not oppressive. His grandchildren were considering his words, weighing them against their own doubts.

Lilian tilted her head slightly, and asked, “Why?”

“Because of Lord Klarion Blacksword himself,” Solivair answered simply. “Because he did not leave us to die in the Hall of Bonds. Because he does not look at us with disgust, nor treat us as disposable. That alone is more than we might expect from most.”

Kodrian nodded slightly, but Damian still seemed unconvinced. “And what if that changes?” he pressed. “What if he turns out to be like every other human noble in this cursed Empire?”

“Then we adapt,” Solivair said evenly. “We may be bound to him, but I have my ways. If need be, I have certain… options that will ensure we are not prisoners here. If the day comes that our loyalty is misplaced, I will do what I must. But until then, we have a place, a purpose, and a future that does not involve a collar or a shallow grave.”

Damian exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. For now.”

Lilian smirked. “You make it sound like you had a better idea.”

Damian shot her a glare, but there was no real venom in it. “I just don’t want us to be fools. We’ve trusted the wrong people before.”

“So has everyone,” Solivair said. “But survival is about choosing the right risks.”

His grandchildren all sat for several minutes longer, absorbing what Solivair had said. Lilian was the first to rise from her seat, stretching her arms above her head. “Well, if that’s settled, I’m going to bed. I was able to get Baruk to agree to me helping with the chopping vegetables tomorrow, and I’d rather not lose a finger because I’m too tired to see straight.”

Kodrian snorted. “You? Lose a finger? I’d pay to see that.”

“Shut up,” Lilian shot back, flicking her tail at him as she passed.

Damian shook his head but said nothing as he too stood. “I’ll do another check on security before I head to the dining room.”

Solivair gave him a nod of approval. “Keep your reports coming. And keep your eyes open.”

Damian grunted in acknowledgment before slipping out the door.

Kodrian lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a brief nod, he followed his siblings, leaving Solivair alone.

The old Vileborn exhaled, rubbing his temples as he sat back in his chair. Life was a strange thing. Once, he had ruled a criminal empire. Now, he was a steward in service to a noble scion. Yet, somehow, it did not feel like a fall. No, this was simply another game.

It was all a gamble, of course. Every decision in life was. But he had told his grandchildren the truth. Klarion did not strike him as being like the nobles he had known before. There was an edge to him, a hunger that spoke of ambition beyond simple power or wealth. He did not seem to waste what was useful, nor did he seem to be like those who would discard those who had served him well.

That, more than anything, had convinced Solivair that this was the right path.

His grandchildren might not fully understand yet, but they would. Damian would come around first, likely out of sheer pragmatism. He was sharp, observant, and had seen enough betrayal to know that Klarion was an anomaly among the ruling class. The boy would never fully trust anyone, not after what they had been through, but he would respect strength.

Kodrian, for all his quiet intensity, would follow if only to ensure that their family remained intact. He was the most dangerous of the three in some ways—his blade was quick, his mind quicker, and he had yet to decide what kind of man he wanted to be. Solivair would need to watch him closely.

And Lilian? Lilian had already made her decision. Of the three, she was the most adaptable. She had found her place in the Manor already, not out of any grand strategy, but because she saw value in stability. She would grow roots here, faster than the others, and in time, she would make this place her own.

Solivair tapped a clawed finger against the armrest of his chair, his thoughts turning to Klarion once more. The young lord had made enemies already—of that, there was no doubt. Solivair had even fewer doubts that Klarion would soon find himself embroiled in greater conflicts that stretched beyond the walls of Blacksword Manor. If he hadn’t already, that was.

And when that time came, Solivair would do his best to be ready.

He had spent decades building and maintaining a criminal empire in the capital city of Alluria. He had crushed rivals, brokered alliances, and woven webs of influence that stretched from the slums to the highest halls of power. The game had nearly killed him more than once, but he had survived because he understood the rules.

And Klarion… Klarion had spared them when he had no reason to. He had given them more than just their lives. He had given them a chance.

Solivair did not take debts lightly.

He would repay this one in full.

If Klarion wished to rule—not merely hold power but rule—then he would need more than a noble’s education and a sharp blade. He would need someone who understood both the laws written in ink and those carved in blood. Someone who could navigate the Empire’s treacherous courts as easily as its back alleys. Someone who knew when to bow and when to slit a throat.

A Steward and a Crimelord.

Solivair chuckled, the sound low and edged with something dark, something hungry.

The challenge ahead stirred something in him that had long lain dormant. It was intoxicating, the prospect of building again—not just a home, not just a family, but an empire. Not from the shadows this time. No, this time, he would stand in the light, at the right hand of a young lord who just might have the vision—and the ruthlessness—to reshape the Empire itself.

His gaze drifted toward the door his grandchildren had disappeared through. They were still young, still adjusting, but there was a fire in them. They had the will to survive, to carve out a place in this new world they found themselves in. And if Klarion was as clever as Solivair was coming to believe, he would see that potential too.

They would not remain beggars. They would not be mere survivors, clinging to the remnants of a shattered past. No. They would rise.

And the nobility of the Empire would learn to fear the name Blacksword again.

Update - 3/16/2025

Hey everyone!

Hope you all had a fantastic weekend! Mine was pretty good, though chapter 97 decided to be a bit of a stubborn beast. It took me longer than I anticipated to wrangle, but I think it turned out well in the end. It was crucial for getting some much-needed information to Klarion for the chapters ahead, and I wanted to make sure it landed just right.

Thankfully, chapter 98 flowed a bit easier, and it rounded out the rest of the information on Essences that Klarion needed for the time being. Lastly, I really liked writing chapter 99, which allowed me to get into Solivair's head for the first time. I hope you all enjoy getting another unique perspective on Klarion and Blacksword Manor.

Unfortunately, I'm absolutely beat and didn't quite have the energy to finish putting together chapter 100, which is also from viewpoint of Solivair. It's a good one, though, and I'm really excited to share it with you to round off the last interlude before Klarion's current week of classes finishes up and the effort to unlock his class begins in earnest! For those of you who have been missing the visceral, blood-pumping action of Klarion destroying his enemies on the field of battle, there are going to be more than a few chapters of that when Klarion leaves the campus of the Imperial Academy for the first time.

Anyway, I'll be finishing chapter 100 tomorrow evening after I am back from work and posting it as soon as I can after that.

I hope you're all continuing to enjoy Dreadborne Harbinger. Your kind words and support mean the world to me, and I can't thank you enough!

Chapter 99 (Interlude 12) - Dreadborne Harbinger

Solivair sat in the quiet solitude of his new office, the dark wood of his desk smooth beneath his calloused fingers. It was a simple room in Blacksword Manor, refurbished after years of disrepair, and yet it suited him well. There was no gaudy opulence, no unnecessary ornamentation—only a sturdy desk, a chair, a locked cabinet that would eventually hold his forms and records, and the quiet crackling of a lantern to stave off the gloom. A fitting place for a man who had spent his years in the shadows, now finding himself once more in service, though to a master unlike any he had known before.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The long years sat heavy upon him, though his body had yet to betray him entirely. Age had darkened his crimson skin, deepened the grooves along his horns, and stripped away the reckless edge of youth, but it had not dulled his mind. Nor had it stripped him of purpose.

Lord Klarion Blacksword had already left for his studies, the Leporine woman—a warrior, sharp and watchful—trailing at his side. That left Solivair here, alone with his thoughts, a rare moment of quiet in a life that had never afforded him much of it.

It was strange, this latest twist of fate. To be here, in a manor that belonged to one of the highest ranking noble houses of the western portion of the Empire, and at the express invitation of one of the scions of said Archducal House at that. It was not where he had expected to be.

But then again, life had never led him where he expected.

The past had a way of creeping up on a man when he least expected it. Sitting in his newly appointed office within Blacksword Manor, Solivair found himself dwelling on the winding, treacherous road that had led him here. The quiet crackle of the small flame on his desk cast flickering shadows on the walls, reminding him of the alleyways and hidden chambers he had once called home.

He had been content there. Once. For decades, he had lived as a man of status—not noble, but respected in the circles where it truly mattered. His name had carried weight in the underworld, and those who knew the name Solivair had known it was spoken with either reverence or fear.

That life had been good to him. His family had never wanted for anything. His children, his extended kin, had lived in comfort, untouched by the desperation that drove lesser criminals to take foolish risks. Solivair had been a man of pragmatism. There was no glory in chaos, no sense in reckless bloodshed. Their work had been precise, an art honed over generations.

He let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair as his tail curled absently around the leg of his desk. Yes, his family had always walked the edges of the Empire’s laws — though that could be said of nearly all Vileborn — skirting the lines between survival and crime, necessity and ambition. Thievery had been their trade, smuggling their art, and when needed, blood had been the price paid to ensure their continued existence. They had never dealt in the indiscriminate spilling of it, never worked for those who would bring the wrath of the Empire’s enforcers down upon them. No, their blades had been reserved for those who lived as they did, who played the same game and just happened to lose against more skilled opponents.

For decades, he and his family had played that game well in the capital city of Alluria, a border world in this part of the Empire. He had built something lasting, something strong. A network of thieves, merchants, and informants, all bound together in the silent agreement that survival came first.

And yet, as the years passed, he had known that the life he had forged would not last forever. The new generations were hungrier, more reckless. They did not understand the rules that had kept men like him alive. His children, his grandchildren—they had grown up in the shadow of his choices, inheriting his debts as much as his legacy.

And then it had all crumbled.

A rival house—one he did not care to recall the name of—had engaged in a betrayal against him. 

A war had happened then. Not the grand kind fought between nations, but the quiet, seething conflict that burned through the streets like an unseen wildfire. A feud between crime families that had simmered for years until someone had decided patience was no longer an option. Deals had soured, debts had been called, and suddenly, there had been no place left to hide.

His family had been wiped out. His sons, his daughters, his cousins and kin, all gone in a matter of weeks. The streets they had once ruled with quiet authority had become hunting grounds where they were the prey.

And he, Solivair the careful, Solivair the calculating, had been left with only three members of his once large, extended family. Damian, the eldest, who had always been the sharpest of his grandchildren. Kodrian, restless and reckless but full of potential. And Lilian, still so young, too young to have been caught in such a storm.

He had been left with nothing but them.

And vengeance.

Vengeance had been the only thing left to him, the only course that made sense. He had taken the last of his wealth, the hidden caches of coin and favors long stored away, and turned to the one weapon no man, no matter how powerful, could escape.

Poison.

It had been swift, brutal, and final. The rivals who had torn apart his family never saw it coming. They had been cautious of blades, wary of open conflict, but in their greed and arrogance, they had let their guard down at the wrong moment. A drink, a meal, a mere touch of the wrong substance, and they had withered from the inside out.

By the time the City Watch arrived, backed by the heavy boots of Imperial Legionnaires, it was already over. The men who had come for him did not care for the reasons. They cared only for the fact that among the dead was one with noble blood. A wretch of a man, no less vile than the rest, but noble all the same.

And in the Empire, bloodlines mattered.

He and his grandchildren had been shackled, thrown onto a transport, and sent to a mining labor camp. A place where those sentenced to die were made to break their bodies for the Empire’s gain before execution was finally deemed a mercy. That should have been the end of it. It would have been, had fate not taken an unexpected turn.

More bodies had been needed for the Hall of Bonds at the Imperial Academy in their corner of the Empire. A rare chance, a stroke of cruel luck. He and his grandchildren had been selected, plucked from the slow march toward death and placed into a different kind of servitude.

It had been a strange transition. From what brief glances he had been given, the Academy was an awe-inspiring place, a domain of power and learning beyond anything he had ever imagined. He had seen scions beyond his cell, the chosen heirs of noble houses, speaking of grand ambitions and legacies, of classes and Essences, of things he had never thought he would be close enough to witness.

Yet for all the opportunities that surrounded them, and the reason why they had been sent to the Hall of Bonds, no one had picked them. The scions of the Academy had looked at him and his grandchildren and seen nothing but refuse. Vileborn, criminals, remnants of a fallen house of shadows and blood. No one had wanted them. No one had even considered them.

He had thought it was the end when they had lingered in the Hall of Bonds far past the selection of every other potential servant that had arrived alongside them. He thought it had been roughly a year of time spent standing in that cell, waiting to be claimed or cast aside. When no scion had so much as glanced their way, he had known what was coming.

The Arena.

For a Vileborn well past his prime and his three remaining grandchildren that he still saw as little more than children too young to stand a chance, it was a sentence worse than death.

The last few weeks, he had just been waiting for the final axe to fall. And then his worst fears had come to light, and the Sentinels came to tear them resisting from their shared cell. To be taken to the Arena as fodder for some scion seeking to gain more levels.

Until Scion Klarion Blacksword.

A scion whose name had been as empty as his own, a noble in title but stripped of all power. A young man with, from what he could tell, no established standing, no allies, no certainty in his own future. And yet, Klarion had looked at them and seen something worth taking in.

Solivair still did not understand why.

Perhaps the young lord had simply seen an opportunity—loyalty from those who had nowhere else to go. Perhaps he had recognized something in them that others had missed. Or perhaps, like Solivair himself, Klarion understood what it meant to be left with nothing but the will to rise again. Whatever the reason, it had led Solivair here.

As a Steward.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping against the desk. It was almost laughable. A lifetime of crime, of ruling the streets and shadows, and now he managed household affairs.

And yet… he did not resent it.

There was a strange peace in this role. Klarion was no fool, that much was clear. He was young, ambitious, and reckless, but there was something about him—an edge, a quiet intensity that reminded Solivair of the men who had ruled the underworld before the fools and butchers had taken over. More than that, there was potential. And his grandchildren were safe. For now. That alone would have been enough.

His sharp eyes flicked to the papers on his desk, records of what little remained in the estate’s coffers, a list of supplies that needed to be procured, the names of merchants and contacts that might be willing to extend favors—though favors were dangerous things to owe. Klarion had ambition, that much was clear. He would need power, resources, and the kind of connections that could not be bought with coin alone.

Solivair had spent a lifetime knowing where to find such things.

The young lord had taken a risk in taking them in. Perhaps he was a fool. Perhaps he was something else entirely. Either way, Solivair had made his choice.

He would see where this road led.

The soft but firm knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” Solivair called.

The door creaked slightly as it swung open, revealing Margaret. The human woman stepped inside with the practiced efficiency of someone who had spent a lifetime managing estates, her sharp gaze sweeping over him like a drill sergeant evaluating a new recruit. She was a woman of strict principles, her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, her posture straight despite the years that weighed upon her. She carried a small ledger under one arm, likely filled with notes on the manor’s progress.

Margaret had proven herself invaluable since the day Klarion had chosen them from the Hall of Bonds. Unlike many others in the Empire, especially among the humans, she had never flinched at Solivair’s presence. She had not sneered at his crimson skin, nor recoiled from his tail or the horns that curved back from his head. She had looked him over with the same scrutiny she would any other man and had simply nodded before setting about her work.

It was a refreshing change from the prejudice he had long since grown accustomed to.

“Steward,” she greeted, her tone as crisp as ever.

“Margaret,” Solivair replied with a small incline of his head.

She wasted no time in launching into her report. “The refurnishing efforts are progressing, but we are still far from completion. The grand hall has been restored to a functional state, and the west wing’s primary chambers are now livable. The scion’s quarters, of course, were our priority, and those are in proper order. The kitchen has been cleaned, though there are still issues with the storage rooms—some of the shelving has rotted through and will need replacing.”

