(The author is on break until August 8th! I’m signing those bookplates and travelling, so wish me luck! Seriously, I don’t want to get COVID again, it sucks. Enjoy your early chapter!)

A bit earlier.

Tolveilouka was reflecting on his actions. He was. He’d even gone through the mines that were mostly unguarded now. All the Drakes and Gnolls were above, bedding down, and upset.

Because, uh, their Wall Lord was dying. Which was his fault. So Tolveilouka was really thinking about it.

That Ilvriss. Upstanding fellow, really. Low-level, but he’d activated Wrathcaller, and he’d done a magical dance in combat.

Great prospects.

Shame how it went down. You had to respect your foes after they bit the dust. Why, even Yderigrisel had been…adequate…

You had to admire the fellow’s tenacity. That was Tolveilouka’s problem, really. Not being a team player. He’d do better.

Mind you, he’d probably burned all the bridges around here, but maybe there was another group he could ally with? Be a friend.

Buy a drink, talk about the weather. Was that what friends did? Or was it—order around his minions in a rage, howl his anger to the sky, then grab Tolveilouka and proceed to violently lovemake until some new atrocity occurred to his master—?

Damn, I like the other option a lot more. But since Erin’s not very good at that, I have to change with the age.

He was reformed, that was the point. In fact, he was so reformed that when Tolveilouka found the undead hiding in the bottom of the mine, he ignored their requests for him to take over the death of the living and smashed them up.

“Listen, it’s nothing personal. It’s just—you’re mostly bones, and I’m plagues. We don’t mix. We’re cousins at best.”

That done, he scratched his head.

“Weird mine.”

It was all caved in on one end. He shrugged and began excavating it. Then, after an hour, he made a sound.

“Aha! It is the City of Purity. Smells worse, but I’d know that obsessively clean look anywhere. Eugh. Not a microwhatsit in sight.”

Too pure. But he’d carved his way into it. Which was odd because this place had clearly been buried by the miners. Tolveilouka scratched his head.

“…Miners? No, that makes no sense. Oh, they were escaping. Duh.”

Probably ran out of air or food. He began walking around and whistled.

“Light spells still active. Dead gods, this might actually make Erin forget all about that other business. This place is loaded. Wait, do they still have those old Sets of Immaculacy? Even I’d wear one of them.”

You know what? This was all working out for the best. Tolveilouka would just nip down there, maybe open one or two of their vaults—pick out a few items for himself—then deliver some stuff to that [Princess]. Everyone won!

He was just strolling forwards when he had a thought, and he got to one of the obsessively-clean streets.

It’s been a long, long time. And they were buried. There’s no chance the doom of Naamreles is still active, right? Not after all this time, no matter how well they made the stuff. If it were, they’d already have attacked and noticed me.

That was the last thing he needed. They’d managed to push back even the Putrid One, which was why Ilvriss had wanted this place to begin with. But since he wasn’t under attack…Tolveilouka wiped at his forehead.

One good turn. Which meant all the real Relics were his to h—

He got four more paces when the alarm began to sound. The half-Elf froze, and a thought occurred to him.

If the Emperor of Storms’ weapons are still good after all this time, then Naamreles, which is younger, might be—

There was, suddenly, more light. Harsh light. Magical light.

The half-Elf glanced up.

“Treant’s nutsacks. Are they…bigger than before?”

They were shouting, of course. Those old words. Tolveilouka swallowed, suddenly no longer confident. A bunch of children and Golems was one thing, but this lot hurt—

He raised his fists, began growing in size—and the [Queen] cut him off. Tolveilouka swore.

“Nononono—you idiot! This is bad, really—”

The first guardian of Naamreles came at him, and Tolveilouka snarled.

“Fine then! Bone and nail it is! I am Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer! Come and die, already-dead city! Come and—”

——

Twenty-four minutes later he was running up from the mines, collapsing the tunnels behind him. Unfortunately, they were digging. He ran, trying to regenerate the holes in his body.

Dead gods damnit, that hurts so much! Tolveilouka was panting as he ran for his life. Literally, if they surrounded him. That was a lot of—

Okay, no one panic, how far could they get without their masters? Probably only a few hundred miles. Maybe a thousand. Not my problem! How far away is the inn? I just need to get back and heal and—

He ran faster. He heard the alarm now, through his feet, and they were coming. Worse—

They’d recognized him, and they were not happy.

——

Captain Osthia Blackwing had discharged herself from Healer Demerra’s to get to Dig Site B. Well, okay, she’d signalled for the Sisters of Chell to carry her.

She had to be there if—

If Ilvriss—

She’d continue the fight without him. She didn’t know how, but she lay there as the Sisters paced around, swore, argued, and asked her if she needed anything.

The camp was silent. No one wanted to do anything, but as morning came, someone did shout everyone up.

“Alright, up! Let’s get to it!”

Foreman Rolx was shouting as Osthia heard swearing. She hobbled onto her one good foot, using Boyd for support, and emerged to see Advance Miner Georgie arguing. All the [Miners] were standing around.

“What the hell are we working for? Wall Lord Ilvriss might be dead—”

The Gnoll growled back.

“It beats you all standing around picking fights and drinking. C’mon. Let’s kill the undead and just…finish the job. We owe him that.”

It got people moving and kept them from stewing in their juices. Georgie didn’t argue, just grabbed his magical pickaxe and trooped past Osthia. He glanced at her.

“Hey. Um…”

He trailed off. Captain Osthia saluted him.

“It was our fault in being too lax.”

“You weren’t even there, right? Those Rubirel Guard, those…”

Georgie trailed off. He stared at the Rubirel Guard. They weren’t at their posts. Some had taken off their helmets. Others were just sitting.

Osthia spoke, not unkindly, to everyone listening in.

“It was a monster. The Wall Lord did his duty. He saved lives. He didn’t run.”

“I know. I wish he had. I wish someone ran because I’m damn well sick of losing all the people we need.”

The Advance Miner spat bitterly, and no one, not Mining Leader Maiss, nor Dramm, argued. Osthia stood there as Georgie walked down into Dig Site B, shoving a helmet onto his head.

“Let’s move some damn dirt.”

Everyone moved down the steps. Georgie did see a half-Elf dashing up the stairs, swearing, but he just assumed it was some new hire who’d gotten lost. Idiot didn’t have any safety gear on. He’d mention that to a supervisor if he saw the fool again.

——

Advance Miner Georgie’s team was assigned to the mining tunnels. For whatever reason, despite their inefficiencies, Maiss and the miners had been handpicked by Shellc for the risky excavation work.

They had good nerves, even if Georgie was doing most of the work, boring a careful tunnel into the rock. Rubirel Guards breathing down his back and [Soldiers] on duty, but Georgie felt off.

Not just because no one knew if Ilvriss was alive…he stopped swinging his pickaxe after barely seven minutes, taking the stub of a cigar out of his mouth.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Undead ambush, Advance Miner?”

Whatever they thought about him, the Rubirel Guard and [Soldiers] respected an Advance Miner’s intuition and tensed. But Georgie just put one earhole to a piece of stone, frowning. Checked his pickaxe.

“No. The opposite. They must not be down this tunnel.”

“This is where they were last sighted. Major Shellc wants an explanation.”

The speaking stone crackled to life, and Georgie had to explain it best he could.

“It’s intuition and the pickaxe, er, Major. I got [Itchy Scales].”

“We have a cream for that, Advance Miner. Unless that was actually a Skill?”

“Skill. It’s like [Dangersense], Major. Only, it’s more like it just goes off whenever I know I’m in a tricky spot. More reliable, but it never tells me when it’s gonna go bad. I have to know there’s something bad—and the pickaxe. It’s a different color today.”

“It’s not red. The warning magic—”

One of the Rubirel Guard glanced down and blinked. The pickaxe appeared…sort of blue-bronze-ish. Not red. As in—Georgie explained.

“It only turns red when there are monsters nearby, yeah. So they’re not even in the area.”

It was just a hunch, and he was no [Enchanter], but his intuition was often right. The Rubirel Guard hesitated.

“Maybe they escaped? Damn, sir, if they found an exit—”

“I’ll put our people on it. Get us in there, Advance Miner, and we’ll pick the trail up. We can locate most undead’s mana signatures.”

“Yessir.”

Georgie breached into the mining tunnels and shuddered at the familiar dead air scent, the faint odor of bone dust and…undeath. But he was right. No undead. He held back as [Soldiers] did their soldiering things.

Maiss’ team enlarged the tunnel, and Georgie waited until someone called him forwards.

“Tunnels are empty! Advance Miner—I need you to look at something.”

“Hells—okay.”

He jogged forwards, ready to run, but his pickaxe wasn’t giving any warnings. Georgie headed down the mining tunnels…then down another diagonal shaft and felt that odd prickling again. They were all just going down in one direction. No exploratory shafts beyond avoiding sheer rock, and even then he bet the old [Miners]’ pickaxes would have cut most of it easily.

The [Miners] had been going straight down, nearabouts. Or—as it had occurred to him more than once—

Up.

But there were no bodies, just the uniform support beams, the paved ground—and—he stopped.

The undead.

To be precise, what was left of them. Two [Captains] were standing in front of a mangled pile of flesh upon which a deformed skull had been placed, so many holes in it that Georgie doubted it would reanimate on its own in a hurry. The rest of the flesh seemed…ripped up.

Bones mangled, and the entire blob squished together. But not in a Wailing Pit kind of way, more like a hamburger with bones.

“Major, are you seeing this?”

“Get ready to evac right now, Captain. Captain Shieldscale’s been apprised—get Advance Miner Georgie’s opinion and prepare to fall back.”

“The hell did that?”

Georgie whispered, and someone, Advisor Merls, spoke crisply.

“We don’t know, but these match the remaining undead we were tracking down. Ignore them, Advance Miner. What’s this?”

Georgie’s head pivoted, and his mouth opened. Because beyond the undead was…a tunnel. It sloped downwards and crumbling dirt and rock and a lack of support pillars made him instantly nervous. He backed up.

“The hell’s that? That’s not their mine.”

Anyone could see that. The neat, obsessive mine of the dead [Miners] versus this—he took one look at it.

“Looks like a mole or some kind of tunneling monster. Big. Big. Only, it’s not even dug well. Most digging monsters know how to not collapse shit on them. [Sense Structural Integrity] says that’ll collapse fast if the earth so much as trembles.”

“So we’re looking at a monster big enough and strong enough to take down that many undead—who dug up into the mines? Wonderful. You hearing us, Major Shellc?”

Merls grumbled, glaring at Georgie, but not in an anti-Turnscale way; more like a ‘you have given me more bad news’ way that was iconic to all executives. Major Shellc replied, loud and clear.

“We’ll operate like that’s the case. I’m lifting the speaking stone lockdown. Full communications. Advance Miner, good work. Unless you can identify anything, fall back with your team after giving us entryways. And I want only three openings. Fortify each, and permanent overwatch. Advisor, get me a sensor spell to run down there and pull back once it’s deployed.”

Neat and tidy. Salazsarian mining protocols. Georgie was already stomping away, wiping sweat from his brows in relief, when he heard the faintest of sounds from below him. A tremor. Then…

An alarm.

It sounded like the alarms Salazsar would ring during tests, the big ones. City-wide ‘mine breach’ alarms for gas, monsters, or war.

Only, these weren’t the clarion calls from Salazsar’s towers. These were deep, almost like voices. Low voices, singing single notes, and then higher-pitched ones.

It was almost like music. A call to alarm—and a song. The instant he felt it, Georgie began running.

“It’s below us! Run, run!”

He got twenty feet, saw Merls turning his head, the rest of the [Soldiers] spinning around or frowning, raising their weapons. The idiots—

“Run! It’s coming from below!”

They didn’t have his instincts! Soldiers and their—Merls whirled and cupped an earhole.

“Below us? Those sound like—”

“Figure it out later! Run! Run!”

It was Major Shellc who barked.

“Full retreat! You heard him! Go!”

Only then did the damn idiots lurch into motion. Georgie wavered another moment longer despite his instincts. Because he saw one of the squad leaders glancing around and realized they didn’t know how to get out—despite the mine being so obvious to him.

Non-miners had no sense of space or direction underground. The Drake waved.

“This way! Move! Move!”

They began running, but slowly. The Rubirel Guard formed the rearguard, shouting, and the squads moved back as a unit. Great for fighting, slow when the mine was collapsing—which it wasn’t.

He didn’t know.

All Georgie knew was that the alarms were getting louder with each passing second. From a faint murmur, they started to fill the air. By the time five minutes had passed, and he was screaming at the Rubirel Guard to run faster, it was filling the tunnels.

Ten minutes and they were at the breach he’d dug. And it was so loud he thought it might begin tremoring…

Full evacuation. Major Shellc was ordering it, and Georgie saw [Miners] streaming upwards as he reached the breach. Second problem.

He’d been too slow to run.

Georgie blamed Ilvriss, really. He’d hesitated for that one crucial moment. Maybe he’d bought into the Wall Lord’s talk about a future, thought he owed Ilvriss something.

The time it took to lead the [Soldiers] up instead of leaving them to find their own way…it wasn’t long, but it meant that everyone else had heard him shouting. So [Miners] were evacuating—and filling the tunnels.

They were moving fast, but there were only so many ways to go. When you were at the back, closest to the alarms blaring louder—

Georgie stood there, watching as people shoved. Team Leader Maiss was shouting.

“Move it! Move it! Don’t shove—”

He was keeping his head, like Foreman Rolx, who was standing on some scaffolding, directing the teams upwards. And still…no one knew what was coming. The Rubirel Guard were six strong.

They formed a line in the beautiful tunnel of old, holding halberds, facing the darkness. Behind them, Advisor Merls had a wand aimed down the corridor, and the [Soldiers] were waiting. Just…

“Get out of here, Maiss!”

Georgie was hollering at the Drake. Maiss, his recently-healed jaw Georgie had broken, was wavering as a gap opened. He hesitated, and his eyes locked with Georgie’s.

“They’re coming. Two minutes till contact.”

How did he know…? Skill. But which one? Then Maiss turned, and his team were heading up. Georgie was estimating how many people were in front of him. Now the regular [Soldiers] were retreating, and Merls was hesitating.

“Rubirel Captain—Advance Miner—”

“Get out of here. I run fast, and I have an enchanted pickaxe. Advance Miners and heavies in the front.”

The [Advisor] hesitated a moment more, then spun on his heel. Georgie glanced at the scrum of bodies, then lifted his pickaxe and turned back around. One of the Rubirel Guard’s backed up from the breach and halted next to him, chestplate rising and falling rapidly.

“We hold the breach into the mining tunnels until we have a clear shot at retreat. Advance Miner, stand behind us.”

“Don’t get in the way of my pickaxe. I can throw it once, and it’ll kill anything. Pretty sure.”

A moment of hesitation, then they formed a wedge. Three on either side, with a gap down the center, slanted inwards there. One of the Rubirel Guard braced something against the side of the tunnel; it looked like a glowing tripwire, only a thick, broad beam of red. He tapped the side of the odd device emitting the magic.

“Ruby Linewall in place. It’ll slow them down until the gem bursts. Halberds ready. We’re close-quarters. Reduce grips to 20%.”

The Rubirel Guard were too bunched up to swing the long halberds effectively. So one twisted something and collapsed the shaft of the metal weapon. Then they were holding axe-like weapons.

This was taking forever. Georgie’s clawed hand was sweating on his pickaxe. The Rubirel Guard said nothing until one of them spoke with a female voice.

“[Dangersense] is going off.”

“Took you long enough, Maisy. What, is your Skill on holiday or something?”

One of the others joked, and the leader snapped.

“Discipline in the squad. We have a civilian to protect.”

They stopped laughing, and Georgie saw the one called ‘Maisy’ glance at him again. Then she spoke.

“…It’s [Personal Dangersense]. Only goes off when I’m in harm’s way.”

Now, every helmeted head swung towards her. But some dipped. Georgie spoke through his spit-dry mouth.

“You ever think about keeping that kind of shit to yourself, soldier?”

She grunted.

“I thought you’d be mining out of here with that fancy pickaxe. Could have cut us a separate tunnel up.”

That was true, and Georgie might have done it. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Merls staring at him, still not even able to make a run for it himself. Drakes with crossbows, kneeling, glancing over their shoulders and falling back, rank by rank…he spoke too calmly.

“You stupid, soldier? You cut your own route out and the monsters just take that. Advance Miners never open up multiple breach points if there’s enemies in the shafts.”

Silence. Then another Rubirel Guard.

“Tactical. You’re not so bad for a damn Turnscale, Advance Miner.”

“Eat shit and die. I’m an Advance Miner, not anything else.”

How they chuckled at that. For just one moment, Georgie relaxed and felt as natural and at home with this lot as he ever had with a group. Like nothing else about him mattered, even though they knew.

He liked the company of dead men and women. It made things equal. And he just wished that wasn’t what it took to feel at home.

Then—he heard the tenor of the alarms change, and they stopped reverberating through his bones. To be more precise, they kept echoing in the ground—but now he heard them, not just the rumble.

Something was in the tunnels. Georgie stood there, pickaxe raised to throw, and he sensed it. A vibration through the ground.

He had [Lowlight Vision]. Thus, the Advance Miner was the first Drake in aeons to see the death of Naamreles coming out of the ruined City of Purity. His eyes widened as the [Light] spells illuminating the dark tunnel wavered.

Then the magic went out. Wobbling as the spell matrices destabilized. He recognized that. It wasn’t someone dispelling the magic. It was…Georgie saw a roiling mass as the light vanished. Glittering, and he inhaled the foulest scent in the world as the air shifted in their presence.

“Ancestors—[Gouging Throw]!”

He threw the pickaxe, and the first shape exploded and collapsed. Georgie pulled his claw back, and the pickaxe spun towards him. Shedding—

“Poison! Watch it!”

Maisy shoved at him, and the pickaxe clattered downwards. It had been spraying droplets of—Georgie almost reached for the relic-class item, but the Rubirel Guard grabbed it.

“Back up! Back up—seal helmet! Liquid? Gaseous—”

Then the glowing helmets emitted red light, and Georgie, weaponless, backing up, saw them. The first being of moving…sludge reared upwards until it filled the huge mining tunnel. And two eyes made of hollowed magicore turned to face the Rubirel Guard. It reached out, an arm of something so black and foul it seemed like filth incarnate.

The waste-being’s arm met six of the Rubirel Guard’s halberds, who slashed at the liquid and left spatterings across their armor. It didn’t recoil. It didn’t stop—the arm kept elongating as the roiling mass of sludge walked at them.

“Biohazard alarms going off! Poison! Contact poison! Even harmful aura—Advance Miner, get back!”

One of the Rubirel Guard’s helms blared as they kept hacking. The filth of the being splashed down and then tried to slither back towards the thing walking at them. The Rubirel Guard fell back a step; the being kept trying to reach into the cavern. So they were still hacking, but slower—slower.

Georgie saw something black and thicker than the liquid embedded in the arm they were trying to cut through. The halberds swung into the thick, ropey semi-liquid mass, and the fire magic embedded in the halberds didn’t activate. Instead, the weapons turned lifeless.

Manaless. One of the Rubirel Guard backed up, cursing.

“Armor power just dropped to 65%. Get back! What’s—”

“Magicore! That’s some kind of magicore! Give me my pickaxe!”

Georgie recognized it—the way the light spells had destabilized was exactly like how magicore absorbed concentrated earth and light magic and made [Mages] helpless. These things were—

What?

Filth Elemental? Sludge Golems? Something close. They were so foul that Georgie’s bile was rising in his throat, and they’d absorbed magicore. He expected to see flies buzzing around them, or slugs, but they were so rancid nothing could survive on them, even insects.

The Rubirel Guard fell back as their armor began to lose its magic. But they kept hacking. Maisy tore the pickaxe from her belt, handed it to Georgie. Heedless of the filth on it, he prayed his gloves were enough and threw it again.

Straight into the center of the sludge-thing’s mass. It was at the breach opening now, trying to get in. It didn’t react as one of the Rubirel Guard shouted.

“[Devastating Cleave]!”

He cut half of its body apart, revealing more filth magicore, and another of the Rubirel Guard pointed.

“[Squad: Razor Blades]. Now!”

They leapt forwards, hacking at the body emerging into the tunnel. Then—at last—Georgie saw the thing half-collapse. It became ooze, and the body stopped moving. It flowed around the Rubirel Guard’s boots, and Georgie backed up a dozen steps. Glanced over his shoulders.

Merls was ducking into the tunnel, eyes wide. Georgie hollered.

“Back up! Back up—we’re almost out—”

The Rubirel Guard were hesitating.

“The breach. We can hold it. Go—”

Then the second being of filth pushed into the tunnel, and when one of the halberds struck it in the face, the ruby blade bounced off the crystalline structure of the humanoid monster. It was seven feet tall, and it did not so much as glitter, for the ‘crystals’ were made up of the same filth.

But it was—hard.

Maisy recoiled, and a fist punched her into one of the walls. Another of the Rubirel Guard shoulder-charged the crystalline filth-monster and bounced off. All his weight and a [Ramming Charge]—he glanced up.

The punch sent him reeling past Georgie, backpedalling until he sat down. The Advance Miner didn’t know how hard you had to hit the Rubirel Guard to dent their armor, but the chestplate was bowed in. He heard a rasp.

“Hard target. It just bent my armor—”

“Fall back! Fall back now! The Ruby Linewall—”

The glowing band of ruby splintered as the second filth-monster pushed at it; it lasted for all of two seconds before the device exploded. Georgie was jogging back now, trying to drag a dizzy Maisy with him. She was way too damn heavy and stumbling—

Then he saw the horror get worse. The second filth-thing was passing by the two halves of the being the Rubirel Guard had killed when both puddles bulged. An ‘eye’ of magicore formed in each puddle. They began to ooze forwards, now no longer humanoid, but moving like a slime.

“You’ve got to be…”

The third filth-being breached the tunnel, and it was neither crystal nor horrible putty. This one was just…a floating orb.

Completely black. Dirt and other particulates were floating up towards it, and as it appeared, Georgie felt a pull on his tail. He heard Maisy whisper.

“Gravity magic. It’s off the scales for weight readings. Over ten thousand pounds—”

He just ran faster. The doom of Naamreles kept coming. These were just three. Then he heard reports shouted into his earholes. Each of the three tunnels was being breached.

There were…thousands.

And there was something else behind them. The alarms.

Something else was coming.

——

Major Shellc had in his claws a Tier 5 scroll. [Localized Earthquake]. He was debating collapsing the entire dig site, but there were people down there.

Moreover…he didn’t know if it would work. He saw [Archers] firing from above, heard the crackle of Erchirite Spears charging up. But what he saw was a hell like that of Rhir.

“The arrows aren’t working. The targets are too hard, or they just sink in—”

“[Piercing Shots] and magical munitions only. Hold the magic until we know if they absorb it. Advance Miner Georgie, are you out?”

“—Too fast—”

He was right. Not all the creatures coming up were slow. Some resembled Swamp Golems; huge, towering masses of sludge with magicore ‘bones’ that made hacking through them too difficult.

“Basic appraisal—the magicore has replaced the need for a magical crystal. We can’t snipe their cores. They’re not just golem-types. I don’t know what that is—I want it dead. Erchirite Spears! Call down the lightning.”

Something—it looked like a puddle with lots of legs. It moved fast up through one of the tunnels, chasing the [Miners]. It was climbing up the walls of dirt when the lightning hit it.

“Hard target to nail. Had to waste a [Pinpoint Target] on it.”

The Captain of the Erchirite Spears sounded a bit—nervous. Shellc’s voice was cold.

“It’s still alive.”

He didn’t have to see through the smoke or collapsing stone. Indeed, the [Major] averted his eyes and counted.

Another flash of lightning coming down. Then a third. A pause.

“Target’s dead. Oozing downwards—the area’s contaminated, sir. Likely.”

Three volleys of an Erchirite Spear company for one monster. Shellc whispered.

“Captain, how many times can your company volley in an engagement if you expend your spears’ and armor’s charges fully? Even if you have to sacrifice your gear.”

“…If we have to sacrifice our gear, thirty-five more times, sir.”

“I see. Hold until I have another target for you. Advance Miner, you’re being overrun.”

“If these idiots ran fast we’d be gone! Oh shit—”

That was when Shellc saw Georgie and six armored figures sprinting out of the lowest shafts. They saw more monsters moving up ahead of them. Shellc pointed.

“Now. Dump those chests of holding. Foreman Rolx, controlled avalanches. Knock the monsters down anywhere but our escape route.”

Dirt showered down, knocking down the monsters climbing the sides of the tunnels. Foreman Rolx struck the ground, and part of the dig site caved in—burying the climbing elementals. Shellc just watched the seven figures running upwards, dodging the monsters crawling around them.

They weren’t going to make it. A floating orb emerged out of the tunnel that Georgie’s group had fled from just as the crystal-elemental which had followed them out flexed its legs. Then—it jumped.

“Hells. They shouldn’t be allowed to do that.”

That was all Shellc said. He saw, for a moment, the elemental come up to eye-level. The [Major] drew his sword. Stabbed.

[Flashdraw]. [Distance Piercer]. [Explosive Tip].

His sword hit the flying crystal being and glanced off. Shellc grimaced as the tip of his sword exploded—and sent the being crashing down. But it didn’t do any satisfying damage. It got up and leapt again. At Georgie’s squad.

Shellc stared down into the dig site and spoke.

“Captain Asrira, fall back.”

That was what a good commander said, even if—he saw the Drake diving, still in her bandages, and twelve figures leaping down the slopes. Osthia breathed acid over the crystal elemental, who began to steam. The Sisters of Chell were throwing daggers, cursing as they wore their new leather armor.

Thirteen against—Shellc counted.

“Enemy appraisal is at four thousand and rising. Casting [Localized Earthquake]. Begin evacuating everyone.”

The ground rumbled, and his footing faltered. He saw the dig site collapsing inwards, and hoped it would slow the filth monsters. And it did…for a few seconds. Then his sense of the enemy noted them moving upwards again.

Can they dig? Shellc gritted his teeth.

They can adapt. Not good. We need to completely collapse things or take out whatever magic’s spawning them. But now he was ordering the full retreat. All his senses were screaming at him—

This was just the advance guard.

——

Georgie was running when the crystal elemental crashed down next to him and got up. It was fast. He saw the Rubirel Guard turning, but the insanely strong, tough thing was coming at them, and their only hope was to run. It was leaping, and he raised his pickaxe—

A Drake swooped down and breathed acid. She had one arm in a sling and a splinted leg, but she was still flying. Somehow, on broken wings. She drew a sword with her good hand, and the Sisters of Chell threw daggers.