She flipped open the ledger, scanning down a list before continuing. “The upper floors are another matter entirely. Many of the rooms there remain in a state of disrepair, with broken furniture, dust thick enough to choke on, and more than a few places where the ceilings need reinforcement. That doesn’t even account for how much is actually missing. It will take significant time and effort to restore everything properly.”

Solivair nodded, taking in the information. It was what he had expected. While they had made good progress, the manor had been abandoned too long for this to be a quick fix. They would need many more weeks to get it back into shape.

Margaret sighed, tapping a finger against the open pages of her ledger. “And then there’s the issue of money.”

Ah. There it was. Solivair laced his fingers together, leaning back slightly in his chair as he regarded her with a smirk. “Always comes down to coin in the end, doesn’t it?”

Margaret gave him a pointed look. “It does when we’re running low.”

He chuckled, though there was little humor in it.

“We’ve been stretching what we have as far as possible,” Margaret continued. “I’ve been keeping costs down where I can—prioritizing essentials, ensuring we’re not wasting funds on unnecessary luxuries. But restoration costs coin. Good labor and good materials don’t come cheap, and we’ve nearly exhausted what we had. If we don’t secure more funds soon, we’ll be at a standstill.”

Solivair studied her for a long moment, appreciating the bluntness of her words. Margaret did not dance around a subject, did not sugarcoat reality. She spoke plainly, a quality he had always respected.

More than that, he appreciated her lack of fear.

Had they met in his former life, she would have been the type to clutch her purse tightly upon seeing him, to cross the street when he passed by. Perhaps she would have called the City Guard had he lingered too long in her presence. Or, if she had known his name, she would have fled outright.

And yet here she stood, speaking to him as she would any other man.

It was amusing in its own way.

“Your concerns are noted,” Solivair finally said. “And well-founded.”

Margaret exhaled, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And what do we plan to do about it?”

He chuckled again, waving a hand. “Patience, dear Margaret. Our young lord seems to have a plan for coin, though I suspect he has not yet shared the details.”

She frowned. “You trust him to handle it?”

Solivair tilted his head. “I trust that if he does not, it will become my concern to bring it to his attention.”

Margaret crossed her arms. “And what if his ‘plan’ doesn’t pan out?”

“Then we shall have words,” Solivair said, his tone casual yet firm.

Margaret gave him a long, considering look, then let out a small huff. “I hope you’re right about him, Steward. I’ve served plenty of nobles who thought money would fall into their laps without effort. It rarely does.”

Solivair inclined his head. “Our Scion Blacksword is not like most nobles. He does not have the luxury of waiting for fortune to come to him. He knows he must seize it with his own hands.”

Margaret tapped her ledger closed. “Then let’s hope he seizes it soon. Because if we run out of money before this manor is properly restored, it won’t matter how much potential he has.” She turned to leave but hesitated for a moment before glancing back at him. “And Steward—if it does come to that, I expect you’ll make sure he understands the severity of the situation.”

Solivair’s smile widened. “Oh, I will. Rest assured, Margaret, I do not intend to let this place crumble after all the work we’ve put in.”

She gave a curt nod and exited the office, leaving Solivair alone once more. His smile faded as he leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Margaret was right, of course. Coin was a pressing issue, and if Klarion did not secure more soon, they would find themselves in a difficult position. But Solivair had been in difficult positions before. He had clawed his way out of worse. And now, he found himself in a strange new role, overseeing an estate rather than a criminal empire. A steward rather than a crimelord.

It was almost absurd.

Yet, strangely enough, he found himself growing invested in this place.

Chapter 98 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The sounds of his fellow scions shuffling out of the classroom gradually faded as Klarion remained seated, fingers drumming lightly on his desk. The lecture had been informative, but his mind still burned with questions. In considering the primer on the various Rare classes he might pursue, a good number of them had required only a single Essence to unlock, but all the ones he had felt drawn to had required two. With the advantages that the Academy gave for unlocking Essences, there was a part of him that was curious for what it might look like after unlocking two Essences. Could he keep going for more? How much potential did he truly have?

With the room finally empty except for himself and the professor, Klarion stood after gathering his notes, and approached Professor Stormcloak.

The professor noticed his approach but didn’t look up from a notebook that was open in front of him. ‘You have a question, Klarion?”

“Several,” Klarion said with a nod. “If you have the time.”

Professor Stormcloak closed his notebook and crossed his arms, finally looking up at him. “Speak.”

Klarion didn’t hesitate. “Is there a limit to how many Essences someone can unlock?”

Professor Stormcloak’s lips quirked, as if he found the question amusing. “That is an age-old debate among scholars, nobility, and fools seeking power beyond their reach.”

Klarion frowned. “Meaning?”

The professor exhaled, his expression becoming serious again. “As far as we have been able to determine—there is no hard limit. There is no known maximum number of Essences that a person can unlock and use.”

That was… surprising. Klarion had expected some sort of cap on the number of Essences someone could unlock.

Professor Stormcloak continued before Klarion could think too deeply on what that might mean, “However, there is a catch. Beyond the first Essence—or two, in the case of this Academy—unlocking additional Essences becomes exponentially harder.”

Klarion absorbed that for a moment. “How much harder?”

“We can’t say for sure, as it depends in part on the individual,” Professor Stormcloak said. “But think of it this way. Unlocking your first Essence is like breaking through a sealed door—difficult, but achievable with the right push. Unlocking a second Essence is like breaking through another door that has been reinforced. Unlocking a third…” The professor shook his head. “It is akin to punching through a wall of stone.”

Klarion narrowed his eyes. “So it’s possible… but rare.”

“Very rare,” Professor Stormcloak confirmed. “The vast majority of scions within the Empire never unlock more than one. Those who do often struggle to gain more than two. The amount of effort required after the second Essence is so extreme that only the most gifted—or the most desperate—succeed.”

That was not exactly what he had been hoping to hear from the professor. “Then why bother?”

Professor Stormcloak’s smirk returned. “Ah, now that is the real question, isn’t it?” He stepped around the lectern after closing his notes, leaning against it as he studied Klarion. “What drives people to reach beyond their limits? Why climb a mountain no one has reached the peak of? Why fight when surrender is easier?”

Klarion exhaled sharply. “Power.”

Professor Stormcloak nodded. “Exactly.”

“So, if someone were to keep trying to unlock more Essences, what would stop them?”

“Simple. The more Essences you attempt to unlock, the greater the risk. You see, an Essence is not like a skill or ability. Magic comes closer, but it still falls short. Essence—it is a fundamental force of existence that reshapes you. It alters the way your body and soul interact with the world in ways both simple and profound. Unlocking multiple Essences forces those forces to coexist, and the strain can be…” He paused. “Unstable.”

That was new. In everything Professor Stormcloak had said so far, not once had he brought up anything like a potential risk to attempting to unlock too many Essences. If anything, he had focused almost exclusively on the risks of not unlocking Essences while at the Academy.

“Unstable how?” Klarion asked, curious to know the answer.

Professor Stormcloak’s face took on a grim look. “The lucky ones fail and simply never unlock more. The unlucky ones… break.”

Klarion felt a slow, creeping chill at that. “Break?”

“Some people push too far,” Professor Stormcloak said with a shrug. “They try to force an Essence that does not align with them. The System, to put it simply, cannot be forced. In my time at the Academy, I have seen students collapse into seizures. A few of them lost control of their magic permanently. Others—the truly unfortunate—have their Essences collide in ways that render them powerless. Or worse.”

“Then why—”

“Because, scion, for those who succeed, the reward — the resulting potential for additional power — is rumored to be immense. I don’t know myself, having only unlocked two Essences before my class, but additional Essences always widen and deepen your potential.”

Klarion’s thoughts raced. That sounded exactly like what he needed if he was going to kill Chadwick in their duel. His thoughts about unlocking dozens of Essences were brought to a screeching halt, however, at the professor’s next words.

“That being said, unlocking Essences is difficult. As I said before, even here, at the Imperial Academy, with its structured environment, tailored guidance, and the unique properties of this pocket plane, scions will struggle. If you step beyond this pocket plane into the broader Empire, the challenge only magnifies."

“So, wielders of Essences are rare?” Klarion asked.

Professor Stormcloak nodded, “Indeed, outside of places like this Academy, coming across anyone who has unlocked an Essence is an exceedingly rare occurrence. I do not say this to discourage you, Klarion, but to contextualize what you are attempting. You must understand that the mere possession of a single Essence places an individual into an entirely different class of existence. One Essence alone is enough to elevate someone above the common man. For this reason, among the nobility of the Empire, having a single Essence is the norm.”

Klarion’s face went through several expressions as he digested that information, only to have Professor Stormcloak become amused at his reaction.

“Yes,” Professor Stormcloak said, again misinterpreting what Klarion was thinking. “It is not simply bloodline or tradition that elevates the noble houses of the Empire—it is power. The ability to wield an Essence is what allows the nobility to dominate the military, the bureaucracy, and even the economy. It provides advantages that no commoner could ever hope to replicate. And should the lowest of the Empire ever unlock an Essence, they will be brought under the control of the nobility. Or eliminated.”

Professor Stormcloak briefly paused to pack the rest of his things away, then turned back to Klarion. “Among noble families, possessing a second Essence is even rarer, but far from unheard of. Those who possess two Essences are considered the true elite within Imperial society. Many of those at the rank of Count and above hold that distinction, which is why they wield influence beyond mere land or wealth.”

Klarion hesitated only briefly before asking the question that he most wanted to ask. “And those with more than two?”

“Those are the monsters of the Empire,” Professor Stormcloak said bluntly. “The Archducal Houses and higher—the true powers behind the Empire—are almost exclusively led by those who have unlocked three or more Essences,” Stormcloak elaborated. “It is not a requirement, per se, but it is a trend that cannot be ignored. The more Essences one possesses, the greater their natural gifts, their power, and their overall potential. It is only natural that such become the protectors of the Empire.”

Professor Stormcloak motioned for Klarion to follow him as he made his way to the door. “I think we are getting somewhat afield of your original questions and my purpose with this class. So let me return to another point I wish to impress upon you. Normally, I introduce this to the class as a whole in the coming sessions, but I sense that you might be the type to attempt unlocking Essences, and a class, sooner rather than later.”

Professor Stormcloak paused just before the door, motioning for Klarion to pause for a moment. “Unlocking additional Essences after obtaining a class is… exceedingly difficult,” he said. “I do not say this lightly, Scion Blacksword. Many have attempted it. Most fail. Do not run the risk of losing out on attaining additional Essences in the rush to gain a class.” He held a hand up to cut off Klarion’s response. “Even if you manage to unlock an additional Essence after obtaining your class, you will not receive the same benefits as if you had acquired it beforehand.”

“So, I really should work to unlock as many Essences as I can before unlocking his class.” He said the words knowing that he wouldn’t be able to change his plans, given his agreement with Chadwick. For the first time, he was starting to think he might have made a mistake agreeing to his enemies’ terms without at least attempting to negotiate more time first.

Professor Stormcloak nodded. "Exactly. That is why I strongly suggest you focus on obtaining at least two, and if you have the will, three or more, before you finalize your class."

Klarion exhaled. That just meant he had to push harder. “Then where do you suggest I go? Beyond the Arena, I mean. I was hoping for other options.” Klarion asked.

For the first time in their conversation, Professor Stormcloak blinked in surprise. “You’re asking me?”

Klarion narrowed his eyes. Had he made a mistake asking him? Well, it was too late now to take the question back. All he could do was commit.  “Is that strange?”

Professor Stormcloak chuckled. "Let’s just say that most scions don’t ask for advice on this matter. Certainly not one of your rank."

Klarion fought the urge to scowl. Even if he did have a lot more knowledge about Essences, classes, hell, even the System, Klarion still would ask questions of others he thought might know more. The arrogance of so many scions he had observed was a weakness, one he refused to share. He wasn’t about to stumble blindly into a situation when there were those far more experienced who could provide insight.

"So?" Klarion prompted.

Professor Stormcloak hummed in thought, considering him for a moment before answering. “There are still many mysteries surrounding how and why Essences unlock. Much as I hinted to the class, no scholar has managed to document a precise, foolproof method, and believe me, we have tried. I can only repeat what I said already: all available evidence points to one undeniable truth—Essences emerge through struggle. You must push yourself into situations that force you to grow, that demand you either become stronger or fail. The stronger the emotions, the deeper the struggle, the greater the risk to your life, the higher the chances of unlocking an Essence." Professor Stormcloak gave him a deliberate look, hand reaching up to the door. “Now, if there was nothing else…?”

As much as he might want to spend the rest of the day picking the professor’s mind on the topic of unlocking Essences, Klarion could tell he was starting to push his luck. And he had the sense he didn’t want to be on the professor’s bad side. “Just one more question, Professor Stormcloak, the one I already asked you: what other options would you recommend beyond the Arena?”

“Oh, right, my apologies, scion,” Professor Stormcloak said after he realized he actually hadn’t answered Klarion’s previous question due to the novelty of the request. “Combat is one of the most direct methods, but it is not the only one. What matters the most is that, whatever method you choose, it either puts you at substantial risk of harm, or pushes your mental and emotional boundaries far past the normal. That being said, if you are looking for controlled ways to force growth without recklessly throwing yourself into a death trap,” Professor Stormcloak continued, “then I suggest looking at the Mission Board in the Expeditionary Hall, near the Central Archives. When you are ready, of course.”

“The Mission Board?”

Professor Stormcloak nodded. “It serves multiple purposes. It provides opportunities for students to earn Academy currencies, and to obtain rare materials and other things of value. Some missions are combat-oriented, some involve exploration, and others require resource gathering or specialized skills. But all of them—if chosen wisely—can provide you with the conditions necessary to trigger an Essence awakening.”

Klarion filed that away immediately as somewhere he would need to go in the next few days. “Mission Board in the Expeditionary Hall. Got it.”

“I would not recommend attempting a mission immediately—you are still adjusting to the Academy, after all. But once you feel prepared? Yes. It would be a valuable tool in your pursuit of power.” The professor glanced down at what Klarion took to be some sort of wristwatch that had previously been covered by his sleeve. “Now, Scion Blacksword, I really must take my leave. There are more than a few other matters that require my undivided attention and only so many hours in the day.”

Klarion inclined his head and said with complete honesty, "Of course, Professor Stormcloak. I appreciate you taking the extra time to talk with me.”

Stormcloak gave a lazy wave as he pushed the classroom door open to leave, saying over his shoulder as he did so, "I will watch your progress with interest. Do not disappoint."

With that, Klarion was left standing alone. Everything he had learned today had confirmed his suspicions—Essences were more than just power. They were the foundation upon which strength was built. He already had his minimum goal: the Essences of Fire and Might were necessary to ensure his class, the Valiant Sunlord, would be unlocked properly. But with everything that Professor Stormcloak had said, both in class and after? Now, he wasn’t going to be content with just two. 

He was going to make the attempt to unlock at least three. Maybe more, though that would be truly ambitious. The only reason he had any hope whatsoever was how, according to the professor, there were no innate restrictions, and the only thing stopping someone from wielding more Essences was their own capability—especially their willpower.

That only made sense given what he now knew, as having that many seemed to be the difference between being strong and being a true monster.

But unlocking them wouldn’t be easy. He needed heightened emotions. Struggle. Real pressure. He needed to force himself into a situation that would demand he transcend his current limits. Despite the professor saying that there were other options beyond combat to consider, he knew that those avenues would take too long, given the timeframe he was working with.