—The crystal thing walked forwards, and its body bulged, then it shed its skin. Like a snake sloughing off the acid and leaving it behind. A size smaller, it came forwards, swinging a fist at Osthia, who flew back.

“Oh no.”

Boyd whispered as she threw a dagger at its face and the blade bounced off. She saw Osthia half-turn in the air, drawing breath to breathe again.

“I said don’t follow me! Fall back! Just keep the Rubirel Guard safe and retreat!”

Keep the Rubirel Guard safe—the armored Drakes hesitated, but everyone was shouting at them to run, run. The Crystal Elemental leapt again and smashed one of the Rubirel Guard into the scaffolding they were running up. The Drake in armor hacked at it, but his halberd just bounced off.

There were only two—no, three people who could damage it. Georgie lifted his pickaxe and hacked off several chunks of the crystal elemental’s body with the enchanted tip before it turned on him, and he backed up, swearing. Osthia breathed more acid, and Boyd—lifted her dagger.

[Heroic Stab].

She was shaking, and Osthia was shouting at her to run, but she reckoned she’d just seen something gleaming in the thing’s chest, revealed by Georgie’s pickaxe.

A gem, albeit foul-looking, like rainbows on sludge, in the center of its chest. Maybe…

The three of them were fighting. Darting around the crystal elemental. And then Osthia’s wings gave out. She faltered, fell, and the crystal thing raised a fist as Boyd leapt forwards. Stabbed—

Her blade went through the thing’s back and sprayed out crystals onto Georgie’s arms as he tried to grab Osthia. The [Advance Miner] recoiled, but the crystal being stumbled—head turned—and it fell forwards. Boyd stared down, and her dagger had shattered into a million pieces. But it was dead. She shot Osthia a trembling grin.

“How’dya like that? Told you I was in it. You—”

Her captain was just staring behind Boyd. Osthia’s face was calm as she rose. Boyd didn’t turn her head. She just leapt forwards—and something gouged the ground behind her. Then exploded.

When she turned her head, pieces of dirt showered down around her. She saw something—like a giant eel made of the same sludge, a thousand eyes of magical gems—twisting upwards. It had spines it fired upwards at Shellc’s forces. They exploded. Below the largest monster yet, the smaller sludge-elementals, were marching. Ahead of Georgie, Osthia, and Boyd, pursuing the Rubirel Guards who turned to look down, the shouting Sisters.

Ah.

Boyd squeezed her eyes shut. Then she glanced up.

“You can fly, right, Captain?”

Can you manage two people? One look at Osthia’s bandaged wings was the answer. The walls were sheer dirt—maybe they’d be able to climb? Boyd grinned desperately as Georgie eyed his pickaxe.

“Get out of here. I’ll collapse the tunnel on us. We’ll have time if they don’t dig us out.”

He shoved Osthia, and she spread her wings. She hesitated, regarding Boyd. Then she leapt up—and slammed into a wall. Something had plucked her out of the air and pinned her against the wall. Boyd gasped.

“Wh—”

The floating orb. It was sucking everything in. Magic, arrows—and Osthia was grabbing for purchase, trying to fly—Boyd saw it floating up, and Georgie raised his axe. Hesitated. Boyd drew a dagger.

[Heroic Stab] was on cooldown. But she had other stab-Skills. Could she lunge and—?

“Boyd, don’t—”

The Sister of Chell was smiling as she tensed. And Georgie—he shoved her back.

“Move aside, lady. This is a man’s job.”

He raised his pickaxe, bracing. Out of [Gouging Throws]. His scales were trying to pull themselves out of his face—his teeth were clenched around his cigar, and he stared at the pulsing orb. Did it hesitate? It seemed to. Then he heard those damn alarms pulse louder and swore he saw his life flash before his eyes.

It was brighter than he expected. Georgie raised the pickaxe with a shout, and then the light grew brighter. The orb floated towards him, stopped, floated back—

A spear made of brilliant, orange-pink light struck it in its center. Georgie recoiled and stopped sliding forwards. The gravity effect on him lessened. He saw the orb recoil, bulge, then absorb the spear made of light.

With…effort. It had to slowly yank the spear into it. It began floating downwards, and a second spear hit it dead-center. Then a third. The orb began to tremble. It expanded around the glowing weapons, which looked real to Georgie. A haft made of glowing light. But so detailed…

He was hesitating when something slashed through the Orb of Gravity’s center. It trembled, split in half, and then turned into a vortex which yanked Osthia, Boyd, and Georgie towards it. Imploding! It w—

The vortex vanished. The same glowing sword that had cut the orb apart swung again, and the gravity well disappeared. Then, Georgie, stumbling, came face to face with the being that had destroyed the monster. He looked down and saw his ancestors.

——

It had been a long time. So long. But some things were never forgotten, even by the turning of the wheel of ages.

A face. The face was that of a Drake. He resembled his descendants in so many ways. Perhaps…he had longer neck spines, that was all. Neck spines which were long and drooping in ways modern Drakes found unkempt, but he had threaded them with rings and beads, and they seemed like hair.

His armor was also the same. A breastplate with spread wings across the chest. And the symbol of his home, a Drake, with a claw raised upwards. The City of Purity’s emblem.

Even his boots were a perfect memory. Far thinner than a Human’s; they were made for a Drake’s clawed feet and had toe-caps made of steel. Or it would have been steel, but his body, his very nature, looked like light.

Orange and pink. Perfect to detail in every way, but no flesh. He was a magical being. No familiar. No summoned creature. Just a standard, albeit perfected—light construct.

He smiled as he swung his blade through the monster and advanced higher. Past the staring Drake holding a pickaxe identified as the property of Naamreles. Past the wounded Drake Oldblood and the Human.

Identification was required. But there was an order to his priorities. So the Drake opened his mouth and spat another spear.

That hadn’t been a power he’d had in life. But the copying spell was perfect to every other part of his nature. Even his voice.

“ALARM. TOLVEILOUKA THE WRETCHED HAS BEEN DETECTED. TO ARMS. The City of Purity marches! Monsters detected! Filth in proximity to Naamreles! Citizens, stand clear! I am—”

The eel-thing below fired more spines upwards, and two hit him. The talking Drake exploded in a shower of light magic. But his voice continued. Then, below, a hundred Drakes were advancing, pursuing the beings of rot, hacking them down, even the giant serpent. All saying the same thing.

“—Vnariss Stulvecrell, Light-Soldier! My regiment marches in defense of all that is pure and true!”

A copy of the same Drake kept advancing up the slopes, pursuing more monsters. Then another and another. There were hundreds, all with the same face. One of the versions of Vnariss turned, his boots coming together, and saluted.

“Drake citizens, {CITY UNKNOWN}, please follow me for your safety! You, sir, are you a citizen of Naamreles?”

He pointed at Georgie, and the Drake stuttered.

“Wh—h—”

Vnariss’ memory tilted his head, and he seemed to flicker for a second, in a way the Horns of Hammerad would have recognized. The same magic of the Trials of Shields…but Naamreles had given its magic to its friends.

“I did not understand that, sir. You are in distress. Please, follow me. To non-citizens of Naamreles, aspire to apply to the greatest Walled City of Issrysil. If you are worthy, even the unsuitable may polish their souls until they are reflected for eternity. Like me!”

He jabbed a thumb into his chest and smiled with all his teeth. And they saw him. Even ages later.

Vnariss Stulvecrell marched higher, and the light of the City of Purity followed him. The Putrid One’s minions had been detected. Rot had been found. He was just the first wave of the security systems.

The Purifiers were coming.

——

Osthia Blackwing didn’t know what was going on, but she could make a few inferences once the shock wore off.

We’ve found the City of Purity. Only, it’s not dead. These—someone activated the security systems. That half-Elf? Did they sense him or…?

They were fighting the monsters made of sludge. That Drake calling himself ‘Vnariss’ was engaged in combat across the dig site. He cut, hacked, spat those spears—he wasn’t nearly as good as he might have been with Skills, but there were so many of him, and his weapons cleaved through the monsters.

Most of them.

A crystal elemental like the one that had nearly killed the Rubirel Guard was fighting twenty of the glowing Drakes, smashing a fist across their ranks, but every time it shattered one, another stepped in. And their weapons barely damaged its crystal body, but they had no end—

Legions of light-Drakes. Constructs. This—

Was this the treasure? If they had this, they could field—Osthia’s mind was only focused on that smiling Drake trying to escort them to ‘safety’.

There was something about the Drake who had once been Vnariss Stulvecrell which drove the living to silence. He was old.

Oh, the constructs didn’t know it. They were just beings of light, temporarily summoned, and faithful copies. But even the template they were using was…frayed.

Like an old picture. He smiled, he fought, he spoke with those ringing tones, an icon chosen to represent the City of Purity, but he felt ancient.

Still, he marched upwards, and Osthia saw one of the Rubirel Guard above her stop, yank off his helmet, and wipe at his eyes.

Even now, he serves. Our buried cities—a myth was marching upwards. Osthia wanted to believe it was just salvation. But because she was a Drake who knew her kind—she put a hand on her sword’s hilt.

“Boyd, Georgie. Get behind me.”

She rasped, and the Drake soldier tilted its head.

“Non-citizen, you appear to be wounded. {SEARCHING DATABASE. CRIMINAL ENTRY NOT FOUND.}”

A pale, white light came from its eyes and swept Osthia up and down. She felt a tingle, but the Drake smiled.

“You are entitled to Naamreles’ mercy, citizen. Please, follow me until a supervisor can attend to you. This area is now under military law. Do not deviate from instructions.”

“Ah, c’mon, it’s like the Watch? Don’t that shit in our boots.”

Boyd was, perhaps, the fastest to pick up on the catch. The glowing Drake heard her. And its smile lessened slightly.

“Human. {SEARCHING DATABASE. CRIMINAL ENTRY NOT FOUND}. You are entitled to Naamreles’ mercy as well.”

The light flashed over Boyd as the copy of Vnariss’ eyes shone again, and then it paused. Amended its statement.

“<Criminal> class detected. Human, you are under arrest. Do not resist.”

So saying, the Drake aimed a sword at Boyd. It advanced at a fast walk, and Osthia drew her sword. Barred its way.

“Don’t. She’s with me—”

“Non-citizen, you are interfering with a military operation. Your case has been sent to a supervisor. Appraising…”

The Drake’s head turned again, and this time, the scanning of its eyes was slower. It swept Osthia up and down, and she felt naked, but kept her sword raised. What the light construct said next was where the glorious myth faded.

“Analysis complete. Drake Oldblood, 81.4% genetic viability. Congratulations, non-citizen! You are qualified for {Class 2 Citizenship}! You will be protected. Scanning…”

It hit Georgie and Boyd with the same light as they tried to back behind each other. The construct spoke.

“Analysis complete. Human, 43% viability. Ineligible for citizenship. Analysis complete. Drake, 65.5% viability. Congratulations, non-citizen! You are qualified for {Class 4 Limited Citizenship} upon approval. If you are a hired laborer, please present your card now.”

“What the heck is it talking about? This—what is this thing, Captain?”

Georgie was wide-eyed, backing up from the light construct, but it was barring the way out. Osthia just shifted.

“I think it’s from the City of Purity. It’s some kind of security system, like the Terlands’ damn Golems. But it doesn’t know the city is gone…try to get around it.”

The Drake’s face watched them as they edged around. But when Boyd tried to get to the entrance, its sword raised.

“Halt, criminal. Non-citizens, force will now be employed if you interfere.”

“Great—”

Now the legions of light-soldiers became a new threat in Osthia’s eyes. Just once, could they not find something good buried in the earth?

No one buried things that were actually good and valuable. Osthia blocked the light soldier’s path. It inspected her.

“Class 2 potential non-citizen is acting in hostile manner. Subdue. Class 3+ non-citizens are acting in hostile manner. Terminate.”

“Aw, c’mon—”

It swung its sword at Boyd’s head, and she ducked. Osthia slashed, and her enchanted sword cut across the light-soldier’s face and met resistance. Like that of hitting something hard, yet fragile. She saw motes of light spray upwards. The Drake recoiled—then spoke.

“Non-citizen. You will be placed under arrest following—”

Georgie buried his pickaxe in the Drake’s arm. The enchanted pickaxe tore the arm off the construct’s body with ease. Instantly, the construct began swinging with its remaining arm. Osthia lunged again, stabbed through its chestplate, and sprayed it with acid.

“Citiz—”

She twisted the blade and had to stab two more times. The light-soldier was heavier and harder to shift than she would have thought! But once she got it off the ground, she rammed it into a wall, and Boyd’s dagger punched into a shoulder. At last—it exploded in a shower of motes.

“Damn, it’s easier than the filth-things. C’mon, Captain, let’s run for—”

They were moving out of the tunnel when five more light-soldiers all wearing Vnariss’ face marched forwards.

“Non-citizens, drop your—”

All of them ran. Well, Osthia flew for it. She winged upwards and saw Boyd and Georgie sprinting behind her. The light-soldiers didn’t run. They marched forwards, and Osthia thought that was a good thing, easy to outrun. Then she saw their mouths opening, and one began to fire a glowing spear—

Osthia swooped them and sprayed the lot with acid. It…didn’t seem to do anything to the light-soldiers, but they regarded her, and she flew higher. Boyd and Georgie, uninhibited by others, were sprinting for it with the speed only a Sister of Chell and Advance Miner could muster. But above them…Osthia gained altitude, her wounded wings screaming, and murmured.

“Oh no.”

The wave of sludge monsters was almost gone. She had assumed that they had been the infestation that had ended Naamreles, but in fact, they were practically all vaporized already. Literally. Even the giant eel-thing was lying in pieces.

The Drake constructs were too numerous, too efficient. But that begged the question of why those filth-monsters had even been allowed to…?

The problem was now the legions of identical Drakes climbing higher. They might not have been thinking beings, but whomever had made them wasn’t stupid.

“Foreign non-citizens. You are all under arrest. Lay down your weapons. No army has been authorized within the City of Purity’s aegis. Surrender or be destroyed.”

Someone up top, Shellc perhaps, had realized the same thing as Osthia. The light-soldiers were attacking Salazsar’s [Soldiers]! Arrows were bouncing off their hard light-bodies, and they were firing arrows up, spitting spears, slashing—the Rubirel Guard were holding one of the exits to the dig site, and their armor was resisting the blades of the copies of Vnariss. For now.

“Major Shellc! That Drake claimed to be regiment-strength. It scans you, and if you’re not genetically viable or something, it’s happy to kill you!”

“Acknowledged, Captain. Get your people out of there. Hurry! Something else is coming up. Every [Mage] can feel it.”

Major Shellc’s voice was terse, and Osthia whirled. She saw Boyd sprinting up to join the small squad. Asrira’s Bitches (working name) were clustered together. Osthia almost dive-bombed them as her wings gave out.

“Captain, what the heck are those? We’re not getting paid for—”

Marrygold was aiming a hand crossbow down into the excavation site. Georgie and Boyd sprinted past the Rubirel Guard, who hauled them up as Osthia gasped.

“Just get ready. Something’s coming. We need to evacuate.”

“Evacuate? They did the job of killing those damn monsters for us. Can’t we identify ourselves or something? They’re not that hostile—”

That was Advisor Merls. Osthia and Boyd glanced at each other, and the [Wing Captain] shook her head.

“They’re unthinking automatons from another age, and they believe the Putrid One’s around! Fall back! Where’s Shellc?”

She was glad to see he was pulling the [Miners] back, but it was still slow. They were jogging across the ground—but he didn’t have enough [Soldiers].

Georgie was looking around for his team. He saw Maiss and the miners of his squad jogging towards the camp.

“Those idiots—just run! Maiss, Maiss, not that way—”

Osthia concurred. They had to launch a full evacuation. She was arguing that to Merls, who wanted to try to parlay with the light-soldiers, when her scales prickled. The shouting from below turned to screams.

Then it was light. And the final, or as Tolveilouka would have said, real guardians of the City of Light showed themselves.

——

It was not like the copy of Vnariss. He walked and spoke with the pre-programmed lines they’d used after taking his personality and form. This was something else, albeit still seeming made of light.

A brighter light. Its form was indistinct, if you could even look at it without being blinded. But when Captain Osthia shielded her eyes, she saw the vague outline.

It looked like a being with a long tail, neck spines, and claws. A Drake.

With wings.

The Purifier flew upwards in a flash of light, and when it hovered in the air, she saw a twin-halo hovering above its head. Its wings cast a nimbus of light around it that seemed to purify the very air, removing the permanent scent of cattle-dung. It had no eyes she could see, nor features.

The Purifier rotated slowly. Spotted the remains of one of the sludge monsters that the Rubirel Guard had destroyed. It flew downwards, ignoring Merls shouting at it, the Rubirel Guard backing up, weapons raised.

The Purifier was…big. It was sixteen feet tall. It moved faster than Osthia through the air, and when it pointed down, she knew it had magic. Because it ‘spoke’ with a voice as dispassionate and monotonous as what you thought a Golem’s voice would be.

It said:

“[Mass Cleanse].”

The filth on the ground, the Rubirel Guard’s armor, and even the dirt on Osthia’s scales from the fighting—some blood from her wounds that had broken open—all vanished.

She tingled. And she swore the Purifier grew slightly bigger. It turned.

“{Filth detected. Cleansing.}”

It fired the spell around it, cleaning everything—even sucking some of the dirt up and leaving bare, polished stone around it. Then it seemed to detect the Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans surrounding it. The Purifier stared down.

“{Non-citizens in noncompliance. Genetic viability 33%.}”

It gazed down at Merls. He raised his claws.

“I am from Salazsar. In the name of the City of G—”

The Purifier drew a sword.

“{Eradicating}.”

It slashed through Merls, hit one of the Rubirel Guard who had tried to block the blow, which tossed Maisy across the ground. The cut was bloodless. Merls’ torso and body collapsed, smoking, and the Purifier studied the corpse.

“[Mass Cleanse]. {Eradicating}.”

It hit one of the Rubirel Guard next, and the blade didn’t shear through the armor—so the Purifier grabbed the Rubirel Guard up and squeezed. The armor shook as the Drake writhed, and Osthia slashed at the Purifier’s legs with the Sisters of Chell.

Unlike the light-soldiers, her weapons bounced off its ‘flesh’. And then she heard the armor above her screaming a warning before the enchantments gave—

The crunch was followed by that voice.

“[Mass Cleanse].”

A bloodless corpse dropped. The Purifier turned, and a bolt of lightning struck it in the head. For a second, it wavered. Then continued. Osthia slashed into its neck, and the Purifier caught her. Inspected her. She wriggled, waiting for it to crush—

It put her on the ground. Then a hand grabbed Osthia.

“Non-citizen. You are under arrest pending—”

The copies of Vnariss. They were coming up. Dozens of light-soldiers, and more by the second. They were speaking.

“A Purifier has been summoned. Witness the City of Purity’s greatest protectors.”

“Resist and you will be cleansed.”

“Analyzing non-citizens for genetic viability…”

Osthia tore her arm free and elbowed the construct holding her in the face. It did virtually nothing, but she managed to leg-sweep it and flew upwards.

“Fall back! Fall back—Sisters of Chell! On me! Hold them back!”

She flew straight at the Purifier again and saw her squad attacking the light-soldiers. They were outmatched; the Purifier was glancing around for the lightning bolt’s sender. It caught sight of a [Mage]. Opened its mouth.

The ray of light burned through the [Mage]’s barrier spells and scorched a six-foot wide hole in the ground. Osthia slashed across the Purifier’s face and her blade didn’t leave a mark. She saw it turning, reaching up for her, gently even, like someone trying to catch a butterfly it didn’t want to hurt.

Could she distract it? Shellc was shouting at her to retreat. Osthia was peering down at her squad. Not them. She couldn’t let them—

She had hopes of doing something. Right up until the ground exploded in the dig site. The second Purifier stood, wings unfurling.

It was nearly twice as big as the last one. When it flew upwards, it was slowly. But with a terrible momentum to it. Osthia gazed downwards and then saw a claw breaking the ground. And she realized there was another Purifier down there too.

One so big it was having to squeeze through the tunnels. The two Purifiers landed on the top of the dig site, and both had swords. They were chopping anyone not ‘genetically viable’ into pieces.

That—that was the only reason everyone wasn’t dead. The light-soldiers and Purifiers would slow before each [Soldier] and [Miner] they came across. The Purifiers seemed to be able to scan in less than half a second—the light-soldiers required a few seconds, and if their targets were moving, they had to re-scan.

One of the Purifiers was pursuing a band of Silverfang Gnolls. One of the mining teams—it had its sword raised, and it towered over the tiny Gnolls. It ignored Osthia trying to stab through its brain—her sword was doing nothing! She needed Georgie’s pick! Where was he? She couldn’t leave a mark with anything, and she saw the [Mages]’ magic was just as useless on the Purifiers.

The Purifier bent and picked up one of the Gnolls who’d stopped to buy the others time. He lashed out at its hand, shouting Skills. It was the huge Ekhtouch Gnoll, the [Miner].

Thamert. He froze as the Purifier spoke.

“{Analysis. Genetic viability 89.25%. Congratulations, Gnoll. You are viable for Class 1 citizenship.}”

It put him down. Thamert staggered and seemed bewildered and mildly outraged. An Ekhtouch Gnoll wasn’t even…?

No one else was passing the tests if Osthia was barely 80%. How many Drakes were even Oldblood, let alone both kinds like Osthia? Now she saw it.

City of Purity. The Purifiers were still casting [Mass Cleanse]. In fact, the Purifier that had grabbed Thamert began to attack the Gnolls, then looked down.

“{Excrement. Cow. Removing…} [Mass Cleanse].”

It pointed at a patch of ground and removed the manure. Paused. Pointed.

“[Mass Cleanse]. [Mass Cleanse]. {Marking for further cleaning.}”

It had to do it twice more before it was satisfied. Then it took two lumbering steps after the Gnolls. Stopped.

“{Excrement. Cow. Insect nest. Ant. Removing…}”

Osthia caught her breath at last as she saw the second Purifier slow. The Purifiers might be higher-grade magic, but they were as stupid as, well, Golems. They were obsessively cleaning around the dig site, and she remembered the mining tunnels. Even the mines had been paved. Was the City of Purity supposed to all be like that?

But this was no stone city, this was a literal cow pasture. She grinned as she saw the two Purifiers stall out. Right up until she realized that the light-soldiers weren’t slowing. They were marching in ranks, coming forwards—and then some idiot decided to hit them with a lightning bolt. The bolt blew apart a group of light-soldiers—and a Purifier’s head snapped up. It abandoned cleaning and raised its sword.

A half-Giant made of light, who spat a ray of light. Osthia looked around and saw her squad fleeing its footsteps. It went to stomp, and the Sisters of Chell dove aside. Osthia cried out.

“Run! Run, you idiots!”

She’d meant for them to buy a second and disengage! But they’d kept fighting. Now, the Purifier’s head swung down with slow wrath. Osthia tried to put herself in the path of it as the third Purifier’s head rose over the excavation pit. Not again.

Had they bought anyone time?

——

Desperate Sisters of Chell being lifted in the Purifier’s grasp. One of the Sisters was pinned by a Drake light-construct because she could be a Class 2 citizen.

Boyd saw the Purifier taking Marrygold higher. The Sister screaming. Shouting at Boyd to run as Osthia hacked at the arm. The [Brave Knife] raised a backup blade.

She croaked as she saw the hand begin to tighten.

“[Heroic Stab].”

She plunged the tip of her dagger into the Purifier’s clawed foot. That was how big it was. Her knife actually pierced the glowing light-flesh, the first time anyone had wounded the damn thing. With the equivalent of a splinter’s amount of damage.

Boyd saw the Purifier pause, glance down at her, and she was backing up, already running. Tears in her eyes. But she kept watching Marrygold. To commit that face to Osthia’s memorial, if Boyd lived. If anyone lived.

The Purifier opened its mouth, aimed at Boyd, and exploded.

Its body detonated outwards in a flash of light, and then something hit Boyd. Tossed her through the air, screaming and pinwheeling, until Osthia caught her.

“I got you. I got—”

They landed, tumbling, and Osthia re-broke her wings and lay there, cursing. Then pushed herself up.

“Run! R—”

She turned, and Boyd glanced around. They saw Marrygold, Sadmile, the other members of her squad…sitting or lying in the grass. Staring around.

“You killed it? With a stab?”

She did? Boyd couldn’t believe it. It had popped! Like an overinflated pig bladder or water flask! She was pretty sure it wasn’t supp—

Then the smell hit her. Boyd stared down at something on her body and vomited. Osthia drew a breath and puked.

“What is—”

It was all over them. Something black and so foul that it ruined Boyd’s sense of smell in a moment. She heaved again, and that was a pleasant experience to the taste of it on her tongue. She hadn’t even gotten it in her mouth. The rest of the Sisters were even worse! It was, wait—

“Was that inside the Purifier-thing?”

Boyd turned, disbelieving, and saw the world’s largest cowpat still slopping down. Where the Purifier’s body had been—there was just compacted filth spreading outwards. The Sisters leapt up as the light-soldiers spoke.

“Purifier down. Sending for reinforcements.”

“Unacceptable levels of filth detected. Calling for emergency Purifiers.”

“Warning. Monster germination detected.”

—In the same moment, the sludge rippled, and some of it shot up. An eyestalk with a glowing magicore eye swivelled around, then a slug seemed to grow and slither out of the muck. A monster?

A filth-monster, like the ones that had just attacked the dig site. It made it three feet before a dozen light-spears skewered it. Another piece of the filth began to animate, probably because it was so concentrated.

Potentially, so magical. There was that black magicore in—Boyd and Osthia were backing away as the light-soldiers began to hack at the stuff. They were calling all kinds of alarms. Then another Purifier landed.

This one was over forty feet tall. How it had gotten out of the dig site tunnels, Boyd had no clue. Had it squeezed up here? Excavated the entire thing? Whatever the case, the Purifier swept a blade across the muck, killing whatever was germinating.

“[Mass Cleanse]. [Mass Cleanse]. [Mass Cleanse]. [Mass Cleanse]. [Mass Cleanse]—”

It was cleaning the muck up. Osthia and Boyd watched, and both had a feeling about what was going to happen next. Because, each time the spell was cast, the Purifier got larger. First, it was forty-some feet tall. Then fifty. It was trying to absorb a lot of filth, after all. About, say…sixteen feet’s worth of filth?

It almost managed it. The Purifier was about fifty-five feet tall when it stopped casting spells. It pointed a finger at the remaining puddle of moving filth.