As Klarion left the classroom in search of Hatsune, he considered for one last time how everything Professor Stormcloak had told him confirmed what Klarion had suspected: Essence wielders weren’t simply powerful, they were different—transcendent. If he could claim more Essences, he would gain more than just strength. He would reshape himself into something greater, something beyond the reach of those who sought to kill him because of the House he belonged to. But that process took time.

And Klarion did not have that luxury.

The moment he had agreed to Chadwick’s duel, he had set a countdown in motion. There would be no delaying, no sidestepping the inevitable. With the agreement, he had only weeks—not months, not the rest of the year—to unlock Essences, to then unlock a class, and then become someone capable of facing a scion of Chadwick’s background.

Klarion exhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists as he made his way down the hallway. He couldn’t afford failure. No matter the cost, he would claim every scrap of power within his reach. 

Because if he didn’t… he was already dead.

Chapter 97 - Dreadborne Harbinger

Hatsune had been furious when he told her about the duel. The Leporine had given him a vicious tongue-lashing the entire way back to Blacksword Manor, only taking brief breaks when other scions came within range to hear her verbally haranguing him. He still marveled at the range of new swear words he had learned on that walk. But, thankfully, she had gotten it all out of her system by the time they had gotten back home. The last thing she had said on the subject, following his efforts at reassuring her that he had a plan, was that he wasn’t the only one who needed to grow stronger. Hatsune had gone on to repeat how, now that she had found one to aim for, she wanted to unlock her class as well. There was something about them both racing against time that made him feel a bit more confident that everything would work out.

Even with the looming potential of a true duel to the death with another scion, one likely to have significantly more experience with it if his reaction to the possibility was anything to judge, Klarion was still feeling alright about the situation he was now in. After all, he had won himself time. That was the entire point of the Noble’s Agreement—time for uninterrupted preparation, a chance to gather materials, attune his Essences, and claim a class powerful enough to survive the duel when it happened. 

The moment he spoke the words aloud to Hatsune, it became real. There would be no more chances after this. Either he was strong enough to win when the Festival of the Dawn ended… or he wasn’t, and Chadwick would kill him and, likely, take Hatsune as well. 

Klarion exhaled quietly at his desk in Essence Studies, pushing down the anger that he had felt at that last thought. He forced himself to refocus. There was no use dwelling on what he couldn’t change. The deal was made, and the only thing that mattered now was ensuring he would be strong enough to drive his greatsword through that bastard’s chest in the duel when it happened.

Unlocking his class. That was the key.

Klarion leaned back in his seat, fingers idly tapping against the surface of his desk as he waited for Professor Darion Stormcloak to arrive. Around him, the Essence Studies classroom hummed with the low murmur of students settling in, but he barely noticed them as he pulled out the notes he had made last night on the materials he needed to unlock the Valiant Sunlord class.

The class had called to him the moment he’d seen it, a fusion of fire and might, of raw martial prowess tempered by unyielding power. It built upon the strengths he had already started to develop, the skill he was building with the greatsword, and the number of stat points he would be able to invest every level. Unfortunately, securing the unlocking of the class was not quite as simple as simply attaining the Essences he needed and then getting to a specific level to then select it from a list of options. No, according to the primer and what he knew about unlocking classes, he would have to participate in some sort of ritual that required specific materials. Though these catalysts were necessary for unlocking the class, the primer had also said that, as with every class, there were thresholds in terms of what would occur when he received the Valiant Sunlord class.

The two separate lists he was now looking at were to result. Beyond having an Essence of Fire and an Essence of Might, he would, at minimum, need the following materials: the Heart of a Blaze Lion, a Blood-Drenched Blade from an ancient battlefield, and at least six Fire Essence Crystals of small size. 

Flipping the page over, he looked at the second list he had made, which was much the same as the first but with the addition of more, varied Essence Crystals. Not having any idea as of yet how difficult Essence Crystals would be to obtain, he was somewhat hesitant to commit to the longer list of materials. That being said, he did not want to risk underestimating Chadwick. He had been a noble scion his entire life, with all the expectations and the training that likely involved. When Chadwick learned that he had unlocked a class, he expected him to push out the date of their duel long enough to give him the time to unlock his own class. It was what he would do if he were to find himself in Chadwick’s shoes after the Festival of the Dawn ended. With that being the case, Klarion knew he would have to pursue the longer list of materials eventually. Perhaps Valdre and Redrek would have a better idea of how he could get his hands on the materials he needed.

The steady clack of boots echoed through the Essence Studies classroom, pulling Klarion from his thoughts. Professor Stormcloak strode in with the deliberate confidence of a man who had spent a lifetime mastering power, his presence immediately commanding the room’s attention. The murmurs and whispered conversations among the students faded into silence.

Klarion straightened in his seat, forcing himself to push aside his mental list of materials for unlocking the Valiant Sunlord class for the moment. For now, the more important thing was to focus on anything that could give him an edge in unlocking the Essences he needed for the class. After all, without those, there was no point even worrying about the materials on the lists he had made. Without those two Essences, his future class would be little more than an unreachable dream.

Professor Stormcloak stopped at the front of the room, his brown eyes sweeping over the assembled students, assessing them, weighing them in some silent judgment before he spoke.

"Before we begin," the professor said, his tone carrying a distinct note of disinterest, "let us take stock of your progress. Raise your hand if you have successfully unlocked an Essence since our last session."

Klarion glanced around. Not a single hand was raised. Not one. Some students shifted uncomfortably in their seats while others exchanged furtive glances. For his part, Klarion was somewhat surprised. Even though he got the sense that unlocking an Essence was no simple feat, he still expected at least a few of his classmates to already have done so. 

Professor Stormcloak let the silence stretch, as if offering his students one last opportunity to prove him wrong. Then, with an exhale through his nose, he shook his head. "Predictable. Unlocking an Essence through the Assessment Orb alone is exceedingly rare."

A few students visibly stiffened at that, and Klarion felt his own irritation start to rise. It hadn’t been as long as it should have been, but he had spent time attempting to unlock an Essence with the Assessment Orb. If the Professor had not thought it would be worth doing, why give one to each of them at all? As if reading his mind, another student off to his right asked the question.

“Professor Stormcloak?” At the professor’s nod, he continued, “Why give us all an Assessment Orb, then?”

Professor Stormcloak inclined his head, unfazed. "A reasonable question. While the Assessment Orb itself is rarely the key to unlocking an Essence, it serves a necessary function. Through it, you are learning how to reach outward, how to sense the potential that lies dormant within you. When used properly, it conditions the mind to perceive what was previously imperceptible. I expect some of you have already felt something—an impression, a pull, the ghost of something just beyond your grasp."

A few students around Klarion nodded hesitantly, and several of them looked noticeably less irritated at having spent hours with the orb.

"Moreover, the Academy itself plays a role in this process. You have surely noted that it does not reside within the Empire proper but in a pocket plane. This is not a trivial matter of security or convenience." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, ensuring he had their full attention before continuing. "The nature of this place makes unlocking Essences… easier. I do not claim to understand every intricacy of why, but the results speak for themselves. That said," he added, his tone sharpening, "do not mistake environment for entitlement. Favorable conditions will not compensate for personal inadequacy."

Klarion wrote down notes on what the Professor had just revealed. There was clearly something more to it, but if Professor Stormcloak was not going to elaborate right now, he might have to look into it himself later. If it turned out to be relevant to unlocking Essences, that is.

“Regardless of the details, it is the environment here that makes it easier to unlock an Essense. Now,” he said, tone firming, “if I don’t miss my guess, the vast majority of you have already been looking into the classes you wish to unlock with — I hope — Rare classes being what has snagged your attention. This is why I urge you all to focus on Essence unlocking now," he said, his tone firm. "You may be eager to unlock a powerful class—and many of you will. But if you ignore this crucial step, you will cripple your own potential. This is largely due to the fact that, beyond being a requisite for more powerful classes, unlocking an Essence before your class also grants you special bonuses even if it is not one required for the class itself. Some are straightforward—additional stat, extra skills, affinity bonuses, perhaps even improved control over your abilities. But there are deeper benefits as well. In some cases, the synergy between an Essence and a class produces traits so unique that they define an entire combat style. This is why some scions and nobility both within and outside of the Empire spend years trying to awaken an Essence before even considering their class selection.”

Without thinking, Klarion asked a question that brought the attention of the entire classroom to him, “Then why does the Academy not require scions to unlock Essences as well as a Class before they can go on to their second year? Why only a class?”

Professor Stormcloak, rather than being irked at being interrupted, seemed to be satisfied that Klarion had blurted the question out. “The answer to Scion Blacksword’s question is simple: Not all students are capable. Some of you,” Professor Stormcloak continued, again cutting off the comments that followed his claim, “will never unlock an Essence. That is the nature of power, even in a place like the Imperial Academy, where you have access to many benefits. For those unable to unlock an Essence, the Academy will not waste resources on those who are incapable of doing so. While those who fail to unlock an Essence by the time of their second year will not be removed from the Academy — so long as they unlock a class of Uncommon rank— they would still be advised to adjust their aspirations accordingly.”

If anything, what the professor was saying lined up with what Klarion was beginning to understand about the Imperial Academy. It would give its scions access to opportunities and advantages, but it would not hold their hands. There would be no safety net, no gentle guidance to make sure that every student found their way to unlocking an Essence. 

In a way, he was glad for the agreement he had made with Chadwick. While it drastically cut the time he had to unlock Essences and the Valiant Sunlord class, it also provided the pressure he might well need to work that much harder to achieve his goals for both. After all, he already knew that he would need every advantage he could get for the enemies he would be facing after he killed Chadwick in their duel.

“As we have already discussed,” Stormcloak said, pulling Klarion’s attention back to the lecture, “most of you will find that using the Assessment Orb alone will continue to lead to failure. That being said, something I would advise you all to focus on is one of the most common triggers for unlocking an Essence: heightened emotion. Records diligently collected over the time this Academy has been in operation have been enough to confirm this phenomenon. Moments of terror, fury, desperation, sorrow — even overwhelming joy — have led scions to unlock an Essence. It has been found to be statistically significant that these surges of feeling allow the scion to tap into something deeper within themselves, something beyond mere reason or will.”

Professor Stormcloak paused to gesture behind himself, lines of golden text appearing on the board as he did so. In moments, it was clear to the class that it was a long list of various kinds of emotions.

“Now, I ask again: has anyone here experienced an unusual sensation while caught in one of these emotions?”

Overwhelming silence greeted Professor Stormcloak’s question. Some students exchanged uncertain glances, others averted their eyes, the majority reluctant to respond for some reason. Klarion thought over his last trip to the Hall of Bonds. About how that ogre had spoken about Hatsune. The rage that had grown swift and cold within him. He remembered how the air had gone cold and how everyone else in the room had reacted when that had happened. He had felt something else, too.

Klarion raised his hand.

“Yes, Scion Blacksword?”

"A few days ago, I was at the Hall of Bonds, looking for servants to restaff Blacksword Manor," he said evenly. "There was an ogre servant I was speaking with. He—" Klarion exhaled sharply. "—he angered me. More than I realized at the time."

Professor Stormcloak gestured for him to continue.

"I was furious, but it was a cold rage,” Klarion admitted. "I could barely think. And then… the room changed. The air felt cold—freezing, even. I remember everyone else in the room that I could see looking… afraid. Terrified."

The weight of Klarion’s words settled in the air. The eyes of the scions sitting around him shifted toward him, some wary, some calculating. Others bore the unmistakable glint of intrigue. Professor Stormcloak was silent, clearly in thought, but some of the students weren’t so composed after Klarion had admitted what had happened.

A young half-elf with brown hair sitting on his left spoke into the silence. “You’re saying you exerted some kind of force over the room?” His voice was skeptical, but beneath it lurked something else. Caution.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Klarion responded when the professor motioned for him to answer the question. His own thoughts were still tangled, still grasping for understanding, though it was starting to make sense in the context of what Professor Stormcloak had said. “I wasn’t even aware it was happening until nearly after.”

“Fear,” someone else whispered. Based on his uniform, he was from the minor house of a Knight. His expression was wary as Klarion turned to face him, almost as if he was afraid the Blacksword scion would lash out at him for speaking. “You said the others in the room were afraid of you.”

“They looked afraid,” Klarion corrected. “I don’t know if it was because of me or because of whatever happened in the room at the time.”

A scoff came from his left. “Oh, it was you,” a haughty girl from the House of a Count sneered. “Ogres don’t scare easily. You think a servant panicked because the air got cold?” Her gaze flicked over him, assessing. “You did something, Blacksword. Whether you meant to or not.”

Professor Stormcloak finished his thoughts and rejoined the conversation unfolding in his class. “And how did you feel, Scion Blacksword, beyond your anger?”

Klarion thought about it. "Focused," he said at last. "Sharpened, in a way. Like everything else in the room had ceased to matter except for me and the target of my rage."

Stormcloak exhaled softly. "You were close," he said. "Very close."

Klarion’s pulse quickened. So he had been that close to unlocking an Essence.l

The professor continued, "Based on your description, but without me being there to observe it firsthand, my best guess is that you nearly unlocked either an Ice Essence or a Darkness Essence. The cold you describe is common among those attuned to Ice, while the dimming of the light is a hallmark of Darkness."

Ice or Darkness. Klarion barely suppressed a grimace. Neither of those would help him unlock Valiant Sunlord. Fire and Might—those were the Essences he needed. And yet, if he had come close to unlocking an Essence once, then he could do it again. Perhaps the specific emotion itself would impact the kind of Essence he unlocked. If so, he just needed to be careful that the next time he felt rage, he would need to make sure it was a hot one rather than cold.

Leaving Klarion to his thoughts, Professor Stormcloak returned to lecturing the class in its entirety. “This is why understanding your emotions is crucial. Many scions unlock their first Essence in the heat of battle, during the moment their life hangs in the balance. Others—like Klarion nearly did—find it during an overwhelming emotional surge. Regardless of which situation you find yourself in, Essence unlocking is not passive. You must push. You must reach. And when the moment comes, you must seize it."

“And what would you recommend we do, Professor, to maximize our odds of unlocking an Essence?”

“The most direct method, beyond cultivating awareness of your emotions, is combat. Struggle breeds strength. Pain and adversity forge power. When you stand at the precipice, when your mind and body are pushed to the brink, the chances of unlocking an Essence increase dramatically. Since combat is dangerous, and a good number of you have, I assume, little experience with fighting for your lives, I suggest visiting the Arena at some point this year.”

The scratching of scions writing filled the room as those around Klarion worked to record the professor’s recommendations and their own thoughts. Some jotted down the professor’s words verbatim, while others condensed the key ideas into sharp, efficient notes. The more studious among them—such as a young woman behind him, long black hair obscuring her face—whispered quietly to herself, as if reciting the notes she was making to solidify them in her memory as well.

From what he could tell with a brief glance around the room after he had taken his own notes, the reactions to what Professor Stormcloak said varied. Some students, particularly the higher ranking scions further back, wore knowing expressions, as if this was merely a confirmation of what they had already been taught. Others, especially the less privileged scions, showed a mixture of determination and barely concealed anxiety. The latter group was likely thinking over how if Essence unlocking was this crucial, then their futures were already being shaped by their ability—or inability—to achieve it.

Professor Stormcloak, unfazed by the murmurs of understanding and the quiet tension settling over the room, turned back to the board. With a casual flick of his hand, more golden words shimmered into existence, sprawling in flowing script. 