“[Mass Cl—]”

Then it exploded. Osthia, Boyd, and the squad of Sisters saw the magic bindings of the Purifier rupture. They stared up as a rain of blackness began showering down. Looked at each other.

Then they ran for it. Then, Boyd swore she saw her crazy captain laughing. Osthia had tears running down the filth caked onto her body.

“That? That’s the doom of Naamreles?”

It was just one of those things experienced [Mages] told younger ones. Stop relying on [Cleanse] and wash your underwear. No spell’s perfect. And some young [Mage] would wonder why anyone knew that. Or wonder—if you [Cleansed] something, where did all the dirt go?

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss didn’t know what was going on with Dig Site B. He heard only chaos, Major Shellc shouting orders—then some clarity.

“We are under attack from light-constructs, Wall Lord! It’s an entire damn army and some kind of super-summons capable of flight, Tier 5 attack spells—”

Oh no. The City of Purity was awake. Ilvriss was galloping towards the dig sites, shouting the alarm in the next moment. It was Lyonette du Marquin who was too slow to follow.

“Ilvriss, wait, I’ll get Ulva and—Ishkr, go find Xitegen now!”

Ishkr ran for the portal door. Lyonette whirled.

“Someone go after Ilvriss! Tell me what’s going on—not you, Nanette—and keep in contact!”

To her relief, the witch wasn’t running after Ilvriss, but into the inn.

“I’ll watch with the [World’s Eye Theatre]!”

“Good idea! Ilvriss, don’t—he’s gone.”

She ran a few steps out into the Cowpat Plains before Ser Dalimont caught her.

“Your Highness, my arm’s broken, and you can’t endanger yourself!”

“Marquin’s remaining breast, I can’t! Let go of me, Dalimont!”

They were arguing as the door closed behind them; Liska was sending Ishkr to Invrisil, and Lyonette’s heart was in her throat.

“Why now? No one was stupid enough to dig today, surely! Did it have to be this moment? After Tolveilouka, that bastard? Could anything else go wrong?”

Someone coughed behind her.

“Er, well, funny you should mention that. Now, look. I admit, we got a bit heated. I tried to turn you into a plague thing, you said hurtful things about my master—”

Lyonette froze. Ser Dalimont drew his sword, and Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer raised his hands.

“I’m just here t—”

Lyonette drew a crossbow and aimed it at him. He kept his hands raised. Tolveilouka had…a hole in his forehead. Dalimont and Lyonette stared through the hole and his pulsing brains, then lowered their weapons. Tolveilouka noticed and patted at the hole.

“Damn, is that still there? It stings like—listen. Things might not be going according to plan. See, I was helping you out.”

What? Neither [Princess] nor Thronebearer said a word. They just exchanged glances and stared back at Tolveilouka. The half-Elf put his hands in his pockets. Kicked a rock.

“Okay, look. I’m sorry about the dead Wall Lord. He seemed nice. Brave. Tell you what, I could reanimate his corpse? There’s some kinds of undead that grow on you. I’ll make sure he’s a nice one—well, nice as they get. I felt bad about it, really. He and I had a heart-to-heart, and I think I was respecting him near the end. Real composure in the face of death, that fellow.”

He’s not dead. Lyonette almost said that, and Ser Dalimont stepped gently on one foot. Neither one said a word. Tolveilouka glanced at them. Put his fingers together and took a breath.

“Okay, and the City of Purity…listen. I was hoping it was inactive. Turns out, it’s not. So, um, you’re about five hundred miles away from here. Great. Just close the door and I bet you they’ll get stopped before then. I’ll help! You just have to snipe the Purifiers when they’re distracted. Three-dozen in one place and even a Dragon has a bad day, and they’re sort of diametrically opposed to my nature. Hard to fight. A hundred and, well, everything’s dead. The rest of the light-armies aren’t that bad.”

Purifier. Light armies. Lyonette twitched, and Tolveilouka held up his hands.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m upset with me. But here’s what you need to know: they’re not perfect. Most are pretty damn big; they’re full of shit. Literal shit. That’s what [Cleanse] spells do. You think all that dirt and stuff goes nowhere? It’s in a mini-dimension attached to you. That’s why the first time any [Mage] opens a portal dimension connected to their magic it’s filled with crap if they’ve cast [Cleanse]. Normally, it’s not a problem, but if you keep doing it, well. Naamreles invented [Cleanse], and so they didn’t get the memo.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and smiled.

“Actually, that’s how they killed themselves. That and selecting only the most ‘pure’ candidates for their citizenship. See, the Purifiers sweep up all the mess, but they reached a critical mass long ago. So new ones keep getting made, but once they sweep up too much shit, they explode. Then the cycle repeats. The security systems must have been fighting their own filth for, I don’t know, at least a few thousand years? Hilarious.”

He slapped his chest, shook his head.

“That’s why we buried the City of Purity; they killed themselves trying to purify their own ranks. Then their automated legions attacked everything mindlessly. No one wanted them around by that point, anyways. The problem was, it turned out their magic was good enough to keep going and doing the same damn thing. Hence why we had to bury them. There’s filth-monsters as big as half-Giants down there. Imagine being a citizen of the ‘City of Purity’, choking to death on the filth your city kept trying to clean! Those [Miners] your lot found were probably trying to escape and ran out of food and water!”

He laughed. Hesitated as he saw his audience hadn’t joined him. Tolveilouka cleared his throat.

“Ahem. So…now they’re loose, and they’ll probably execute anyone ‘impure’, which is mostly everyone. If you’re lucky, the Purifiers will explode and slow the others down, but uh, the light-armies are probably going to enslave anyone not pure, and the ‘citizens’ will be taken below where they’ll probably die of starvation. They’re—well, the Purifiers are the real threats…but the City of Purity’s armies are pretty damn…look, just close the door. I’ll throw rocks at them or something. I just need to, uh, get some weapons and heal up.”

He touched the hole in his forehead again. Winced. Tolveilouka gave Lyonette a thumbs up.

“I was helping.”

He backed up a few steps.

“I tried to. Look, you try it.”

The half-Elf turned, jogged off, hesitated, and then jogged back.

“When you think abou—”

Lyonette shot him in the face with her crossbow. Tolveilouka slowly pulled the bolt out of his nose and eyed her.

“I suppose you deserve to do that. Do it again and I’m breaking your fingers. Right…good luck with that.”

He ran off, then shouted.

“I mean it about ‘run’! You all suck if you can’t even get me to Phase 2! Stop shooting crossbow bolts at me, I’m just trying to help—”

He ran off. Lyonette and Ser Dalimont stood there in silence until the door burst open.

“Lyonette! It’s horrible! There’s Drakes made of light attacking, a-and Nanette sees more coming from below, but she can’t see the City of Purity because it’s warded!”

Hethon was waving his arms and panicking. Lyonette and Dalimont turned. After a moment, she nodded.

“We’ll be there right away, Hethon. Tell Nanette to inform everyone we know. And keep an eye on Ilvriss.”

He nodded and ran. She looked back at Ser Dalimont. He glanced around.

“Given where we were, I don’t think anyone could have seen…”

“Good. Dalimont? Not a word to—”

“Of course.”

More silence. Lyonette mouthed a few words, then exhaled.

“Helping.”

“Evidently, Lyonette.”

She felt at her face. At her arms, which had nearly turned into putrid flesh. Glanced at the ground he’d destroyed. Thought about Ilvriss.

“Dalimont?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Find me a way to get on his bad side.”

“How, Your Highness?”

“I don’t know, a mean poem or something.”

Then she was running. But Lyonette didn’t forget this was definitely all Tolveilouka’s fault.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss heard the frantic fighting as he raced towards the Cowpat Plains and the dig site at top speed. By the time Lyonette appeared, panting what she’d been told at him, he didn’t question it. He just gave orders.

“Welsca, are you there?”

“Here, Wall Lord!”

He looked around and saw her actually flying past him. She had wings. And her scales were fire-red, not his prismatic—she was trailing smoke as she panted. Ilvriss’ own wings stirred, then he just began shouting.

“Here are my orders: Evacuate Thirthoof. Evacuate the base camp, and warn every [Rancher] in the region! Tell them what’s coming, and if they don’t listen, get them to just look this way!”

He wagered they could see the light attacks and maybe even the damn Purifiers, they were so big. Ilvriss kept shouting.

“Get me Master Oidhol as well!”

“Yes, s—Master Oidhol?”

Of all the Drakes—Ilvriss ignored Welsca and fished out a speaking stone.

“Major Shellc, are you there? I want you to retreat back to our base camp or further if needed! Do not engage those constructs!”

“I hear you, Wall Lord. But it’s a damn fighting retreat. Your Captain Asrira and her squad refuse to fall back. They’ve taken down a Purifier, but they insist on holding the line.”

Osthia? Ilvriss’ head was spinning from his near-death experience. He hadn’t slept. He really wanted a lie-down in Erin’s inn. He was sharp and fuzzy, like he was dying. But he just rode, and his lungs felt like they were glittering from the inside, if that was even a sensation. He toggled the speaking stone and hit mass-communications by accident.

It didn’t matter.

“Ilvriss to all forces, fall back! That means you, [Major]!”

Welsca turned, mid-conversation with a confused Master Oidhol. Did he mean Captain Asrira? Her rank had fluctuated a bit, but—then she heard the voice coming back.

“Wall Lord? We have to hold the line. Someone has to.”

Osthia Blackwing sounded…too calm. Welsca recognized it as a warning sign from her Manus training. Shock. The [Wing Captain] was a veteran who’d lost her entire command at least once.

“The army will be wiped out, sir. Requesting permission to hold the line.”

“Denied. Get out of there, [Major]. You and your forces.”

“Nossir. Someone’s got to cover the retreat, General.”

This time, Welsca’s head snapped around, and she nearly lost control and slammed into the ground. But Ilvriss was just galloping ahead. And…

——

Lyonette du Marquin was listening from the [World’s Eye Theatre]. She could see Captain Osthia. Both wings broken, and she was reeling.

The light-soldiers had refrained from attacking them until she’d hacked the twentieth one apart. Then they’d decided she wasn’t worth protecting. The only thing that had saved her was the cloth-armor that Ilvriss had bought for her from Honored Deskie. Eight light-spears had nailed her in the chest, and she was—mostly—unhurt.

But it looked like one had hit her in the helmet. Her squad was hunkered down in Dig Site B’s camp, fighting from the fortifications there. Drakes and Gnolls were evacuating the camps, but some teams, like Maiss’, weren’t immediately fleeing.

More were doing the things Drakes did. Captain Osthia spoke muzzily as scrying spells began coming in from Salazsar.

Dramm and the other spies were calling ten kinds of alarms, and regular citizens and Wall Lords were tuning in. Not the news, not yet. No one had bothered telling them.

What they saw were light-Drakes pouring out of a hole in the ground. Vast titans with halos and wings, patterned off another species, an ideal, battling foul monsters made of sludge. And what the citizens of Salazsar heard was Wall Lord Ilvriss’ voice, cracking, panting, and Asrira Shieldscale. Shouting at each other, confused.

“Drakes don’t run, General! We can hold them.”

Osthia swung her sword through a light-Drake’s neck. She stumbled, and someone caught her. Her squad. The Goblin Lord’s army was everywhere—no, the light-constructs. She was shouting. At General Thrissiam. Or was it General Garusa? It didn’t matter. He was bellowing nonsense in her earhole.

“That’s Dragondung, [Major]! I just gave you an order!”

“Order ignored, sir. What’s best for everyone is I stay.”

Another wave was coming. Her squad—Osthia was motioning them back, but they were good soldiers. They wouldn’t run.

One could save a hundred lives. Her commander was bellowing orders as well, but General Thrissiam just shouted back.

“That’s enough. I told you to retreat, Periss! Get out of there! Please.”

Periss? Who? Osthia began to croak, then saw another Drake climbing the trenches. She kicked a face in with her boots as someone knifed the bastard.

“Sir, I’m needed here—protocol dictates the commanding officer—”

“Hang the protocol. Retreat, Periss. I can’t lose you. What good are our heroes if we have to keep making them? Please. Run.”

The [Sister of the Unforgotten] realized that Ilvriss wasn’t talking to her at last. He was talking at her. Osthia’s head turned. She snapped out of the haze and saw the wounded Sisters around her. For a moment, she saw the pile of the dead. Then General Thrissiam waving at her—

She swore she saw Periss for a second, slowly regarding her as she sat, sharpening a blade and waiting for the next battle. None of them spoke, but their eyes—

Periss, Osthia, whatever her name was, turned.

“…Fall back in order. No one dies here. Squad, give me [Lesser Acidbreath] and run.”

The glowing forms climbing the trenches were greeted by a salute of acid. They paused only a second—then they cleared the trenches. No one met them with blades at the top. They marched into the camp, and the lines were breaking. Osthia was running.

Salazsar watched Drakes running and heard Ilvriss shouting a dead woman’s name.

But if that rattled them—

They’d seen nothing yet.

——

Advance Miner Georgie knew what Maiss and his team were doing. Either they were panicking and grabbing their possessions, thinking they needed their pay or gear and putting that above their lives, or they were looting everyone else’s stuff in the chaos.

Fair enough, he’d done both. But this wasn’t a disaster anyone would survive. And they were his team, damnit—

“Maiss! Maiss, run, damnit! This isn’t the time t—”

He took a moment to find where the entire team had run into their tents. The makeshift barracks were more organized than most [Miners]’ messy cots with possessions strewn around. There was a temporary gymnasium next door, and Maiss’ team had always been weird.