Klarion scanned the second list as it expanded to include lines to various emotional states. Fire and Might took his attention first, and to his relief, they, like many of them, were connected to rage. Once he marked that down, his attention turned to other Essences like Storm and Shadow. The dozens of Essences now listed on the board were likely not the limit of those available to be unlocked, but they were a good starting point. As Klarion diligently expanded his notes to reflect as much of the board as he could, Professor Stormcloak spoke of how the various relationships between specific emotions and the various Essences were recorded by the Academy. So focused was Klarion on replicating the words on the board in his own notes that he ended up missing most of what the professor said. While he recognized he would likely not be able to unlock more than the two Essences he had his eye on, he was already thinking of the possibility of helping Hatsune unlock at least one Essence as well. Perhaps also Jezeri, once she returned to campus.

Professor Stormcloak finally brought the lecture to an end. “This concludes today’s lesson,” he said. “Your assignment is simple: think about the notes you have taken. Reflect on them. Then, consider what method will allow you increased odds of unlocking an Essence of your choice.” He gestured behind himself, and the board was cleared in a burst of golden sparks. 

“Dismissed.”

Bonus Chapter - Scion Marentia's Purpose at the Imperial Academy

Scion Marentia Hartford moved through the wide, polished hall with measured steps, the boots she wore to match her uniform tapping lightly against the smooth stone. Given how early she was, the hall was almost empty of other scions as she made her way to her first class: Foundations of History. She had no real enthusiasm for the subject. The past was the past. What mattered was who controlled it now and who would control it in the future. But the requirements of attending the Imperial Academy demanded that she attend the class and prepare to pass whatever exam her Professor decided upon in order to move on to the second year. 

As boring as she knew it would be, at least it would offer a good opportunity to observe the others who would share the class with her. Potential allies or rivals would be interesting enough, but those she was most concerned with observing were potential husbands.

Her thoughts briefly returned to her arrival at the Imperial Academy. Upon arriving, four guards in her father’s service—armored in House Hartfold’s crimson and silver—had marched in disciplined formation, their hands resting lightly on the pommels of their swords. The Waypoint had been bustling, as expected, with newly arrived scions and servants moving throughout, some still disoriented from their arrival. Some few scions had noticed her as soon as she had arrived. She didn’t blame them. She was quite beautiful, after all. Her House was not the most powerful, nor the wealthiest, but it was respectable within the ranks of Barons. And respectable nobility knew how to carry themselves, which only supplemented her beauty. 

She remembered then how an older man in a tailored dark coat stepped smoothly to her side. Harold, Baron Hartfold’s most trusted servant and a man who had served her family since before she was born, placed a firm yet respectful hand on her shoulder, steering her slightly to the side.

“Captain,” Harold had addressed the leader of her escort. “Give us some space.”

The captain, a man in his mid-thirties with a clean-shaven face and warm brown eyes, had hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Understood.” With a quick gesture, he had signaled the other guards, and they fell back, dispersing just enough to form a loose square around her and Harold—close enough to intervene if needed, but distant enough to grant Marentia and Harold privacy.

The old retainer had then turned his full attention to Marentia, his sharp gaze assessing her posture, her expression, and even the way she held her gloved hands before speaking. “You understand why you are here, my lady?”

“To attend the Imperial Academy,” Marentia answered immediately, schooling her expression into polite disinterest as she had been taught by her mother.

Harold exhaled through his nose—his version of an unimpressed sigh. “No. You are here to secure the future of House Hartfold.” He had then directed her attention over to the other noble scions arriving. “This Academy is among the finest in the Empire, but more importantly, it is where alliances are formed, where reputations are built, and where futures are decided.”

Though she knew the importance of what her father’s servant had been getting at, in the moment, it was all Marentia could do in that moment to resist the urge to roll her eyes. She had, after all, heard this lecture before.

“Your father does not expect you to dedicate yourself entirely to studies of war or magic,” Harold continued. “It is good to improve yourself, to refine your skills, but strength alone is not your purpose. A noble daughter’s greatest weapon is not her sword but her choice of husband.”

A lesser girl might have balked at the reminder, but Marentia had merely lifted her chin slightly. She had been raised in courtly manners and the realities of noble life. She knew what was expected of her.

“I will be mindful,” she had said instead.

Harold had studied her, searching for any hint of rebellion. Finding none, he had given a slight nod. “Good.” He had then gestured subtly toward a group of young noblemen who had also just arrived, their family banners displayed on the escorts accompanying them. “The Academy is filled with promising candidates. Sons of barons, counts, and even those of higher ranks. You must watch, listen, and learn. Identify who has ambition, whose House is on the rise, and most importantly, who can secure a stable future for you and your kin.”

Marentia had folded her hands before her, fingers tapping lightly against the fine embroidery of her gloves. She had already known this, of course. Her father had drilled it into her before she left home. She had no illusions about love. Marriage was not about personal desire. It was about security, power, and legacy.

Still, that did not mean she would settle for just anyone.

Harold must have caught the flicker of calculation in her eyes because he had let out a quiet chuckle. “Ah. Now you are thinking.”

Marentia had allowed herself a small smirk. “There’s little point in rushing, is there? A hasty decision could be just as ruinous as a careless one.”

“Indeed.” Harold looked around once more before lowering his voice. “The Academy will distract many of your peers. Some will be lost in their studies, others in their quests for power. You must not be like them. Your priority is securing a strong match for House Hartfold. That is your duty.”

It was a duty she would take seriously.

After leaving her escort to return back to the territory of her House, Marentia had departed to ready herself for her time at the Academy. Everything from touring campus to attending the ceremony at the Amphitheater of Induction had gone off largely as she had planned. The Academy itself, especially its architecture, was as breathtaking as she had been led to believe. The area near where she had her own apartment was surrounded by the marble towers of one of the Archducal factions, and the vast open grounds surrounding where she was staying were immaculately maintained, the paths lined with golden lanterns that would glow come dusk.

And yet, she barely spared any of it a second glance. The real sight worth assessing wasn’t the stonework nor the grounds, after all. No, it was the scions from which she would have to pick a potential suitor to pursue. 

Her attention returned to the present as she finally came to the door of the room that held her first class, Foundations of History. Adjusting her clothes slightly, as she knew the importance of a good first impression, Marentia took only a moment to prepare herself before going in.

As soon as she entered the room, Marentia could feel the attention of several of the scions already in the room. She made her way to a free seat on the far side, most of her attention fixed on studying the young men around her as she went, categorizing them much as she had been trained to do so.

A trio near the back of the room caught her attention first. Their uniforms bore the marks of Baronial Houses. One of them, a tall blonde with an easy smile, and even easier on the eyes, gestured animatedly as he spoke, while the other two—dark-haired and serious—listened with measured patience. She did not recognize them immediately, but that was easily remedied. She would just have to do a little research first, to make sure they were worth her time. If promising, that, combined with their status as scions of Baronies, perhaps they were worth meeting.

Setting the sons of barons aside for now, Marentia turned her attention to the other side of the room where another group stood in a loose formation. They bore the insignias of Comital Houses, and, as a result, were likely descended from families that were wealthier and more politically entrenched than the first group she saw. The one who attracted her attention most was a dark-haired man with aristocratic features and a hawkish gaze who leaned against a desk, his shoulder marked with the crest of House Valgremont. Her father had told her about that House in passing, which was why she recognized it. A rising power, apparently, and one whose influence in the regional capital had begun to grow in recent years. The sense she got from him was that he was ambitious and calculating. Dangerous qualities for sure if they should be directed against her, but allied through marriage, they could well be the key to reinforcing her own House. It helped that he was pleasant to look at as well, but that was by far a secondary concern in the face of serving her house according to her family.

Her examination cut off just before she arrived at the seat she had selected when her eyes landed on them.

Non-human scions.

A high elf with golden hair stood beside a half-elven woman, their presence drawing subtle attention even from other nobles. With angular features that each of their inferior bloodlines possessed, their kind always did. Marentia had little patience for their intrusion in Imperial politics, for all that they had been accepted for many centuries in the region already. Despite that, her family had told her how the elves had their own courts, their own games of power, and they did not belong in the Empire’s noble hierarchy. 

Her fingers curled against her desk as she spotted another young man with dusky gray skin and short, pointed ears—likely a half-dark elf—engaged in conversation with the son of a human knight. Pointless and foolish. Marentia recognized the mark of the human’s shoulder and well knew his house to be an adherent of The Ivory Banner. The half-dark elf would be used, or worse, by the human scion.

Turning her attention away from that distateful interaction, Marentia focused on quelling the revulsion in her chest at the thought that rose within her mind about some of the other, even more disgusting creatures admitted to the Imperial Academy. Creatures like hobgoblins and the myriad of beastkin were allowed in among their betters. It was one thing for the Empire to allow elves and half-bloods to study here, even if they were beneath true nobility. But to accept those things? 

Marentia exhaled slowly through her nose, composing herself. It did not matter. They did not matter. She had already seen what she needed to see of the scions around her. Even though the class was not yet full, she had observed a number of potential scions of interest, while those who did not had been discarded from consideration, and the non-human filth was beneath any further thoughts. And now, with the first judgments made, her thoughts turned to the second most important matter at hand.

Her classes.

The Imperial Academy prided itself on its broad and rigorous curriculum, offering training in subjects that ranged from military strategy to arcane theory, economics to political philosophy. Her mother had told her how all of those topics were essential for the young men, and especially the heirs of their houses. But not for her. Marentia agreed on that point. She was not here to become a mage, nor a general. She had no need to wield a sword, to memorize battle formations, or to study obscure historical treaties that had long since lost their relevance. Yes, those were the concerns of men—the heirs who would rule, the commanders who would lead armies, the scholars who would advise courts.

No, Marentia’s true education had begun long before she had ever set foot on the grounds of the Imperial Academy. At her family’s estate, she had learned the real lessons that shaped noble houses—how to navigate a court with grace, how to steer a conversation with subtlety, how to command a room with the proper dress and walk. She had watched her mother and the other noble ladies weave alliances with nothing more than a compliment, an invitation, or the withholding of both. She had observed the way power moved, not in battlefields of blood and steel, but in ballrooms and salons, in whispers exchanged behind gilded fans.

And that was why, out of all the classes she would be required to take at the Imperial Academy this year, there was only one that mattered.

Etiquette and Courtly Manners.

The name itself was deceptively simple, almost quaint compared to the more grandiose courses offered to noble scions—courses on statecraft, warfare, magic, and history. But those were merely technical skills. 

Etiquette was strategy. 

Courtly Manners were weapons as sharp as any blade.

That class would not teach her anything she did not already know—but it would refine her, sharpen her edges, ensure she could wield her charm, poise, and, most importantly, her beauty as deftly as a duelist wielded a rapier. All of which would give her direct access to potential suitors in the one arena where she held the absolute advantage. A battlefield where wit, grace, and presence determined the victor.

The other courses were necessary formalities for her, and, so long as she did not fail them outright and was able to gain at least an uncommon class, that was all she needed to do. After all, what use was military strategy? Her mother had taught her that wars were decided long before the first sword was drawn — through treaties, marriages, and betrayals. The same could be said for the art of managing estates and wealth. Her aunts had explained that a proper noblewoman did not count coins, but simply dictated where they would flow. Her mother had said it best. A woman’s power is her ability to make men move the world for her. Marentia turned over her mother’s words as the rest of the class continued to trickle in.

Marentia did not flinch when the doors burst open, though many around her did. She had been raised better than to gawk at spectacle. Instead, she straightened her posture, smoothing out the pristine sleeves of her uniform as the professor strode into the room.

Black robes, trimmed with silver. A severe braid of black streaked with silver. Dark eyes swept the room with the precision of a master appraiser assessing the worth of raw gemstones. Interesting. Perhaps this was the kind of instructor who would teach lessons worth learning.

She introduced herself as Professor Elara Mordrane. Many of the students were taking notes as the professor started lecturing. Others were watching the professor with expressions ranging from bored disinterest to barely concealed apprehension. And then there were those she was already familiar with—scions of high-ranking noble houses, heirs to fortunes and legacies. Her attention briefly wandered from Professor Mordrane to one of the later arrivals to the class. 

Klarion Blacksword. 

He was, technically, a scion of an Archducal House. The Blackswords had once been a name of power, synonymous with military dominance and unwavering will. But that was no longer the case. Now, the house was but a shadow of what it had been, its influence quickly eroded over the past few decades. Even the Blacksword’s presence here at the Academy was seen by some as a desperate gambit to restore what had been lost. The whispers had already begun since the Induction Ceremony that Klarion wouldn’t survive the year. His presence was not even tolerated, let alone respected, after all.

Marentia dismissed him without further thought. A foolish betrothal like one to the House of Blacksword would weaken a noble line just as much as a foolish war against a stronger opponent. Even if he somehow managed to prove himself, it would take far more than a single individual to reverse generations of decline. Her family required a match that would elevate them, not one that required rescuing. No, her prospects lay elsewhere.

Her attention snapped back to Professor Mordrane as she gestured toward the chalkboard. With a flick of her hand, words formed across its surface, their neat script aligning into an elegant timeline. Marentia turned her attention to taking notes of her own, recording the details as they appeared. As much as she didn’t see the long-term usefulness of the course, Foundations of History was still not something she could idle away in. The professor had made that clear from the start. 

Professor Mordrane’s sharp voice sliced through the air as she outlined the course structure, her pacing deliberate. The room was utterly silent, save for the furious scratching of writing on parchment. When the professor called for questions, Marentia remained silent, content to observe for the moment. 

One of the lesser students, an elf, attempted to speak—only to immediately stumble upon addressing the professor incorrectly. A mistake that was met with a cold, almost surgical dressing down. She couldn’t help the small smile that came to her face as the entire class bore witness as Professor Mordrane reminded them all of the importance of rank, hierarchy, and proper conduct.

As the lesson continued, the professor shifted her presentation, turning the question upon the class. Why was this course required of all noble first-years? Silence followed, brief but thick with hesitation. None wished to speak up after witnessing the professor’s cutting discipline. Marentia considered her answer, but another student—a minor noble, if she recalled correctly—answered first. A reasonable response, but simplistic. Professor Mordrane made that clear, though without the venom she had reserved for earlier failings.

Then came the map. A vast projection of the Empire, its many territories and regions that did not do justice to its Multiversal dimensions glowing against the chalkboard. A beautiful display of power and dominion, and yet, for all the grandeur of the Empire, there were still weaknesses. Brutality had long been one of its defining traits. Necessary, perhaps, but had it not also invited resistance? Had it not led to fractures, to rebellions?

It was this thought that led her to speak.

“Professor,” Marentia said, her voice clear and measured.

The low murmur of students dulled to a hush. Dozens of eyes turned toward her, some wide with curiosity, others narrowed with something more akin to morbid anticipation. She didn’t let the latter get to her. She knew what she was doing. This would be the first step in setting herself up as a desirable match for any number of interested young, human men.

Professor Mordrane turned, the weight of her attention settling on Marentia like a brand of cold iron.

For all the authority the professor commanded, her movements were measured and precise. While intimidating, Marentia had no intention of appearing weak to the class.

“If the Empire is so great,” she said smoothly, carefully, “why does it continue to rely on brutality? Surely, as a civilization, we should have moved past such barbaric practices by now.”

Marentia admitted to herself that what she said was a challenge, but it was a calculated one. Not a childish provocation like the insult about the Professor Mordrane’s rank voiced previously. It was a question that showed thought and which, she hoped, would invite discourse rather than insult.