Too many breaks. Too bad at their jobs, yet no one said a word up top. And Maiss himself…

He seemed calm as he knelt over a trunk in the center of the room. The rest of the team, Drakes and Gnolls, were shucking their clothing. Putting other clothing on, belting up—Georgie skidded to a stop, then bellowed.

“Are you insane? We have to run!”

Maiss whirled, then smiled.

“Advance Miner, you made it. Good. Get out of here. We’re doing our jobs. You’ve done yours.”

“What? Are you mad? Don’t be a hero—those light-things are everywhere, and the big ones are crushing the Rubirel Guard!”

Maiss kept pulling things out of the trunk, tossing them at his team. He adjusted his belt, and someone brought something over and threw it over his chest and began buckling it secure. A…breastplate?

Mining Team Leader Maiss glanced up, and his eyes were too calm. Not confident; there was a tightness there as he grunted.

“I know. Tier 3 spells have no effect on the big ones. Piercing Skills and high magic. Pop ‘em and the others get distracted. Advance Miner, fall back.”

“That’s armor. What’s going on?”

Georgie’s mind felt slow. Trouble he was good at detecting and running from. But what was…?

It was when Maiss stood and clipped a speaking stone into a holster at his ear that it clicked for Georgie. Maiss was wearing a metal breastplate and chainmail underneath it. He had on leg armor, even tail armor, and when he put on his helmet, only his jaw was visible; the jawguard wouldn’t fit anymore.

He grimaced and tossed the piece of metal aside. Maiss checked his belt, and he had a sword on one side with a spiked shield on the other, a backup wand, backup shortsword—then he was so familiar Georgie just blinked.

The [Soldier] turned and barked.

“Company, fall in! We’re up to our earholes in magical constructs! You heard the Wall Lord! Fall back and link with Major Shellc’s forces! Holiday’s over, boys and girls!”

“You—you were just—”

Squads of grim Drakes and Gnolls were moving out the doors, armed to the teeth in metal. Not just metal; Maiss had been tossing enchanted munitions and artifacts at his company. They wouldn’t have fit in a bag of holding with that much magic.

Maiss patted Georgie on the shoulder, then towed him towards the door.

“I told you I saw the Winter Solstice. And the Goblin Lord, and the Tidebreaker too. Do you think the Wall Lord really marched all this way north with only a token force? Sorry about the bad mining. Stick with us. Let’s go!”

Then they were barrelling out of the tents, and more teams were shedding their disguises and revealing their true colors. A rank of crossbows sank to one knee and fired; they cut down the glowing Naamreles soldiers, and then everyone was up and running. Fighting a retreat as Captain Osthia whirled.

Major Shellc’s voice was steady as it pulsed out of Maiss’ earpiece.

“Colonel, tell me your forces are ready for a fight. We’re headed to Fallback Point B. I’m going to slow the advance of the constructs with our Gem Regiments, but they won’t last long. Do not engage those Purifiers. Wall Lord Ilvriss has a plan to delay them, which means we’ll only be facing the constructs.”

“Yessir, Major, we are on the move. Only a few legions of Naamreles’ finest?”

“That’s the spirit, Colonel.”

Then Georgie saw a real army running and moving into place. His mouth was still open as he ran. He turned—and Captain Osthia was just as dumbfounded as her squad whooped and cheered.

In her case, she’d forgotten Ilvriss’ plan.

——

Ulva Terland’s eyes narrowed as she saw Drake [Soldiers] pouring out of the dig site. They were making for a seemingly-unmarked stretch of grass miles away from their base camp. [Miners] were milling about, but an entire third of the original dig force had revealed armor and weapons.

“That damn Drake brought a real army north. I knew it!”

“Under the circumstances, Aunt, we should be so lucky. What are we going to do?”

Xitegen was panting as he jogged in the scrying orb. She glanced at him; she was in Invrisil, counting the damage that half-Elf had done, and she’d been organizing a taskforce to wipe him out for good and his damn home.

Now this. Her temples hurt. Ulva snapped at Xitegen.

“Do? That fool’s the one who unearthed all this!”

“I think I heard them screaming about the Putrid One’s minions. Might not be his fault—”

“Silence. Where are you, Xitegen?”

She squinted, then realized the background he was running across seemed mighty familiar. Grass and flatness and—

“Are you going to help the Drake?”

“Aunt, a Walled City has just begun spewing super-Drakes into the sky. I heard enough when Timekeeper began screaming the alarm about Naamreles. Under what scenario shouldn’t I be concerned?”

Primera, Seconda, and every Golem he had was running with him, she realized. Ulva Terland hissed.

“You idiot, I am not wasting more Terland lives—”

“Only later when they’re fully assembled and marching on the north, Aunt?”

That drew her up. She drummed her fingers on her dais’ armrest, then turned her head away.

“Timekeeper, is this Naamreles’ worst? What else do they have?”

She waited for a response. Then peered around.

“Timekeeper? Where the hell is he?”

Still repairing himself? Ulva Terland closed her eyes and sensed—

——

Timekeeper was striding into the streets of Invrisil when Ulva Terland kicked open a window and leapt out.

He caught her, of course. She snapped as the Terlands rushed out; half their Golems were marching with him!

“Timekeeper! What are you doing? You’re abandoning your post!”

“The City of Purity has awakened, Lady Terland. I am going to stem their forces. With-out combatting them, they will reproduce infinitely.”

Her mouth opened—then compressed into a line.

“Define infinitely.”

“Any magical po-wer source will generate more Purifiers or their light-soldiers, Lady Ul-va. Without restriction, they will advance and conquer. The people of Naamreles are dead. Hence their burial by all forces. The folly of Naamreles must not spread.”

“This isn’t the first Walled City I’ve heard of being buried. Who puts all their problems in the damn dirt? Can’t the Drake handle it?”

The Matriarch of House Terland was complaining, but Timekeeper saw her checking her side as he strode towards the portal door.

“Burial is an acceptable practice when one is out of armaged-don class spells, Lady Ulva. I am informed by your predecessors they run out very quick-ly. Naamreles has barriers. I request reinforcements.”

She said nothing. But she let him put her down and strode into The Wandering Inn. It was chaos there. Timekeeper could ‘hear’ the [Message] spells and unsecured communication spells around him.

Drakes requesting aid from Pallass, who was slow to react. The City of Gems watching their Wall Lord, too far removed to act immediately.

Hesitation.

He had none. A Golem was waiting for him with a panting [Diplomat]. Yweine lifted a repaired hand.

“My directive is to keep Wall Lord Ilvriss alive.”

He nodded once at her. But halted; Lady Ulva Terland had not made up her mind. She was scowling.

“I want to see it for myself. All Golems are to hold from engaging until I give the order. Including yours, Xitegen. Violate my order and I will disinherit you.”

“By your will, Lady Terland.”

Timekeeper advanced through the door as Xitegen began arguing, but Ulva Terland was notoriously stubborn. All Terlands were.

He just hoped she made the right choice.

——

The infinite legions of Naamreles would have made even Nerrhavia’s Fallen’s Golden Hordes hesitate. For they were no Hemp-caste, who still breathed and bled and died.

These were a true force without care for their lives, and led by the Purifiers, they were advancing on the retreating forces of Salazsar. To judge whether they were worthy of Naamreles’ mercy.

The Purifiers were the most powerful constructs by far. They could fire Tier 5 [Dawnbreak Ray] spells from their mouths at will or activate Tier 6 [Sunburst Field] spells to clear enemy soldiers. At need be, they could link and project Tier 7 magic.

They had been made to slay horrors like Tolveilouka the Wretched. With their flight, catching the escaping Salazsarian forces would have been easy.

Unless they were delayed. 

The thing stopping the Purifiers was the Cowpat Plains themselves. Even as more and more appeared—and the City of Purity had too many, hundreds—each one became distracted with the…the filth.

In Naamreles’ orbit? Unacceptable! The Purifiers were no beings capable of thought. They did not see that the cleared ground around the City of Purity no longer remained. The pristine tiles that had eradicated all life for miles upon miles around the Walled City were long gone. Buried. But they behaved as if it were still there, purifying the manure. Purifying the dirt.

—Still, more kept flying upwards. There was no way to kill them unless they were too full and ‘popped’; not all of them were at a critical mass. Someone had to do something.

Like Master Plumber Oidhol. He was no hero. He was just a working [Plumber], if one of the best in Salazsar. He was self-conscious of always smelling slightly like the pipes he worked on. No one really respected a [Plumber] until you needed them. He had a stable job, though, family, sons who were taking up the family business, even if they were worried no one wanted to marry their daughters to a [Plumber].

Just a Drake who’d gotten an offer to work for that famous Wall Lord. And he’d thought…why not? Told his family he’d never be near any danger because he was just a [Plumber]. Who needed a slightly overweight Drake losing his neck-spines? He’d laughed about it.

“Master Plumber, they’re coming!”

Oidhol was up to his knees in sewage. He was wrapping pipes to form the worst joins in his entire life with sticky tape, fusing metal together with every trick he had. He and his helpers—

“I’m almost done!”

“Hurry!”

He should have been running. He could have, and no one would have blamed him, but Ilvriss had said—

Oidhol heard that voice from behind him.

“Non-citizens, this is your final warning. Analysis: 57.5%. Non-citizen, you are not qualified for—”

Fighting. The [Soldiers] in Thirthoof were trying to evacuate the panicked Humans. Most had ridden off, but this last batch was covering Oidhol—the Drake’s claws slipped. Instantly, he was sprayed with something so foul he didn’t think about it.

“[Emergency Stoppage]. Almost—bend them upwards.”

“Master, they’ll rupture—”

“They just have to last for a few minutes! I don’t care what the pressure is! Hurry!”

Frantically, the [Master Plumber] worked, and he heard screams, shouting. The voices.

“Analysis: 45.63%. Non-citizen—”

Closer.

“Analysis—”

Sweat running down his back and scales. He was thinking of his children, but there were children here, and people’s lives were on the line. 

A voice.

“Analysis: 30.88%. Non-citizen. You are under arrest. This is a military operation. Resist and you will be executed.”

Master Oidhol raised his claws slowly and saw the pipe was done. Jutting upwards, and there was a tower stack built by the other [Plumbers]. The ugliest mess he’d seen, already leaking, but his [Emergency Stoppage] Skill was the only thing holding this all back. He peered up, and a Drake with a smile and a glowing face, his Ancestor, was pointing a spear down at him.

“Non-citizen. Move towards the wall.”

The [Plumber] didn’t respond. He just gripped the pipe and hoped like hell it made a difference. The Wall Lord needed miracles and heroes. Dragons witness him—Oidhol was neither.

But he was a damn good [Plumber]. He lifted the [Emergency Stoppage], and the pipes rumbled like the digestive system of the greatest beast in the world. The glowing Drake hesitated.

“Non-citizen—”

Then Oidhol felt the pipes shudder and grinned. A Wall Lord’s idea. Madness. Practically a war crime in the world of plumbing. Oidhol couldn’t believe he was doing this again. It had been nigh on forty years since he’d built a system that emptied the septic system.

When he was a boy, he’d flooded an entire tower of Salazsar. Now? The [Master Plumber] had aimed the pipes where the desperate Wall Lord had told him they were needed.

Straight up.

——

Marvus Lischelle couldn’t believe his eyes. It was like the end of the damned world. His world. The glowing Drakes kept coming, and those horrific, huge ones had killed everything. The town of Thirthoof wasn’t burning, but it was being swept by the shining figures.

He had his hat in his hands. This was all under their feet? Had the half-Elf woke them up? Or Ilvriss?

“They’re not gonna stop. Evacuate everything. We’ll never save the herds. Just…just open the pastures and let Big Burlap and the other bulls take their herds and…”

His voice was hoarse. He saw the Purifiers flying over the city. Blasting anyone they didn’t like. Even the cows.

Even the horses! They left only one alive; the rest weren’t, what, good enough? One was taking aim at the [Mayor], Bootsy, who was riding out with the last group. Marvus reached for his side, but he was too far away. The Purifier’s mouth glowed—

And then something exploded skywards, and it swerved. Stopped. Marvus squinted down.

“The hell’s that?”

He saw a weird, circular white cap on the ground he didn’t recognize. Wait, wasn’t that the ‘sewer system’ that Bootsy had been talking about? The one Aronia wanted? The Drakes had capped the old shit-lake next to the town. But what was…

Something was spraying upwards. Loosed by a [Master Plumber] and a Wall Lord’s Skill. [Adaptive Plumbing] plus the systems that Oidhol had installed were all being funneled into a few pipes, and the pressure was squirting what Marvus realized had to be the most disgusting liquid in the Cowpat Plains skywards.

That was saying something given all the competition. The liquid sewage nearly hit one of the Purifiers in the face, and they turned.

They might have had kill-orders in their programming, but the sight of a fountain of…the Purifiers broke off their strafing runs instantly and began to [Mass Cleanse] the fountaining feces.

Or tried. It just kept coming. Marvus began laughing despite himself. The famous City of Purity, buried in the Cowpat Plains; the irony was not lost on him. Even so—he saw the Purifiers slow down and begin bloating again. That still left thousands of glowing Drakes marching towards Salazsar.

A flash of lightning split the skies. One of their Gem Regiments had just blown a company to pieces with lightning. Marvus wished that would do it. Or all the Drakes that the Wall Lord had hidden from even him.

“That bastard could have beaten the lot of us like drums. Shame…”

Marvus whispered.

“I don’t think he brought enough [Soldiers].”

——

Vnariss Stulvecrell was not the only Drake marching for the glory of the City of Purity. Nor was it even only Drakes.

A female Gnoll with a tall helmet marched into position, raising bows and extolling the virtues of the City of Purity with him. After all, the Walled City had taken every species.

So long as they aligned in thought.

And of course, later, so long as they were the best. Not the most pure of bloodlines, oh no. Just the best. The most attractive, the strongest, the—

The Drakes who fought in their glowing armies were not the regular civilians, of course. They were the soldiers who had won citizenship by being the best. By volunteering their faces and identities into forever.

Vnariss was beaming as he marched.

“A determination has been made. A foreign army is assailing the City of Purity. Purifiers, Light Armies of Naamreles, defend your home. Mandate: all Class 1-applicable citizens are to be taken alive at all costs. Mandate: The Putrid One’s minions are to be destroyed at all costs.”

A thousand of him spoke with the same voice. Walked with the same surety he had in life. Alongside him, the Gnoll, Incorra Wild Wastes, swung her bows up.

“For the glory of the City of Purity. All are welcome who shall produce a finer age. All those who would sully it be cleansed.”

Vnariss agreed.

“In the name of our tired City of Purity, advance.”

They marched. The Drakes and Gnolls were forming a battle-line in the distance, and the advance Light Soldiers were pursuing. But at a march; they did not run. They ignored arrowfire, spells that cut some down; they were hardy, enduring.

Not as tough as Golems, but not as expensive. Not as adaptive as summons, but far more mass-producible. The ultimate soldier, some had called them. So many made that claim, but Naamreles’ finest—

Vanished as another bolt of lightning crashed down. Light Gnolls were sent flying. A bolt of lightning blew apart 57 of Vnariss’ number, dissolving their light-bodies.

His head turned. The Drake identified a unit of Drakes slamming spears down on the ground, and the dark thunderclouds overhead. He spoke as he marched.

“Hostile magics detected. Erchirite Spears confirmed. The City of Gems. Erchirite Spears below legion-strength; no additional strategy required. Countermeasures deploying.”

As he spoke, the light-soldiers bunched up, not moved apart. And a glowing nimbus of light appeared over their heads. They became units of a hundred, and each one had an umbrella-shield that covered their main mass.

One of the shields took another flash of lightning, and it nearly winked out—but it had protected the light-soldiers below from destruction, and it would reform in six minutes. If they were destroyed, well, the goal was not to preserve any one light-soldier but merely increase their viability in combat as long as possible.

There would be more.

They engaged in combat as some of the Vnariss light-soldiers met the rearmost elements of the retreating Drakes. Loss ratio: 55-0.

Vnariss once again turned his head and studied the unit fighting without casualties.

Again, he spoke.

“Rubirel Guard confirmed. Rubirel Guard below legion-strength; no additional strategy required. Countermeasures deploying. Salazsar’s hostility has been logged. No Flawless Gemstone Regiments detected on the field. Battle shall commence in regrettable victory.”

At his words, the formations changed again. From a hundred soldiers marching together, they became…ten. Not because the groups split up. Rather, ten soldiers walked into each other, forming balls of light which shifted and revealed new figures. Larger. Giant soldiers stepped out of the orbs of light, forming squads once more. Giant versions of Vnariss. Armed with warhammers.

It was a suboptimal use of their numbers—unless fighting heavy armor. The gigantified Drakes advanced in a killing line ahead of regular infantry. After all, Naamreles had fought Salazsar before.

Vnariss’ copies had done so many times…Incorra walked next to him, hundreds of Gnolls smiling and aiming bows up, waiting to come into range.

“Praise the City of Purity. Condemnation to the traitorous City of Gems. They’re still around. Good. Perish, traitors to Drake-kind. Set us free.”

Forwards. The two walked and saw, ahead of them, something the City of Purity didn’t respect, even if it had always needed. The specialty of Salazsar, so both smiled, though they had never really stopped.

Digging.

——

Foreman Rolx was digging. He knew they were about to be attacked, but he was digging because, well…someone had to.

His pickaxe was faster than a shovel. He was out-digging three whole teams, who stared at him until he roared at them to hurry up. Because they were digging…trenches.

Trenches and a wall. It made sense. You dig a trench, you get dirt. Put the dirt into a wall.

Earthworks. When he’d told Major Shellc, the Drake had asked him if he could really dig even a small trench that fast. Because he was used to making [Soldiers] do it. Soldiers without Skills.

This was just soft earth. Rolx had already made the trench ten feet deep. Which didn’t mean a wall ten feet high, but it was getting there. [Miners] were packing rocks into the ground, and [Soldiers] were assembling.

Advance Miner Georgie nearly fell into the trench when he and Maiss’ team reached them last. The legions of light-soldiers were a ways behind them; they were slower and taking fire.

“Georgie! Get down here! Maiss too!”

When Maiss’ team didn’t move, Rolx swore and howled up at them; even they’d be useful, but Georgie tumbled down into the trench.

“Maiss is fighting up there!”

“He’s what? Clear everything around us! Just swing the pickaxe; it processes everything into dirt cubes! Someone will grab it with a bag of holding—go!”

He and Georgie began swinging their pickaxes until they ran out of mana. Or at least, Georgie’s did. Rolx’s just recharged as he used a Skill, and Georgie nearly spat out his cigar stub.

“Rolx, Maiss’ team are all undercover soldiers! They’re from Salazsar!”

“What? Really? Damn, we might just survive this. Keep digging!”

“How deep?”

“How tall are those giant Purifiers? That deep! But we’re building a slope. Give them a hill to run up!”

“Ancestors, why aren’t we running?”

The two kept digging, swearing, but both were thinking the same thought.

Can’t run forever. Someone had to make a stand, right? And both of them had magical pickaxes. Rolx was no fighter, but he’d seen how effortlessly the pickaxes took out light-soldiers. Better than the damn Rubirel Guards. If…

Then, and only then, did Wall Lord Ilvriss make it to them. Rolx heard the shouting from above and grabbed a rope; then after three pulls, gave up on climbing it and excavated a ramp because like hells he was young enough to pull himself up a rope all the way to the top.

Wall Lord Ilvriss was there. Shouting orders at Major Shellc, searching for Captain Shieldscale, talking with a ghostly Lyonette and even Lord Xitegen. Rolx listened, panting, gulping down water, and saw the light-soldiers were less than five minutes away. Already, light-arrows were raining down, but several hundred feet short of the trenches.

For now. He saw Maiss’ team armed and ready to go on the makeshift walls. And Ilvriss…he was speaking to Clan Leader Plisce. The terrified people from Riverfarm.

The civilians. When he saw Rolx, he motioned the Gnoll over, and Rolx’s stomach twisted. He and Georgie glanced at each other and walked forwards.

I have a family. I’ll…Rolx hesitated.

He wavered—and the Wall Lord spoke.

“All non-combat classes will evacuate the area now! Head towards the [Door of Portals]; if it cannot hold enough, Welsca, take them down the roads. Foreman Rolx!”

“Wall Lord—I’m ready.”

Ilvriss turned to Rolx, and the Gnoll swallowed hard as Georgie looked at him. But it had slipped out. Ilvriss slowed, then grabbed Rolx’s arm.

“Good. Get your people to safety.”

“Wall Lord? But—”

“I said non-combat classes out. Aren’t you a family man?”

Ilvriss didn’t wait for a response. He strode to the head of the line of Drakes and Gnolls. Soldiers. Ones he’d served with personally.

Maiss had been at the Winter Solstice. He and his company were gritting their teeth, aiming down at the oncoming legions, but they had to remember the Draugr. If this was not a hundred thousand Draugr—there were no other armies.

Just them. Xitegen was watching Ilvriss. So was Lyonette and Ulva Terland. So was his city and the [Ranchers], but the Wall Lord didn’t see any of them. He just walked down the line of [Soldiers], who glanced at him for something. Hope. Inspiration. He turned, peered at Osthia and Major Shellc, and gave them his best.

Ilvriss cleared his throat and triggered a [Loud Voice] spell. He spoke in that crisp, even impartial, tone he used at company events.

“Attention, all employees. Combat pay will be doubled for the duration of this engagement.”

Rolx stopped searching for a place to run. The Silverfangs stopped saddling horses and howling the alarm. Even the [Soldiers] lifted their helmets or eyed each other.

Ilvriss went on, steady.

“The same will apply to overtime bonuses. At this moment, all civilian classes will be evacuated from this area; this is a House Gemscale combat operation. With that said, I intend to hand out substantive rewards for all those participating in combat…”

Lyonette’s mouth was slightly open. She’d been possibly preparing for her own Marquin-type speech. Xitegen was cleaning one ear with a pinkie as he eyed Ilvriss.

But this was the style of the Wall Lord of Gems. And Rolx thought, after he actually stopped panicking—

Did Ilvriss change his scale color or something? Did he always have wings?

——

This was Ilvriss’ style. He was no Zel Shivertail. He could not say ‘follow my tail’ and plunge into combat. Nor was he even Lyonette or Erin.

He was Ilvriss all the way down. Cut him in half and you’d just get Ilvriss. He might have changed species, but that just made him…

Extra Ilvriss.

He was listing their combat benefits. Informing them about overtime pay. He could sense the [Soldiers]’ confusion. And you know what?

Maybe that was part of the plan. Talk like this was something predictable, and [Soldiers] who thought this was it, the final battle, stopped getting ready to shit themselves or run. Tell them that this was the life-or-death last stand and they’d fight like hell or treat it like that.

Tell them they were doubling their pay and they second-guessed the terror. But he was not a fool to think that alone would work, either.

Ilvriss adjusted the speaking stone.

“This is it, ladies, gentlemen, Selphids, if we have any. The City of Purity has been uncovered. The method was less than ideal. There will be an investigation, but this is what I came here to find. What I hoped we’d find. A Walled City’s treasure. And…its doom.”

He pointed, and they beheld the shining legions. The growing Purifiers absorbing the filth. One exploded as Ilvriss watched, and the others covered it. Like glowing butterflies glomming into a flower made of crap.

He wished his life involved less plumbing mishaps. Ilvriss recalled trying to unstick a toilet as Erin ran commentary and grinned.

A smile without fear. He didn’t know how it appeared to the others as he walked, calmly, down their lines. Meeting their eyes. Speaking as if he were at an office meeting. But with a passion that grew as he pointed.

“I don’t intend to risk anyone’s life I don’t have to. Clan Leader Plisce, workers from Liscor, Invrisil, Celum, Riverfarm, I will ensure that House Gemscale rewards you fully for your efforts regardless of whether or not I personally survive. But every [Soldier] and military consultant? We have to hold this ground. The City of Purity is going to advance, and there are people here who didn’t ask for a disaster. Well, we’ve brought it to them.”

The [Ranchers]. The people of Thirthoof, who’d been damned unpleasant. Ilvriss nodded.

“I don’t like them. I don’t know how you feel, but they’re still innocent. We’re House Gemscale. We clean up our own messes. More than that…look. Just look.”

He pointed, and the identical Drakes smiled at him. Marching as light arrows struck within fifty feet of him. But even they seemed to be listening, or it was Ilvriss’ mind playing tricks on him. The Wall Lord rasped.

“This…is our legacy. Sons and daughters of Salazsar, no, people of Izril—look. This is the folly of Drakes, the madness of Walled Cities. Our responsibility. It has always been here. Waiting until we were brave enough to confront it. I don’t know what the City of Purity was. Naamreles’ name has been all but lost to time. But I can see it now. The time has come to judge a Walled City’s sins. So: hold this line. If we need to, we will retreat, but it’s there.”

He clenched a fist, and his lungs felt like they wanted to expel something. Ilvriss coughed, and a plume of glittering dust engulfed him. He waved it away.

“A Walled City’s sins and treasure. This is my promise to you soldiers: whatever we take, you will keep. Not all of it, but if you fight with me, you will carry a helmet, a spear—that bow.”

He saw something and pointed. One of the light-soldiers in the form of a Gnoll had a real bow, not a fake one. She’d been firing actual arrows skywards. A captain-version of the soldiers? Now that he looked, more than one light-soldier had a real weapon or piece of armor.

Loot from other armies they’d destroyed? Ilvriss peered around.

“Take them down, and claim the City of Purity’s treasures. Don’t let anyone take it from you. I’m tired of sitting on a mountain of treasures that will never be used. Now’s when it matters. So…”

He had no closing statement to this speech. It felt like even the light-soldiers were waiting for Ilvriss to finish, marching a touch more slowly. The Wall Lord blinked, then shrugged.

“House Gemscale, prepare for combat.”

Ancestors, that sucked. He pumped a fist up in the air and went striding towards Xitegen to beg the [Lord] for help—and nearly jumped into the air when he heard the roar of sound behind him. Ilvriss turned, and they were cheering.

Colonel Maiss stood up with his company as the first light-soldiers broke into a run. The Drake set his jaw and exploded upwards. He impaled a grinning version of Vnariss on an enchanted blade and kicked another version of the Drake down the slope.

Next to him, a Gnoll fired point-blank into a Drake’s face, then ran through another with a spear. Major Shellc hopped over the dirt wall, and his sword slashed around him, then he leapt back up, having cleared a hole.

“You heard the Wall Lord! Hold the line! Salazsar and the Walled Cities!”

Ilvriss saw people taking cover as the light arrows began to rain down. But no one was running.