But the silence that followed was not the expectant quiet of academic curiosity. Instead, the air in the room changed, and for the first time since arriving on campus, Marentia felt she might have made a mistake.

Professor Mordrane did not answer immediately. The professor merely studied Marentia, gaze unwavering. It was a slow, deliberate assessment—not just of the words spoken, but of the one who had spoken them. The silence stretched long enough that the flicker of unease that Marentia had begun to feel was starting to turn into a full-fledged social panic. For all that she could feel it bearing down on her, she still refused to let it show. Marentia kept her hands still, her posture straight, her expression schooled into one of composed attentiveness.

Then, at last, Professor Mordrane spoke.

“A noble sentiment,” the professor said, her voice like the sharp edge of frost. “But also a profoundly stupid one.”

A sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the hall. Marentia flinched before she could stop herself. A slight shifting that would be barely perceptible to most, but there nonetheless.

And yet, Professor Mordrane had seen it.

She had struck not with anger, not with scorn, but with the effortless precision of a duelist slipping a blade between an opponent’s ribs.

This was not a reprimand for an ill-chosen question.

This was worse.

This was cold dismissal. The disassembly of an argument which Professor Mordrane considered so fundamentally flawed that it was not worth the dignity of an impassioned response.

Marentia had made a mistake. A miscalculation. Her hands remained perfectly still atop her desk, but her jaw tightened. She had thought herself clever—had believed she had presented a question worth discussing, one that would place her in the center of a meaningful exchange. 

“Allow me to explain,” Professor Mordrane said, again stepping out from behind the podium to pace the front of the classroom. Her robes swept behind her like a dark tide. “In your sheltered upbringing, Marentia, you may have been taught that strength is unnecessary when diplomacy can prevail. That is wrong.” She held up a hand in emphasis. “Diplomacy without strength is an open invitation to annihilation. The Empire’s practices — brutal, as you call them — are the shield that keeps each and every one of us alive. The Rhalgyr Incursion. The Shardfall Conflagration. The Harrowing of Ashenvale III. What kept our enemies at bay after each? Negotiation? No. Thousands of Imperial Legionnaires who held the line until reinforcements could arrive to beat back the invaders.”

Her voice rose slightly, commanding the attention of the class. “Brutality is not the absence of civilization, Marentia.” Professor Mordrane stared down at Marentia, who stared straight ahead, her face turning pale. “It is its foundation. The laws you take for granted, the luxuries you enjoy, this Academy itself — all these are built on the understanding that the Empire will not hesitate to do what is necessary to protect its people and its future.”

Marentia sat frozen, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the blood draining from her face. Sheltered upbringing. The words struck harder than she would ever admit. Professor Mordrane’s tone was not scornful, not mocking—but worse. It was matter-of-fact, an observation so certain that refuting it felt childish. She wanted to speak. To counter as her family had taught her to. To salvage what little dignity she had remaining.

She could feel the eyes of her peers on her. Some were watching with barely concealed satisfaction, enjoying the spectacle of a noble scion being put in her place. Others were impassive, looking on without amusement but with keen interest.

Marentia swallowed hard, keeping her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the professor’s shoulder. She had been prepared for a challenge, a debate of ideas where she might demonstrate her intellect and command of discourse. Where she might bring herself into the awareness of any number of potential suitors. She had not expected to be dissected like an untrained child.

Marentia exhaled slowly, willing herself to remain composed. She was humiliated, but she would not let it break her. This was a lesson. A bitter one, but one she would remember. But a single lesson did not define a scion’s education. Like her mother had taught her, she would learn. She would adapt.

Above all, she would ensure that her future—her House’s future—was secured.

She just had to find a man worthy of her.

Update - 3/10/2025

Hey everyone,

Hope you all had a great weekend! Mine was made extra special because it was my birthday this past Friday. My amazing wife surprised me with a short trip up to beautiful Maine. We spent some much-needed time hiking and enjoying the stunning natural scenery, a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of city life.

The trip was fantastic, but it did mean I fell a little behind on my writing goals for the weekend. I apologize for any delays this might cause. I'm working hard to catch up!

To tide you over, I am just finishing a short, exclusive piece for my Patrons! This one won't be posted publicly, and it offers a peek into the culture of the Empire from the perspective of a young woman who is a scion of a lower-ranking noble house. I hope you enjoy this little insight into a different side of the Imperial Academy.

More chapters are definitely coming this week, and I'm pushing to get back to having that 10+ chapter buffer for you all as quickly as possible.

Thanks again for your patience and, especially, your continued support. You guys are the best!

Chapter 96 - Dreadborne Harbinger

Klarion left the class still turning over in his mind how Professor Mordrane had spoken about the early years of the Emperor’s rise to power. She had emphasized how it was not just strength or power but vision that had been the true foundation of the Empire. It made sense to him, and was in fact almost obvious after she had pointed it out. Without vision, power was directionless, strength was fleeting, and ambition was little more than a candle flickering in the wind. Professor Mordrane said that the first Emperor had understood this. He had not merely conquered; he had reshaped the Imperial portion of the Multiverse according to his vision. That, more than any might or ruthless cunning, was why he had succeeded where so many before him had failed.

Klarion’s steps slowed. Around him, students who had already filtered out of their classroom in twos and threes loudly speculated about the lecture. Some openly marveled at the Emperor’s approach, at his brilliance in using the early Legions to enforce his vision on those he integrated into the new Empire. Others spoke of wanting to learn more about the military prowess of the early Legions as a result. 

While the group nearest to him talked over what they hoped would be covered next, Klarion wondered over what the vision of House Blacksword was. Or perhaps it didn’t even matter to him. Maybe the more important thing was that Klarion find a vision of his own while here at the Imperial Academy. After all, his House had no banners hanging from the halls of the Academy. No one here spoke to him of his House’s storied triumphs, no sagas of its rise. No one had approached him, seeking to get in the good graces of his House. In fact, those concerned with House Blacksword seemed to simply be motivated by removing its first-year scion. Whatever legacy his House did have had no real bearing so long as the threats against him continued.

Klarion frowned as he stepped out of the way of a scion from another class rushing past. Before he could consider why the other scion had been in such a rush, purposeful movement to his right attracted his attention, causing him to come to a stop. A small group of scions — scions he recognized — had positioned themselves near a staircase heading up to the second floor. For a moment, Klarion hoped they would actually go up the stairs, but the motion that had caught his attention was from one of the scions gesturing in his direction.

Chadwick Copperhand turned to face him.

Chadwick muttered something to the cluster of sycophants gathered around him. They all laughed at some joke Klarion couldn’t hear, but the way they looked at him like jackals scenting fresh blood made it clear what it had likely been about. As Chadwick stepped off the stairs, leading the group in his direction, Klarion caught sight of Hector near the back. While he was standing among a few of the scions who had been involved in the attempt to kill him in the Dungeon, Hector alone looked uneasy. He walked with the rest, but his arms were crossed, and his jaw was tight. In fact, the young man that Klarion had thought once could be his friend looked to have deliberately positioned himself slightly to the side, not quite a part of the group’s easy camaraderie.

“Why, Blacksword,” Chadwick said as he came closer, sycophants behind him, calling out loud enough to draw nearby attention. “I was hoping to run into you. I thought it was about time to give you a friendly reminder.”

Klarion crossed his arms, shifting to put the nearest wall behind him. While he didn’t think Chadwick or his followers would attempt anything right now, it still made sense to be careful with his own safety. “How thoughtful.”

“I do try,” Chadwick smirked. “After all, everyone knows how forgetful the scions of House Blacksword can be. A history of not quite understanding their place with the regional Imperial hierarchy.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I wouldn’t want you to make any unfortunate mistakes with timing, so consider this a courtesy — leave before the year is out. Before the deadline to unlock a class.”

Klarion didn’t respond at first, instead letting the silence stretch between them. When he finally spoke, an edge of amusement was in his tone as well. “That is… kind of you. I had assumed you’d arrange an accident instead. Perhaps something similar to what almost happened with the Dungeon?”

Chadwick’s expression didn’t change, but the slight shift of his stance—so subtle most wouldn’t notice—told Klarion he had struck a nerve. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he denied.

Klarion exhaled through his nose, amusement still present in his tone. “Of course you don’t.”

When Klarion didn’t continue with his unstated accusation, Chadwick’s smirk returned. “You’re an outsider playing at being one of us, Klarion. Those at this Academy—we don’t care about how much fight you have.” He stepped forward, lowering his voice slightly. “And no one wants a Blacksword here. Especially one who uses Sentinels to infiltrate another scion’s home. You are a relic of a time that no longer holds any importance to this region of the Empire.”

Klarion’s expression did not shift, but inside, his thoughts were moving fast. Chadwick had just confirmed not only that he knew Jezeri had infiltrated his residence on campus, but that he was openly acknowledging it in front of an audience. Even as quiet as he had said it, he was sure the scions nearest them had heard what he had said. And that meant Chadwick wasn’t concerned about keeping it secret. 

“You seem awfully calm about admitting that a Sentinel broke into your home.”

Chadwick snorted, shaking his head with amusement. “Oh, Blacksword,” he said, as though speaking to a particularly slow child. “I’m not the one who should be concerned about what was just admitted. After all, we both know that Sentinels are required to follow very strict rules, don’t we? And yet—” his smirk widened, “—she violated them. Luckily for you—and her—I have no interest in your pet Sentinel. If she even is a Sentinel any longer.” 

Before Klarion could respond, Chadwick waved a dismissive hand, his expression still one of amused condescension. “No, in a way, I’m a little impressed you figured out the rules aren’t as rigid as you might think so soon after a certain someone sought to exploit them to the detriment of your allies.”

Klarion frowned slightly at that, his mind immediately turning over the implications. Not as rigid as he thought? He had thought the rules governing the Academy, and the rules governing the Sentinels, were meant to be ironclad. At least strictly enforced with little room for interpretation. And yet, Chadwick was speaking as if they could be bent, manipulated.

His confusion must have been obvious because Chadwick let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head as if Klarion’s ignorance was an exhausting burden. “Really, Blacksword? You’ve already seen an example of this.”

Klarion’s frown deepened, though it was less from trying to figure out what Chadwick was talking about and more from considering how to get out of this conversation. Not only was Chadwick an enemy, but he was a smug, annoying enemy. And he was getting tired of his talking.

“The duel,” Chadwick clarified, completely unaware of Klarion’s thoughts. “The one you had at The Hearth & Ember. That shouldn’t have been allowed, should it?” Chadwick continued, watching Klarion’s realization dawn. “And yet, it was. Because, you see, certain individuals can bend the rules slightly, so long as there’s a sanctioned referee nearby to oversee it.”

So that is what it was: a loophole. Not a blatant violation, not an outright dismissal of law, but a carefully arranged technicality that allowed things to happen that normally wouldn’t. And if the same principle applied to the Sentinels...

Klarion’s thoughts shifted again, returning to Jezeri. In a roundabout way, Chadwick wasn’t stating that Jezeri had broken the rules—he was implying that the strict rules governing Sentinels could, in the right hands, be molded to fit a desired outcome. How that would actually happen, however, was unclear. Nor did he think Chadwick would clarify it for him. 

As interesting as the mostly one-sided conversation was, there wasn’t much that Klarion thought he could gain from continuing it. Except perhaps to lose only more precious time he could be devoting to planning out how to unlock the class he had picked.

“As much as I have enjoyed this conversation, Chadwick, I have some things to take care of.” So saying, Klarion made to leave to find Hatsune, but Chadwick’s next words brought him up short.

“Of course, of course. I think my words aren’t really sinking in, Blacksword. So, how about a bargain?” When Klarion stopped, turning to look back, he continued. “A festival is coming up in a few weeks—the Festival of the Dawn. A grand celebration, lasting an entire week, during which no classes are held, and the entire plane is given over to revelry and spectacle.” He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words settle. "If you promise that you will take your ‘classless self’ away from the Imperial Academy by then, I will see to it that you—and anyone foolish enough to align with you—are left alone until the festival is over. I’ll even promise to leave that whore of a Sentinel alone. A generous offer, wouldn't you say?"

The surrounding scions, who had drawn closer as Chadwick had voiced his offer, chuckled darkly, some nodding in smug agreement. They cut off as Chadwick waved for them to be silent. 

“I imagine you've read it by now. That bit of personal correspondence, detailing exactly how much power is arrayed against you.” His eyes flickered with cruel amusement. “I almost pity you, Blacksword. You should consider my offer.”

Noble’s Agreement (Binding)

Scion Chadwick Copperhand extends the following terms in a Noble’s Agreement (Binding) to Scion Klarion Blacksword:

1. Scion Klarion Blacksword will voluntarily withdraw himself from the campus of the Imperial Academy before the commencement of the Festival of the Dawn, a week-long festival during which all Academy courses are suspended.

2. Scion Chadwick Copperhand, and all that associate with him, will be bound to not interfere, directly or indirectly, with Scion Klarion Blacksword nor those who associate with him. Should this occur, Scion Chadwick Copperhand, and those aligned with him, will forswear any future actions at the Western Imperial Academy against Scion Klarion Blacksword.

3. Should Scion Klarion Blacksword not follow through with his side of the Noble’s Agreement by the end of the Festival of the Dawn, he will be required to engage in a duel to the death with Scion Chadwick Copperhand with the terms to be negotiated at the time the terms of the Noble’s Agreement are broken by Scion Klarion Blacksword. 

Accept: Yes/No

The Noble’s Agreement listed the exact terms that Chadwick had just uttered, though with the addition of a duel to the death between them should Klarion not follow through on his side of the agreement. Though it did not state anything further, the reasoning behind offering the contract was clear: accept the terms, or reject them and face the risk of escalation by Chadwick and his supporters.

Where before he had been in a hurry to leave Chadwick and his supporters behind, now all he wanted was additional time to think. The weight of the decision pressed down on him like a physical force. For long moments, Klarion weighed his options, though thankfully, Chadwick seemed to savor his silence and was not interrupting him. Klarion thought of the list Jezeri had given him, the names of enemies, the subtle machinations likely already in motion against him.  To agree to the Noble’s Agreement meant he would be able to buy time—time to research the materials he needed, to unlock the Essences essential for his chosen class, and to solidify his strength without interruption from Chadwick and his ilk for the inevitable challenges ahead. But it would also mean a deadline to get a class, one that would end in a duel to the death. While confident in the stats he might gain over the next few weeks if he were to put all his efforts into leveling, he was less confident in knowing how strong, and how skilled, Chadwick might be in a duel.

It was a risk.

To accept meant guaranteed survival, but only for the immediate future. It meant time to research, to prepare, to train. Most importantly, it meant time to unlock Essences and the class he had chosen. To reject meant potentially stepping into a battlefield he wasn’t yet ready for, given how Chadwick would then know Klarion’s intent to remain at the Imperial Academy no matter what. He already knew which way he was leaning, but the duel to the death concerned him. With how the Imperial Academy worked, that duel could not be evaded. So if he did accept the Noble’s Agreement, he had to be damn sure he would be able to win in a fight with Chadwick.

He looked back to Chadwick. The other scion was watching him with an insufferable smirk, arms crossed as if he’d already achieved his goal of scaring Klarion away from the Imperial Academy. Around him, his supporters waited, their postures arrogantly confident as well. They all thought this was the end for Klarion. They thought he would take the Noble’s Agreement and then slink away, tail between his legs, another failed scion of a House that they saw as being all but dead already.

Fuck that.

He wasn’t going to run. And he wasn’t going to lose either.

Jezeri’s list had shown him that there were more than a few scions already moving against him. If he refused the Noble’s Agreement, he would continue facing them all at once. If, however, he accepted, he could focus on Chadwick alone. He could make his next moves without interference. All he would have to do was unlock his Essences and then unlock his class. Then, he could focus on the duel to the death with Chadwick.

You have accepted the Noble’s Agreement (Binding) offered to you by Scion Chadwick Copperhand.

Departure Deadline: Festival of the Dawn. Failure to depart will result in an official duel to the death with Scion Chadwick Copperhand.

Safe Passage Activated: Under penalty of censure, Scion Chadwick Copperhand and those who associate with him are now restricted from interfering with your affairs until the contract deadline.

Chadwick’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he inclined his head in approval. “Excellent. I look forward to the festival, then,” he said with gleeful menace. “And if you still remain by the time the festival ends, I expect you to last at least a minute in our duel to the death. Until then, take care, Blacksword.”

Klarion stood still, his hands clenched at his sides as Chadwick and his sycophants left to go up the stairs they had been waiting near when he had left Foundations of History. The laughter, the smug glances thrown his way, the condescending arrogance—it set his teeth on edge, but he let it go. Let Chadwick think he had won, that he had Klarion backed into a corner.

Klarion waited until Chadwick and the rest disappeared up the stairs, then turned away, his movements slow, deliberate. If any of Chadwick’s lackeys had still been watching, they wouldn’t have seen a man defeated. They’d have seen someone composed. Resolved.

Chadwick had made a mistake. He just didn’t know it yet.

He was going to enjoy the look on Chadwick’s face when he drove his greatsword through the arrogant noble’s chest.

Chapter 95 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The first day of the new week dawned crisp and cool over the Imperial Academy. Baruk had made a good breakfast, and while they had been eating, Solivair had presented him some school supplies to take with him to his classes, including a small bag to carry everything in. In conducting an inventory of the manor alongside Margaret, the old Vileborn had noted that Klarion had no real school supplies and had taken it upon himself to see about providing him some. Needless to say, Klarion was already appreciating having his new Steward around.

Klarion left with Hatsune after they had eaten their fill. Together, they had made their way across campus. For Klarion, the initial strangeness of the Academy had faded. Indeed, he mostly knew the layout now, knew where to make their turns and where to avoid the worst of the morning rush.

At his side, Hatsune stepped away as they approached the building where his Foundations of History class was meeting. “I’ll be waiting for you in the hallway after your class is over.”

Klarion nodded, and they went off in opposite directions. The lecture hall was already half-filled by the time he entered the room, the rising rows of seats occupied by his fellow scions—some organizing their notes, others talking in low murmurs. Klarion took the seat he had taken the last time he had been in the class. Within minutes of having done so, the majority of the rest of the empty seats filled as the rest of his classmates rushed into the room before the professor could beat them to class. The whispers around him continued, but thankfully, most had turned their attention away from him and to the question of whether Professor Mordrane would be as acerbic and strict as she had been last time. 

The ones who said she would be were the ones who were right.

When Professor Mordrane finally entered the room, she walked with the measured precision of a battle-hardened general more so than a teacher, her black robes trimmed in silver swirling as she strode to her podium. There was no wasted movement as she walked to the front of the class. Her presence alone was enough to wring the air from the room, and any scion foolish enough to still be murmuring quickly fell silent.

Klarion straightened in his chair instinctively, feeling her violet gaze sweep over the class like a sharpened blade.

When she finally spoke, beginning the lecture, her voice commanded their undivided attention. “History is not simply a collection of dates and battles. It is the foundation upon which Empires rise and fall.” She looked from one side of the room to the other, making sure each of her students was either taking notes or focused on her speaking. “If you do not understand how the Empire came to be, you will not understand how to preserve it.”

With a flick of her wrist, the chalkboard behind her shimmered, and the air above it rippled with golden light. A timeline bloomed into existence, glowing in suspended air. At one end, a clear starting point shone brightly, marked as the Earliest Recorded Date of the Empire. But Klarion’s eyes were drawn to the chaos before it—a fractured, tangled era of broken lines and jagged script labeled only as The Veil of Fury. Professor Mordrane gestured to it, her expression as sharp as the lines of magic glowing in the air.

“This is where we will begin today: with the end of the Veil of Fury,” she said, giving the class a moment to write down the few notations that labeled the simple timeline she had created before continuing, “It was a period of unrelenting conflict and instability following the collapse of the preceding order.”

Klarion lifted his hand, the motion drawing the briefest flicker of attention from the other scions before Professor Mordrane’s attention landed on him. She did not call on students lightly, but when she inclined her head slightly in his direction, he knew she expected something worth asking.

“What exactly was this preceding order?” Klarion asked. It wasn’t just curiosity that prompted him. The Empire had not risen from nothing—power did not simply manifest, fully formed. From the classes he had attended and the books he had read back on Earth, all societies built themselves upon what came before, consuming or repurposing the old to forge something new. The way Professor Mordrane had framed it just now, this preceding order had been significant enough to warrant recognition before she even began detailing the Empire’s origins.

From the back, a sharp snicker broke the silence. Someone muttered something under their breath, and he didn’t have to turn to know it was one of the usual arrogant scions, those who thought his House unworthy of its continued existence.

Professor Mordrane’s expression did not change. If anything, there was the barest flicker of approval.“A good question,” she said, somewhat to the surprise of more than a few scions, “one that many scholars have asked… but to this day, there is no definitive answer.”

That quieted the room, and Klarion frowned slightly.

“You mean no one knows?” he pressed.

“We have fragments,” Professor Mordrane admitted, gesturing toward the fractured lines on the timeline, which Klarion now realized was symbolic of the fractured knowledge of that time. “Scattered mentions in the oldest surviving texts, implications in relics unearthed from ancient ruins across a myriad of worlds. But nothing cohesive.”

She took a step forward, and for a moment, the glow of the timeline cast sharp shadows across her face. “What we do know for certain is this:” She let the silence stretch for a heartbeat before continuing. “The System, as we know it, was not always as it is now.”

That caused a ripple of murmurs. Klarion could feel the energy in the room shift. Every student here had lived their entire lives with the System—its rules, its leveling, its classifications. It was the foundation of Multiversal civilization itself. The fact that the majority of scions around him did not know what Professor Mordrane casually mentioned made him glad he had asked the question.

“The preceding order,” Professor Mordrane continued, “was either the architect of the System, or the catalyst that transformed it into what we know today. Whether it was a single ruling entity, a vast empire, or something else entirely, we do not yet know. But research always continues. Perhaps we will know in time.”

She let the weight of the revelation settle before she finally spoke again.

“If what I just said interests you, I would recommend you unlock your class before the end of the year and take my elective on the Veil of Fury later on during your studies here,” she said before gesturing back to the timeline. “But that is a conversation for later. Right now, our study begins. We will trace the course of history as we know it, peeling back the layers of war, expansion, and governance. And perhaps, if you are diligent enough, some of you may one day contribute to answers much like the young Blacksword Scion has asked for.”

Her violet gaze swept over them once more, lingering on Klarion for a fraction longer before she turned to continue the lecture. “Following the end of the Veil of Fury, however it ended, whatever civilizations had existed prior to that point were shattered carcasses drifting across the planes and between the stars.”

With a flick of her fingers, the glowing lines of the timeline near the Veil of Fury shuddered and fractured still further, splitting into a dozen more broken strands, each labeled with the name of a fallen civilization of some sort. Or at least that was what Klarion guessed, given what the professor had been saying so far. He rushed to take as many notes on what he was seeing as he could. Something told him that the information the professor was so casually sharing was not something that was so easily found in such a distilled form, even in the Central Archives.

“With every polity lying in ruins, countless warlords amongst the races arose to fight for dominance of what became known for a time as the Scattered Shards,” Professor Mordrane continued, “with many eventually seizing what little remained of the previous order, only to be torn down in turn. Few lasted more than a generation. Fewer still left behind more than ruins of their own.”

Another gesture, and Professor Mordrane brought a new image to life on a different portion of the blackboard—a swirling maelstrom of names and battles, brief flashes of records and younger, though still eventually destroyed, civilizations, one which took up the majority of the display behind her. "The Varkaal Dominion," she listed first, "once considered the most promising successor to whatever order had come before. It boasted unmatched military discipline, soldiers with Rare classes and leaders with Epic or higher classes of their own, all capable of cleaving through hordes of their enemies like a scythe through wheat. It lasted seven thousand years before its warlords turned upon each other."

The Varkaal Dominion flared in gold on the timeline before abruptly fading into dust.

"House Iltheris," Professor Mordrane continued, her hand pointing to another name that was near where the Varkaal Dominion had been on the blackboard. "A noble lineage that survived the first centuries of the Veil of Fury. They prided themselves on knowledge, on controlling what little remained of the old libraries and artifacts of several civilizations that they had apparently served during the Veil of Fury. Their holdings were shattered when they sought to unify the warring enclaves around them. Their arrogance blinded them to the need of more than honeyed words and the promise of a share in their ancient power.”

Again, the name blazed bright before fading, lost like the Varkaal Dominion and others that she hadn’t spoken about.

"The Narvexi Pact," she called out, turning to the blackboard to gesture once more, "a coalition of powerful warbands that briefly held dominion over the worlds of more than a dozen planes of existence. They enforced unity through brutal conquest, imposing law through sheer terror. They were considered unstoppable… until the first cracks of rebellion shattered them from within."

The Narvexi Pact lingered longer before fading. Professor Mordrane turned back to face the class but let the silence stretch, allowing the weight of history to settle over them. Klarion rushed to get down as much as he could, never having been very fast at taking notes when he had been in school back on Earth.  Though Valdre and Redrek had a different professor for their Foundations of History course, he was sure they would be covering the same content. He would have to see about comparing notes with them later.

Professor Mordrane extended a hand, and with a snap of her fingers, the magical display behind her shifted. The timeline that had previously been on display faded, dissolving into streams of golden light before reforming into something far more chaotic. A map appeared—if it could even be called that. It was a writhing, unstable thing, borders shifting and twisting as if caught in an endless storm. Territories split and reformed in erratic patterns, some vanishing entirely only to reappear elsewhere. No single power held dominance; instead, it was a patchwork of warring factions, kingdoms, and nameless empires locked in ceaseless conflict.

Lines of power flickered and broke. Some territories expanded like an unchecked fire, only to be consumed a moment later. The entire display pulsed with a sense of instability, as though even the magic that conjured it struggled to impose order on the image. Klarion watched the display, observing the chaotic swirl of shifting borders. What he and all the other scions were watching was more than just instability. It was an endless, cycling collapse of ambition and destruction.

"These and so many others are what shaped the early period after the Veil of Fury, before the Empire and its contemporaries rose to assert their primacy over the Multiverse. Without them, it is likely that Multiverse under the System would have remained fractured into endless numbers of warring factions and but a few, scattered enclaves of civilization struggling to survive."

Professor Mordrane stepped to the side, allowing the class a few moments more to take in the sheer chaos before them. Her hands clasped behind her back, her silver-trimmed robes unmoving despite the flickering lights casting shifting shadows over her from behind. Pulling his attention from the display, Klarion saw that she was looking at several specific students, himself among them, but for what reason he could not tell.

"So," Professor Mordrane eventually asked as the map disappeared behind her, "what conditions are necessary for an empire to emerge from such chaos?"

The class remained silent for a heartbeat, but Klarion could tell that Professor Mordrane had not meant it as a rhetorical question.

"Military strength."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the hall.

"Leadership," another scion added.

"Alliances," came a voice from the left side of the room.

"Law and order," said another, an elven scion seated not far behind Klarion.

"Control of resources," Klarion added after a moment, watching as Professor Mordrane’s eyes landed on him briefly before moving on.

For a moment, she was silent. Then, she nodded. "Good. You are starting to think as young scions of Imperial nobility should, considering the necessary elements of power, of rule. This is what will one day be expected of you.”

Some murmuring at the unexpected praise spread throughout the room, and for his part, Klarion also felt a small bit of pride. That was, until he saw the look on Professor Mordrane’s face. She was smiling. It was not a reassuring smile. It was the smile of a predator who had led its prey into precisely the position she wanted them in.

"You are all wrong." The murmurs and self-congratulations died off while Professor Mordrane’s expression remained unreadable as she turned back to the display. “Each of the components that your fellow scions mentioned are necessary parts of the strength of each contemporary power in the Multiverse. But strength alone is never enough."

She gestured toward the timeline again, the faded names of fallen warlords, crumbled houses, broken dominions appearing in sequence. "Countless leaders in the early period after the Veil of Fury were strong. But now? They are less than dust." She slammed her hand down on the podium, causing more than a few scions to jump in their seats. “What mattered was vision.”

The glowing map reappeared only to shift once more, the swirling chaos of warring factions fading, leaving only a single point of light emerging from the storm near the center. "The Empire did not rise because it was the strongest. It did not rise because it had the best warriors, the greatest fortifications, or the most wealth. It rose because one human man saw what no one else did. That the war would never end—not unless something greater was built."

The single point of light grew in size until a name was revealed, and Klarion knew at once that he was seeing the name of the first Emperor of the Empire he now belonged to.

Emperor Valerian Astraeus Magnus Treverorum

Even the scions who had seemed distracted earlier—likely those bored and accustomed to tutors who fed them history like a dull recitation—now sat upright in their chairs, attention wholly captured by Professor Mordrane’s mention of the Emperor who had built the Empire they all lived within.

"The man who would become our Emperor did not begin as a conqueror. He was not born into power nor descended from an ancient line of rulers stretching back to before the Veil of Fury. He was a minor sovereign of one of the many fortified enclaves that barely managed to endure the first centuries after that chaotic time. Unlike the countless warlords and petty rulers that sought dominion through brute force, our Emperor did not waste his strength in reckless conquest. He sought something different: consolidation and order."

Klarion considered the weight of that choice. Amidst a world where survival was measured in days, where power was seized and lost in cycles of violence, the decision to consolidate rather than conquer was an anomaly.

Professor Mordrane continued. "The first great act of his rule was not a campaign of expansion. It was the establishment of law. Where others enforced rule through sheer might, he established governance. A structure that did not merely demand obedience but provided something in return—stability. A world where the strong did not prey upon the weak unchecked. A world where survival was not dictated by whether a warlord saw value in letting you live another day. The only thing that was asked in exchange was absolute loyalty to the Emperor and the Empire he sought to create.”

A scion sitting near the front, a young woman with sharp features and a crest of dark feathers woven into her hair, lifted her hand. Professor Mordrane motioned for her to ask her question.

“And what of those who refused?” the scion asked. “Not the other factions who sought to challenge him, but the ones who simply wished to remain apart? Those who had carved out their own small corners of stability—what became of them?”

There was no defiance in her tone, only a keen interest, but Klarion noted the way a few other students turned their heads slightly, waiting for the answer. Because it was a fair question. Given what he had learned through his experiences so far, Klarion felt like he already knew what the answer would be. 

Professor Mordrane stepped away from her podium to address the scion. "An astute question. And one that deserves an honest answer." She gestured behind her again, and the Emperor’s name dissolved to recreate the timeline from before, except a single mark early after the founding of the Empire glowed brighter than the others. 

“The answer lies with the Imperial Legions. The first of them were founded not only to expand and defend the borders of the Empire, but also to enforce compliance to the Emperor’s will within it. In those early years, only the Emperor himself was above the Legions, and he issued them a single command: bring order to chaos, by whatever means necessary. And they did. Through blood, steel, Essences, and, above all, unyielding will. Our Empire was forged in war, but not enough remember that our enemies are not always outside of our borders.”

She gestured one last time, and the blackboard behind her went blank, the previous golden marks disappearing altogether. “Your only homework is to reflect on what you learned today. Reflect and consider what you will do when it is your decisions that will impact the lives of your subjects. Will you make similar choices, or will you choose a different path? Think carefully because this will be one of the topics you will be required to defend in your final exam. Class dismissed.”

Klarion remained in his seat as those around him began packing their things away, giving time for the other scions to leave. Focusing on his notes, he quickly wrote down his thoughts regarding what Professor Mordrane had said while they were still fresh. Was the approach the Emperor took tyranny? Or was it simply the best choices to ensure the survival of himself and all those he cared about? He knew how his younger self would have responded before he had survived being kidnapped by the Blood Eagles back on Earth, and before he had come to the Imperial Academy and everything that had followed his arrival. Having survived all that… perhaps the choices the Emperor had made were simply the best choices to move forward, protecting what he sought to build. 

In his situation, he might have made the same ones.

Yes, the Emperor’s vision had demanded sacrifice. It also demanded loyalty, obedience, and the destruction of anything that threatened his vision’s existence. And because of that, it had endured where countless others had failed.

As he finished his notes, Klarion realized why Foundations of History was required. It was not merely covering history to be studied but was pushing every scion to understand and apply it in the years to come. He knew little about this region of the Empire, but his gut told him that, much like Empires that had existed back on Earth, this Empire was not static. It was not done growing, and there would always be new threats. New challenges. And those who did not learn the lessons of its founding — who failed to grasp the necessity of the methods the Emperor and his supporters used — would find themselves crushed or pushed aside by those who did. Because they had learned and had the will to do what was necessary. 

Klarion put his things away, all the while thinking over how similar his situation now was to that of the Emperor’s so long ago.

Update - 3/2/2025

Hey everyone,

First off, thank you all for your continued support! It truly means the world to me.

I wanted to give you a quick update on this weekend's writing. Unfortunately, I hit a bit of a snag. A comment from a troll (you know how it goes) managed to throw me off my rhythm a bit, and it took me a little longer than expected to get back into the flow. As a result, the last chapter I was working on won’t be quite ready for tonight, but I'm aiming to release it tomorrow morning, so please bear with me just a little longer!

To help make up for the slight delay, I'm planning a small surprise for you all this week! I'll be sharing with you all soon, so stay tuned. I hope it'll be something you'll enjoy as well as give a bit more insight into a group of scions at the Imperial Academy that you may not have thought a lot about yet.

Regarding the troll, I think the comments I received will be helpful long term, not that they will change my approaches to the story or how the plot is unfolding, but that I've now come up with a mental process to deal with similar comments as they (invariably) will come up.

Overall, I've been making great progress on the Klarion's journey! I can now confirm we're roughly 25 chapters away from the end of Book 1, and the next set of chapters will be particularly exciting with the progress Klarion makes toward (finally) unlocking his class. I'm so excited for you all to see it! With that being said, as we move toward the end of Book 1, you'll notice a shift in the storytelling. We'll be moving away from some of the slice-of-life content within the Imperial Academy and seeing Klarion venture beyond its walls to complete tasks that are crucial to unlocking his class. These short adventures will be a major part of the remaining chapters and will lead us directly to the grand finale of Book 1.

Thank you again for your patience and understanding. I appreciate your support more than you know!

Chapter 94 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The rest of the weekend passed in a relentless blur, each hour dragging Klarion from one task to the next with barely a moment to catch his breath. Jezeri’s departure lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet unease that never fully faded. He trusted her—he had to. She had been a Sentinel, even if she didn’t have the class anymore, and if anyone could handle a mission like this alone, he had faith that she could. But trust didn’t erase concern.

Yet, with everything that needed to be done to restore Blacksword Manor, his thoughts of her gradually faded into the background. The once-proud estate was still in a state of disrepair, its long neglect evident everywhere he looked. 

His new servants—it would take some time to get used to that—had thrown themselves into their work with an intensity that soon began to lead to improvements throughout the manor. Margaret, his new Housekeeper, had taken to the role with an iron will. With the experience she had previously managing the household of a lesser noble, she was quickly able to seize control over what otherwise would be the chaos of restoring their new home. Her no-nonsense approach made even the hardened Vileborn think twice about crossing her.

Armed with a ledger that she had found somewhere, Margaret had set to work cataloging the state of every room, hall, and corridor. Even some that Klarion himself had not been in yet. The kobold maids —Vaila, Shaya, and Noqui—all worked under her direction, moving through the manor with a tireless energy that belied their small frames. Despite how similar his new maids looked, Klarion was gradually able to tell them apart based on the tasks each focused on. Vaila had primarily focused on all the dusting, of which there was a lot to be done given how long many of the rooms across the floors of the manor had been empty. Shaya, assisted by the Vileborn occasionally, focused on the removal of debris and unsalvagable furniture from the manor. Lastly, Noqui, was the fastest of the kobolds, and had volunteered to help coordinate the efforts of the other servants under Margaret’s direction, as well as help with fetching supplies once the Housekeeper had a running list of things needed to make the manor more livable.

By midday on the day after Jezeri left, most of the main rooms had been emptied of dust and had their floors scrubbed free of grime. Klarion hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had begun to grow used to the faint smells of rot and mildew throughout the manor. Hopefully, with the kobold maids having opened windows as they went, the sharp tang of cleaning solutions would gradually dissipate.

Leaving Margaret and the maids to their tasks, Klarion had then gone on to check in with Baruk, his new orc cook. Baruk had started his in-depth inspection of the kitchen that morning, and if the scowl that he had greeted his new lord with was any indication, the orc was not happy with what he had to work with. It wasn’t that the kitchen was in rough shape. Far from it. No, for Baruk, the main issue was that they were low on staples and that the wine celler had been emptied long ago. Not a single cask or bottle remained, the racks left abandoned.

Once Baruk had grown a bit more comfortable with Klarion hovering around the kitchen, he had gradually opened up as to why he was so appalled by the state of the wine cellar. Apparently, unlike most of his race, the orc far preferred a nice bottle of red to a mug of simple beer. While Klarion had not drunk much except when he was amongst friends back on Earth, he had expressed polite interest in what Baruk had learned about wine in his time leveling up his Camp Cook class. He had assumed it would not be much, but Baruk had quickly surprised him on the depth of his knowledge. By the end of his explanation on the general process of turning grapes into wine, the orc had mostly seemed to have forgotten that he had been speaking to a scion of an Archducal House.

By the end of the inspectation, Baruk had a long list of things to purchase to get the kitchen and the wine cellar to what he called an acceptable state for the number of people now living in the manor. Klarion had looked over the list prior to passing it along to Solivair, as his new Vileborn Steward currently had all of the money that would be used to refurbish and restock the manor, and at first he had been a bit concerned at how much everthing might cost him. But then he had tried the first meal the orc had with the few ingredients that he had been able to put together. A thick stew made from what he had been able to scavenge, Baruk had served it with hard bread that he had softened over the stove. Far from a feast fit for a noble, it was still warm, filling, and a welcome change from the dried rations the rest of the servants had been subsisting on before coming into Klarion’s service. As simple as it was, even Klarion had appreciated the hearty meal. He was looking forward to seeing what the orc cook would be able to do with more ingredients once they took care of the shopping.

While the others had focused on the cleaning and cataloguing of things needed for the manor, Klarion had been somewhat surprised by what the Vileborn had done to keep themselves busy. Though, given their shared criminal background, perhaps he should not have been so surprised. 

Instead of focusing on the interior, Solivair and his grandchildren had turned their attention outward. In the few interactions he had with the old Vileborn Crimelord, Solivair had quickly proven himself to have a mind for organization after the years of leading a criminal organization of some sort. His new Steward had quickly gotten the ball rolling, making purchases of replacement furniture and other necessities for the manor, though he had made it clear to Klarion that there would need to be a lot more gold spent to restore the place to its prime. 

It had been in one of their later conversations over the long week that Klarion had asked some questions about the Crimelord’s past. Solivair hadn’t said much, nor had he specified what kind of organization he had led when Klarion had asked, only saying there would be time for such conversations later. While still curious, Klarion had set his questions aside as he was swept along by Solivair, who had pointed out a number of security gaps the manor had, given the lack of guards and other security.

With his grandchildren not having consistent duties in their roles as generic household staff, the old Vileborn had quickly sent them around Blacksword Manor to try to cover some of these gaps until proper guards could be selected from the House of Bonds. Damian and Kodrian, who both had the skills of thieves despite their different classes, were dispatched by their grandfather to set up some basic traps around the perimeter of the manor. Well aware of how much traffic the manor would be seeing now that there were more people living there, this mainly consisted of making some crude but effective alarms from old wire and metal scraps to be placed in locations that no one actually supposed to at the manor would try to sneak through. Lilian, Solivair’s grandaughter who had the class of Assassin, had been sent by her grandfather to discretely see if anyone was watching the Blacksword Manor.

While they were busy doing these tasks, Solivair and Klarion worked out a simple patrol schedule for the three younger Vileborn to stick to when not helping around the manor itself. His new Steward had insisted on it when Klarion had filled him in on everything that had happened to him since arriving at the Imperial Academy, up to what had happened to Jezeri and how she had entered his service as his second bodyguard.

Needless to say, none of Solivair’s grandchildren had been excited about having to patrol the manor on a regular schedule, with Kodrian openly expressing his distaste and protesting that Sentinels were all over the Imperial Academy for that exact purpose.

Klarion watched as Solivair turned his attention to his grandson, the weight of disappointment clear in his eyes.

“I thought I had taught you better than that, boy,” Solivair said in clear reprimand. “The Sentinels are not omnipresent guardians, nor are they the shield you think they are. Even with my limited observations so far, it is clear to me that their purpose is not to protect the scions but to prevent open conflict between them from consuming the Empire. That is not the same thing.”

Kodrain had stiffened, clearly realizing his mistake, but Solivair wasn’t finished. He turned his gaze to Klarion, the question unspoken but understood.

Klarion met Solivair’s stare evenly before turning to Kodrian and his siblings. “Given that the Lord Sentinel doesn’t seem inclined to do anything about what Chadwick Copperhand did to Jezeri, I’m of the opinion that we should be safe and implement a patrol schedule anyway.”

Kodrian frowned, his confusion evident. “Who is Chadwick Copperhand? What did he do?”

Solivair’s expression darkened. “It seems you’ve not been paying attention.” His grandson shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his grandfather’s disapproval, but Solivair turned back to Klarion instead.

“A wise course of action. I’ll see that my grandchildren adhere to it,” his Vileborn Steward said, nodding approvingly. 

With that small issue taken care of, the rest of the day’s work had gradually come to a halt. Wanting the company, Klarion and Hatsune had joined the servants for dinner, and once he had made it clear that he did not stand much on ceremony when no other scions were around, they all settled in to enjoy the meal Baruk had made. As they finished eating, Margaret began planning the tasks for the next day, working through the ledger resting in her lap. The kobolds, exhausted, had turned in early after helping Baruk clean up the kitchen. Solivair had bid both Klarion and Hatsune a good night before returning to the dining room to discuss security with Lilian and Damian.

Klarion had slept peacefully, knowing that Blacksword Manor was in good hands and that the servant bonds he shared with each of them prevented any threat of betrayal.

On the last day of the weekend, Klarion decided to leave the servants to their duties so that he could just enjoy the day. To his surprise, that had quickly shifted into spending time with Hatsune.

It wasn’t intentional at first. She had remained especially close ever since the day Jezeri had left. At first, Klarion assumed she was still upset about Jezeri’s sudden kiss and was keeping an eye on him. But when the weekend began approaching its end and she was still hovering nearby without saying anything else on the topic, he realized she wasn’t just watching. She was waiting.

And so, slowly, deliberately, he had let himself talk.

It started with little things—the way the seasons changed back on Earth, the cities he had traveled to, the technology that had once defined his life. He spoke of the metal towers that stretched into the sky, the humming of electricity in the air, the strange comforts that he had never thought to appreciate until they were gone. He described the glow of neon signs reflected in rain-slick streets, the quiet hum of an engine beneath his fingertips on the rare days he drove, the way people lived stacked upon one another in great, sprawling cities, never truly alone yet often feeling more isolated than ever.

Then, hesitantly, he told her about the hospital.

He had been dying. A sickness had eaten away at him, something no doctor could stop. For such a long time, he had lived tethered to machines, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling his lungs more often than fresh air. He had fought through pain and exhaustion, but in the end, he had started to slip. He had been ready to give up. The endless days of suffering had worn him down, and he had made peace with the fact that he would never see anything beyond those white, sterile walls. And then, he told Hatusne that, by some impossible miracle, he had been healed. But he did not tell her of his shadowy visitor in the hospital, nor of the oath. 

The doctors had called it unprecedented, an anomaly they could not explain. His parents had called it a blessing. He had called it a second chance.

Life had been better after the hospital. He had thrown himself into it with the reckless determination of someone who had been given something precious back. He had made friends—real friends, not just the nurses and doctors who had pitied him. He had finished his schooling, immersing himself in everything he had missed while trapped in a hospital bed. He had studied, worked, built a future for himself. He told her how he had been on track to become a doctor.

But fate was not so kind as to let him live in peace.

He told her how a criminal organization had come for him. How they had taken him, broken him, left him covered in scars that he suspected would never truly fade. He told her how he would have died there, at their hands, if not for the servant of House Blacksword who had found him, cutting through his captors like a blade through silk. And that was how he had eventually ended up here, at the Imperial Academy, standing before Hatsune, spilling truths that he had never spoken aloud in their near entirety to anyone else.

She listened with an intensity that surprised him, her green eyes locked onto him, ears twitching at every unfamiliar detail. Sometimes, she would ask questions. Other times, she would simply nod, absorbing the information while not interrupting.

When he spoke of his family, the people he had grown up with, the conversations grew slower, more measured. He hadn’t spoken about them much since coming here—hadn’t let himself dwell on the ache of knowing they were impossibly far away. But Hatsune had a way of drawing things out of him, of making the silence between his words feel safe rather than empty. His father’s steady presence, his mother’s sharp wit. The way his siblings had always made him feel loved, even while they teased and picked on him for being the youngest. The friends he had left behind. The people who might never know what had happened to him.

Hatsune never interrupted. She never told him things would be alright. She simply listened, and when the weight of his own words grew too much, she would shift the conversation just enough to let him breathe.

In return, she gradually offered small pieces of herself as well.

She spoke of food first—of the dishes she had loved as a child, the ones she had spent years trying to perfect. She talked about the forests she had roamed, the way the wind felt different in the open wilds compared to the enclosed courtyards of the Academy. She mentioned, in passing, that she had once gotten into a fight over a piece of fruit, though she refused to elaborate further.

But whenever he pressed with questions of his own, just a little, she would hold back.

He didn’t push.

Until, late in the evening, after they had said good night to the rest of the staff after dinner and begun getting ready for bed, he finally asked, “You don’t talk about your life before the Hall of Bonds much. Apart from the small things, I mean.”

Hatsune hesitated, staring down at the sword in her hands before setting it aside next to her armor. “…I don’t,” she admitted.

“Why?”

A long silence. Then, finally, she looked up at him. “I will,” she said. “But it won’t be until after we forge our swords. I’ll tell you once they’re made. Now, I’m a bit tired. I’ll see you in the morning.” She yawned. “Good night, Klarion.”

“Alright,” he said. “Good night, Hatsune.”

As the Leporine settled into sleep, Klarion did not think about how his next week of classes would be starting tomorrow but about the sword he would need to forge in order to finally learn more about the woman he was coming to care for. He wasn’t sure what kind of blade she envisioned for herself, nor what kind of swordsmith they would need to find to craft something truly unique. But the prospect of a weapon forged for him alone sent a thrill through his chest. The thought of such a weapon was enough to push the pull of sleep off briefly. For his part, there was no question in his mind what kind of sword he would want. 

A greatsword. Something that would define him and who he was.

Chapter 93 - Dreadborne Harbinger

The door clicked shut, sealing them off from the rest of the manor. Hatsune stood in front of it, her arms crossed tightly, green eyes burning with frustration. Her ears twitched, still flattened slightly, her body tense as if she were restraining herself from an outburst.

Hatsune exhaled sharply, her foot tapping against the wooden floor. “I don’t blame you.”

Klarion blinked. That was not what he expected.

The Leporine snorted at his expression while her arms tightened across her chest. “I saw what happened, Klarion. You didn’t invite that kiss. You didn’t even react to it. Not really.” He tensed again when she scoffed. “But you also didn’t push her away, either.”

“I’m sorry, Hatsune.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “It wasn’t exactly like I had time to think.”

She studied him, eyes sharp. “And now? Now that you have time?”

Klarion hesitated. The truth was, he wasn’t sure what to make of the kiss. Was it meant to stake a claim? To send a message to Hatsune? To Klarion himself? Or was it just that Jezeri was being who she really was after so long being a Sentinel?

Her vivid green eyes had locked onto his, sharp and assessing, as if she could see through him—through his hesitation, through his uncertainty, through the tangled mess of thoughts he could barely untangle himself. Since he had met her, those eyes had held an intensity, a challenge, a fire that refused to be dimmed even in the face of what she had been through. And yet, beneath all of that strength, he caught the flicker of something else. A hesitation. A question she would not ask aloud.

Her ears twitched, betraying emotions she worked so hard to suppress, though she tried to appear unaffected. Klarion knew better. The way her body tensed, the way she subtly shifted her weight—it wasn’t just tension. It was restraint.

She was holding herself back.

Klarion’s gaze dipped, drawn by the sleek curves of Hatsune’s form—the way her toned body moved with effortless grace, built for both speed and endurance. Her athletic frame was lean yet feminine, sculpted from what he assumed to be years of training, each motion fluid and precise. The soft gray fur that covered her lower arms seemed impossibly smooth, catching the light in a way that highlighted the subtle contours of her muscles, the silver streaks adding an almost ethereal shimmer to her figure.

His eyes traced the curve of her waist, the strength in her legs, the way her armor clung to her without restricting movement. Hatsune was a warrior, disciplined and deadly, but she was also undeniably beautiful. The contrast between her sharp intensity and the quiet, effortless elegance she carried fascinated him.

She was not just a Leporine and not just his bodyguard. Even in the brief time he had known her, he knew Hatsune was someone who would stand beside him, challenge him, push him to be better. And somehow, without him realizing when it happened, she had become someone he cared about. More than he had expected.

Klarion swallowed, then met her eyes again.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, hurrying to cut Hatsune off before she could interrupt. “But what I do know is that I’d rather it had been you who kissed me.”

Hatsune froze.

Klarion saw the way her breath hitched, the faint widening of her eyes before she shut down the reaction, locking it behind a rigid posture and a clenched jaw. His words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. He had meant them too.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Not out of anger, he realized, but restraint. She was holding something back, something raw and real in a way that struck him harder than he expected. 

Then, just as quickly, she turned away. Her ears flicked, sharp and erratic, her shoulders tense with some internal battle she refused to let him see.

Klarion wasn’t sure what he expected her to say. But when she finally spoke, her voice was too controlled. Too even. A careful mask to hide whatever she truly felt.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

His brows furrowed. “Why not?”

Hatsune let out a short, bitter exhale—almost a laugh, but lacking any real humor. She shook her head, arms folding tightly across her chest as if bracing against something. 

“Because it changes things.”

Klarion opened his mouth, then shut it again. That wasn’t the response he had anticipated. Her back remained to him, but he could see the way her fingers dug into her palms, white-knuckled. She was struggling with this. He could see it. And yet… she wouldn’t let herself act on it.

Why?

Before he could ask, she spoke again, her voice softer now, but no less certain. “You don’t understand, Klarion. There are expectations placed on me. On my choices. I don’t get to just… act on how I feel.”

His stomach tightened with a mix of excitement and dread. Klarion almost stepped forward, but Hatsune’s ears twitched at the shift in his stance, so he stopped. 

Hatsune inhaled deeply, as if forcing herself to speak. “The traditions of my people — of my family — are clear. If I were to—” She stopped herself, shaking her head, ears flattening as she blushed deeply. She didn’t finish the sentence.

But she didn’t need to. 

Klarion understood, even without her saying it. He watched Hatsune struggle with the words she couldn’t say. Her ears, usually sharp and alert, now drooped slightly, betraying emotions she was trying so hard to suppress. The deep blush dusting her cheeks only made it clearer—she wanted to say more. She just couldn’t for some reason.

Her next words came quieter, resigned. “It doesn’t matter.”

Klarion’s heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t what he had hoped to hear. He struggled to keep the defeated tone out of his voice.  “Doesn’t it?”

She turned back to face him fully, her green eyes sharp, searching his face for something. But in the end, she only exhaled. 

“No. What matters is what comes next.” Hatsune drew in another breath, shaking off whatever storm had brewed behind her eyes, and when she next spoke, her voice was steady once more. “Be honest with me. Are you still committed to forging your own sword? To learning Whispers of Black Steel beside me?”

The shift was abrupt. Deliberate. But despite the abrupt change in topic, he already knew his answer, as he had given it before. He nodded, firm and certain. “Yes.”

Some of the tension bled from her shoulders. Just a little. Hatsune nodded, as if reaffirming something to herself. 

"I can't tell you more right now," she admitted, her voice still quiet, but now it was also resolute. "But if you follow through with both... and if you're willing to travel with me back to meet my family..." 

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. Klarion watched as her ears flicked back, betraying her nerves even as she held his gaze. Then—just for an instant—her lips parted, as if she were about to say something else, something more.

His breath caught.

But then, as if catching herself, Hatsune forced out the rest of her sentence. "...perhaps you might get what you want."

Klarion’s eyes narrowed slightly. Perhaps. It was a dangerous word—one full of possibilities, but nothing certain. And yet, despite her attempt at restraint, Hatsune's face was burning. Just like his own was.

Bright, unmistakable red. The both of them.

She could barely keep herself still. Her hands clenched in a way that suggested they wanted to do something, and her gaze—though steady—held something fragile.

For a moment, Klarion wondered what would happen if he stepped forward. If he reached for her hand. But Klarion didn’t move. Hatsune had said what he needed to do, and he would do it. The rest could wait.

Hatsune shook her head, and the moment passed. She stepped closer, placing both hands on her hips, changing the subject. “When she comes back, you set boundaries. I don’t care what her intentions are, Klarion, but she doesn’t get to just do whatever she wants.”

Klarion nodded, willing to set aside the tension between them for now. “Alright. When she returns, I’ll talk with her.”

“Good.” She held his gaze for a long moment, and then finally, her shoulders loosened, the tension in her frame easing just a fraction. “Now, where exactly was your newest bodyguard off to? She had the look of a star elf on a mission.”

“She is leaving the Imperial Academy to visit another world under House Blacksword’s control,” he admitted. “I haven't heard anything from my family since I arrived at the Academy. Not a word. It doesn’t make sense, and Jezeri thought so, too. So she is going to look into it, and either return or send word when she knows more.”

Hatsune simply stared at him as if trying to decide whether or not he was serious. Then her lips pressed into a thin line, her ears giving an agitated flick. “So, let me get this straight. She just lost her class, which, if I’m understanding correctly, means a massive loss in strength, even for someone like her. Instead of staying here, where at least there’s some level of security, she decides to run off beyond the Academy’s reach to track down someone in your family? Alone?”

 “She seemed confident,” Klarion said, carefully. “I don’t think she would have gone off on her own if she thought it was reckless. And I agreed that it needed doing. Right now, she’s our only option to establish contact.”

“And what if something happens to her?” Hatsune pressed. “You’re really just going to let her walk into something like this alone?”

Klarion could only shrug in helplessness. “I’m not letting her do anything. This was her choice. And I trust her. I don’t think she would be going off on her own if she didn’t think she could handle it.”

Hatsune let out an exasperated noise, ears flicking back for a heartbeat before she forced them forward again. “You barely even know her.”

“And yet she’s the only person who’s currently in a position to do anything to help me figure out what’s going on.”

“True,” Hatsune sighed, rubbing at her temple. “Well, if she doesn’t come back, that solves one problem.”

Klarion shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes. “Relax, I don’t actually want her dead. I just…” She trailed off before letting out a final groan, rubbing her face. “I can’t continue with this right now. Do you want to go spar? I think there is space out back behind the manor.” Without another word, she left the room, but she clearly intended for him to follow, so he did after grabbing the greatsword Rolfun had given him.

They made their way through the manor, coming to a large set of double doors near the back that Klarion hadn’t seen before. Hatsune opened them to the outside and led them out. There indeed was an open space, with more than enough room for them to spar. In the evening light, it looked like it had once been a meticulously maintained garden, its design meant to balance beauty with function. Traces of its former elegance remained. Stone pathways weaving through the space, now cracked and uneven. A central courtyard of smoothed flagstones, likely used for quiet reflection or, more likely given what he was learning about the nobility, sanctioned duels of honor, was now half-covered in dirt and stray weeds that had forced their way through the cracks. Despite its disheveled state, the area still held potential.

Without warning, she charged him, and he was barely able to get up his greatsword in time to block her sweeping strike. The first clash of their blades rang through the neglected courtyard, sharp and decisive, and in that moment, words no longer mattered. Hatsune moved with relentless speed, her strikes fast, but not so hard or so dangerous that he felt at risk of being hurt in their exchanges. Still, he picked up his pace in turn. He met her head-on, forcing himself to match her intensity, adjusting, countering—though not pushing as hard as they had last fought, as they didn’t have practice weapons here. He would probably need to see about getting some at some point. Perhaps his Combat Studies professor would know where he could get some. 

He refocused on their sparring as Hatsune abruptly swung from his right, only to dance aside as he riposted. The slight smile that had bloomed on her face made it clear to him that this was what she needed it right now, after the conversation they had just finished. By the time their blades locked one final time, her breathing was heavy, her face flushed—not with frustration, but with satisfaction.

Hatsune disengaged and sheathed her blade, ears twitching as she gave him a small nod as she worked to catch her breath. “Thank you for the spar.”

“Of course.” Klarion worked to get his breathing back under control. “I’ll see about getting us some practice weapons later so we can make sparring back here part of our regular schedule.”

“I think that is a good idea, what with all the enemies you seem to have.” Abruptly, she yawned. “I think we should head back in, have a quick dinner, then head to bed.”

Klarion smirked, unable to resist. “The bed part, huh? I thought I had to do a few things first—like forge my own sword, learn Whispers of Black Steel alongside you, and, oh, I don’t know… meet your family before we got to that step.”

Hatsune froze mid-step. Then, as if his words had finally registered, her ears shot straight up, her entire face going red again. “T-That’s not what I meant!” she sputtered, turning sharply to glare at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way she crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

Klarion chuckled. They might not be able to do anything else for a while, but it was enough to know she was interested and that he could still make her flustered. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it sounded like.”

Her ears flicked in agitation, and she stomped one foot against the worn stone of the courtyard. “You know that’s not what I meant, Klarion!” she snapped, though there was no real bite to it—only a mix of embarrassment and exasperation at his teasing. “I was talking about sleep. Because you, of all people, need more of it.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “If you say so.”

Hatsune huffed, spun on her heel, and marched toward the manor without another word. She did turn back to see if he was watching her, however. Klarion, who was indeed watching her and grinning at her mock upsetness, followed after her. 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur—dinner, a few final conversations with his new servants, and the quiet hum of a new routine settling into place. It had been a good day, and the weekend was not yet over.

A Reflection on Writing Dreadborne Harbinger

Hey everyone,

Now that I am approaching 100 chapters deep into the story, I wanted to take a moment to share a bit more about my journey as a writer and the process behind "Dreadborne Harbinger." As many of you might suspect, I've been a lifelong fan of fantasy and science fiction, devouring countless books and immersing myself in these incredible worlds. In recent years, that love has expanded to include the exciting realms of LitRPG and GameLit. Some of those series that have helped spark this expanded love for reading in me include the series starting with the Iron Prince by Bryce O'Conner, the entire Defiance of the Fall series by JF Brink, the World series by Jason Cheek, the Beware of Chicken series by Casualfarmer, and most recently, the various series' by Jez Cajiao and Bruce Sentar among others. If you haven't read one or more of these authors' work yet, or would like to support them as well, I resoundingly urge you to do so.

Coming back to my writing, it has been a passion of mine for almost two decades now. I have several unfinished works across various genres, each clocking in at 40k or 50k words, gathering dust in the digital depths of my hard drive. But "Dreadborne Harbinger" is different. This is the story that has truly captured my imagination and driven me to push my writing further than ever before. As of today, I've poured just over 270,000 words into this epic tale, spread across 92 chapters, and I'm just getting started!

"Dreadborne Harbinger" is a blend of GameLit/LitRPG and epic fantasy, though I'd argue it leans more heavily into the epic fantasy style. While the GameLit/LitRPG elements are undeniably crucial to the story, I firmly believe that world-building and character development are paramount. These are the elements that truly bring a story to life and resonate with me and, I hope, my readers on a deeper level. To me, the stats and skills are a framework, and important, but the heart of the story lies in the characters' journeys and the Multiverse they inhabit.

In terms of my writing tendencies, two things I tend to focus on include rich descriptions and subtle foreshadowing. I love weaving intricate details into the narrative, hinting at future events and building a sense of anticipation. I'm sure many of you have already begun to pick up on these foreshadowing threads. Some of those hints have already paid off in recent chapters, while others are still simmering, waiting to be revealed. And there are even a few long-term mysteries that won't be resolved for quite some time!

When it comes to world-building, I'm not a fan of lengthy, dry info dumps. As essential as they might be, I feel they can disrupt the reader's immersion. That's why I decided to begin Klarion's journey at the Imperial Academy. The Academy provides a natural and organic way to introduce the world's lore through his classes, interactions with other students, and the challenges he faces. This allows me to build the world piece by piece, rather than overwhelming you with a wall of text.

It's important to note that while Klarion's time at the Imperial Academy is a crucial part of his early journey to power within the Empire and the Multiverse, it won't be the sole setting for the entire series. I plan to intersperse non-Academy settings at specific points during his schooling. In particular, you can expect to see a significant portion of his "summer vacations" taking place outside the Academy's walls, allowing us to explore other facets of the Empire and the Multiverse. Anyway, I thought I would just share a bit more about myself, the works I have read in recent years, and a little about where I will be taking Klarion in the chapters ahead.

As always, I'm incredibly grateful for all of your support. Your enthusiasm and feedback fuel my passion for writing and inspire me to keep pushing myself to produce more for you all to enjoy. Thank you for joining me on this journey! Stay tuned for more chapters and additional world-building articles!