Brave people. He wondered how they did it. But then, no one had accused Ilvriss of being perfect. He could lack for introspection a lot of the time.

——

Ulva Terland didn’t arrive the moment that Salazsar engaged with Naamreles. She saw and heard everything, of course, but the scowling [Matriarch] ignored Xitegen until she could see the battle.

“Pretty.”

That was her first comment. At a distance, it was like glowing lines of light assailing that dirt wall. Naamreles, it transpired, was a big fan of attacking the enemy where they were strongest. After all, they could keep sending forces.

“Those Purifiers are advancing. Is the Drake buckling?”

“He’s not, Great Aunt, but when the Purifiers hit him—”

“Why are they different sizes?”

“They’re full of excrement.”

Ulva’s brows snapped together, and she had to get an abbreviated explanation. Then she rolled her eyes.

This is the doom of Naamreles? Well, despite Ilvriss’ tricks, a few Purifiers were joining the fighting. The rest were still ‘cleaning’ and seemed to be making zero progress given the literal plains of shit, but three were lurching forwards, and they were big. Big, as in ‘thirty feet tall’ for one of them.

“They pop like grapes?”

“If you can hurt them, Great Aunt. Lightning bolts fail. So if you’d like us to help…”

She said nothing. Ulva Terland was aware she wasn’t the only group who’d come to witness this madness. Lady Desinee El was holding a handkerchief over her nose.

“Oh no. It’s the Solstice all over again…he’s doomed. He needs help!”

Desinee had a weapon in hand. The Kaalglaive, for all she thought it was a stupid weapon. She appeared ready to charge, despite being in a riding dress. And she was saying that a bit too loud and glancing at Ulva.

“Lady Ulva, perhaps in this case…”

Lord Moltin began nervously. The Terlands who hadn’t gone into hiding, like Alorelle, were eying the armies, and Ulva just grunted.

“Great Aunt, it would be terrible if we let Drakes do all our work. On our lands?”

Xitegen’s voice had that overly patient sound. Ulva just narrowed her eyes.

“Shut up, boy. I’m waiting.”

“Great Aunt, with utmost disrespect, I will disinherit myself if this is how much backbone we have left in House Terland. Give me a damn good reason or I’ll—”

She finally saw what she was searching for and cut him off.

“Xitegen, I’d have you spanked like half the family deserves if you weren’t needed. I made my proclamation, or have you all forgotten? I wanted to see if they’d step up or not. There’s nothing commendable about following Golems into battle. They do all the hard work.”

It took him a moment to figure out what she meant. But Ulva had been watching for something other than the battle. She nodded at Timekeeper.

“Magnification.”

He obligingly had a Golem with a built-in telescope magnify the spot she was looking at, and Ulva sighed.

There they were. Did they think her words were meaningless? Well, even he’d probably forgotten, but they hadn’t.

“It’s more than a class. It’s a duty. If they’d failed their first test, I would have taken it back.”

What she was looking at was a group of [Riders]. Rather—a lot of [Riders], not all of the same party. More were coming.

Ulva nodded, so self-satisfied that everyone wanted to shove her.

Yweine did.

——

Marvus Lischelle was swearing with nerves for two reasons. One—he wasn’t doing the sensible thing and running for the hills, but this was his land. His land in actuality, as Aronia had reminded him. There was nowhere else for their herds to go.

And he’d heard what Ilvriss had said. A Walled City’s treasures. So he’d told Aronia to grab all the kids and pack their valuables, then taken every [Rancher] he could. They were armed with bows, mostly, but they did have long, light spears they used to kill monsters from horseback.

Not a damn army. But if Ilvriss’ Drakes broke, then Marvus didn’t see a good way to push this City of Purity back. Not with the Terlands doing jack-all.

“We waiting around here until we’re growing moss, Marvus?”

“Shut it, Nithle. I’m thinkin’. I’m thinking the only chance we’ve got is to hit ‘em and run off. No sense in treating this like a brawl. Or is there?”

The Drakes had swords and armor, but they were all light. Marvus had seen them getting knocked about, but the [Ranchers] didn’t have armor. He amended his statement.

“Maybe there is. Don’t ride at the ones with bows; they’ll shoot us out of the saddle. Keep riding, keep shootin’.”

“What happens when we run out of arrows and magic from our wands? Hatchets and light spears against them?”

One of the Golva boys wanted to know. Marvus spat.

“No. No. Hey, how many of your lot know how to lasso anything at speed?”

“Everyone’s got a lasso Skill or just knows how for fun.”

The tricks you could do with a loop of rope, and not just for grabbing a runaway steer. Marvus nodded.

“I reckon those Drakes’re as light as can be. What if we rode on ‘em, and each one of us…”

“—Gave them a mile-long drag? Dead gods, Marvus, that’s nasty!”

“Well, these ones ain’t got skin to rub off, but I reckon it’d do for them what it does for anything else. Hit and go. As for the herd—”

All the [Ranchers] turned their heads, and Marvus felt uneasy. There were two reasons Marvus was uneasy.

One: the City of Purity waking up and legions of Drakes made of light trying to kill anything that moved.

Two: Big Burlap was behind him and there was no fence.

The giant bull was, in fact, free. He and five other prime bulls were pawing the ground and eying the glowing Drakes with a distinct lack of fear. Behind them were about four hundred head of cattle.

Not prime cattle. In theory, prime beef, but not all of them were the best for meat or milk. Rather….they were the most ornery, most dangerous bulls—and cows—that each ranch family had.

Man-killers, some of them. Or just heavy and mean. It was a miracle they weren’t trying to kill the [Ranchers], who were almost as nervous about them as the glowing Drakes. But Marvus had had a word with Big Burlap.

He never knew how much the bull got, but he was a product of Skills and breeding. And the bull could choose when he wanted to murder.

Right now, a bunch of magical Drakes seemed to beat the [Ranchers]. The herd were pawing the ground, defecating, but ominously silent. Marvus hoped that when the [Ranchers] went, the herd did too.

Then he didn’t want to be anywhere in front or behind them. Marvus had a force that would have given the Drakes a run for their money if Ilvriss didn’t shoot them all dead. But he was hesitating.

Am I doing this? Coming to a Wall Lord’s defense? I could let him hang out to dry. I bet Ulva Terland’s thinking the same thing. This wraps up Salazsar in a neat bow, don’t it? They started this mess.

But the fellow’s been honest as I can see. Even fought the damn half-Elf. Sticks in the throat to let him die fighting.

Marvus was conflicted. He kept waiting as another Purifier began to lumber Salazsar’s way. He saw the Silverfang Gnolls moving away, their entire tribe, and the [Miners]. The Wall Lord was getting his people out. Decent of him.

Damnit. It was decent of him. Marvus felt like he was on the brink of everything he knew and had known being proven untrue. Drakes being heartless bastards who deserved nothing more than an arrow between the eyes had run up against the Wall Lord’s actions again and again, of late. Now, he was wavering. Like he and Aronia were balanced on a board of wood. And he didn’t know which way he’d land. He just needed a damn push.

——

That was what was needed. Ilvriss was fighting for his life; they’d lost track of him in the battle as the dirt fortifications were overwhelmed by another wave of Drakes. Welsca and everyone else was fighting in the confusion, and the people watching on the scrying orb weren’t able to tell who was winning.

Which meant that Salazsar was losing, if only by attrition. Because another wave would come. And another. The other groups had to act. Someone had to compel them to act.

Someone who could bridge north and south. Speak between species. Someone with the authority to make the Terlands move, stir the hearts of stubborn [Ranchers] and, possibly, bulls.

Like a daughter of the most famous nation of diplomacy ever.

A [Princess], perhaps. Or the greatest [Diplomat] of Salazsar.

Lyonette du Marquin appeared in a flash of light next to Ulva Terland. The [Matriarch] of House Terland’s head rose slowly. Her permanent glower shifted to Lyonette. The [Princess] glanced around, eyes flashing. She drew her breath and said—

“What are you waiting for, you old hag?”

Ulva Terland recoiled. Lyonette jumped—whirled—and Lady Damia Reinhart ran through the [Princess]. She had leapt out of a black carriage that had just parked itself on the ground.

The Unmarked Coach and its driver, Karsaeu-Dequoa, was swallowing hard as she stared at the City of Purity unearthed. Because that—

That was before even the Djinni’s time. She had come straight from Invrisil to here. A bunch of women were bailing out of the carriage as well.

Varnie and her gang were armed for a fight. However, all the gear they’d purchased was for hypothetical Golems. The [Gang Leader] took one look at the army of Drakes and started swearing.

“Oh no. C’mon. I was ready to maybe fight a few damn Golems. But this? This is way beyond any damn debt! Look! Even she’s chickening out!”

She pointed at Ulva Terland, whose head snapped around, but Lady Damia just shouted at the Terlands.

“Are you mad? Can’t you see what Ilvriss is doing? First he fights the half-Elf for you—and the 6th [Princess] of Calanfer—and now he’s waging a literal war and you’re doing nothing? Is the honor of the Five Families, of House Terland, worth nothing?”

“Rich coming from a Reinhart—”

Ulva began, and Lyonette blinked as Moltin, Nouzcrat, and the other Terlands hesitated. One of the younger [Ladies] perked her head up. Damia swung around, eyes flashing.

“That Drake just fought a horror from the Age of Myths for you! He nearly died—you thought he was dead too! Princess Lyonette almost turned into something horrific—and this isn’t the first time they’ve fought this horror! Do you need more proof they’re on the right side?”

“Er, yes. Totally unprompted. Evil half-Elf.”

Lyonette was having trouble mustering the, ah, unbridled righteous passion that Damia had. Another fault of Tolveilouka. But Lady Damia had spotted the Silverfangs. She waved her hands at Clan Leader Plisce, and shouted at the [Miners] led by Foreman Rolx.

“What are you all doing? Ilvriss is fighting for his life, and it’s the City of Purity.”

“…But it’s an army.”

Plisce pointed at the glowing Drakes and the giant Titan-Drake with a halo, wondering if Damia couldn’t see them. The [Lady] spread her hands as she cast around.

“I know. I’m not blind. But this is it. A Solstice event. This is like the Meeting of Tribes, don’t you see? This—this is going to change Izril. For the better or worse. And you want to just run? I’m not saying charge them, but you’re Silverfangs! You have bows! And [Miners] have weapons—”

Her audience were staring at her. Damia pointed.

“Didn’t you hear Ilvriss speaking? The treasures of a Walled City are right there. Right there. Haven’t you wanted to be someone important? If you run now, you can say you helped dig up the City of Purity. But if you stay, you’ll be part of that legend. Level. Level or die. I’ve levelled more in this month than I have my entire life. They say this age is changing, and I feel it. I’ll be left behind if I don’t do something. Well, this is my chance, and I see it. So what if it’s an ancient Walled City? We have the Terlands, the [Rancher] clans—a Gnoll tribe—Salazsar, and The Wandering Inn!”

Her arms spread out to encircle them all, her eyes shining.

“If we all work together, if we use the bonds we’ve forged, and the power of our disparate peoples, we’ll win. With the power of—of friendship and hope—”

She lost Ulva Terland there. The [Matriarch] recoiled physically away from that last sentence. Her face wrinkled up, and even some of the Silverfangs bit their lips. But Damia just looked around—then strode over to Lady Desinee El.

“Excuse me, Lady Desinee. You’re selling House of El products, right? Put this on my account.”

“Yes, but—hey!”

Damia grabbed the Kaalglaive.

“I need a horse—Varnie, that’s my goal.”

She pointed, and the [Gang Leader] followed the path of Damia’s finger and stared at the largest Purifier. She gaped at Damia again.

“Uh—no. Are you insane?”

Damia’s eyes flashed with the power of hard thinking.

“The Kaalblades were made to destabilize magical beings. Isn’t that right, Lady Desinee?”

“Wh—yes, but—”

Damia swung around.

“All debts paid after this, Varnie. Who’s with me?”

No one answered. So Damia grabbed Lady Desinee’s horse. She stole that too and began riding forwards. Shouting.

“For Salazsar! For The Wandering Inn and…House Reinhart! For Izril!”

She began to gallop. Plisce sat on his horse, mouth open, watching Damia race past him, until he heard a curse. Then Chief Huntress Rayna was galloping after her.

“Every Silverfang with a bow—give those Drakes some covering fire! Stay away from everything!”

She rode past a Gnoll running with a pickaxe on his shoulder. Foreman Rolx and half of Salazsar’s [Miners] had begun heading back for Ilvriss before Damia had even finished. Georgie was swearing as he hopped from foot to foot, hesitating. But then the racing Damia had company.

Her galloping horse turned its head and eyed the Human running next to the mare. The affronted horse tried to gallop faster, but Lord Xitegen Terland kept up. His Golems…

Xitegen wore the most dissatisfied expression that Ulva had ever seen on his face. She knew how he felt.

“That brat made this a hundred times more unpleasurable. I’m actually tempted to just hang it all. Friendship and hope. With a Drake.”

She spat on the ground, and Nouzcrat started.

“Ulva…”

The [Matriarch] of House Terland leapt off her dais and strode past him.

“Oh, shut up. I’m not disinheriting the only idiot who can act as Terland’s heir. Or half those children.”

Several of the younger Terlands were racing after Damia on horseback or with their Golems. Ulva Terland drew the metal wand from her side. She tapped it on Timekeeper’s side.

“I am Ulva Terland. I suffer no Drakes on my lands. I suffer ancient Drakes even less. Golems of House Terland. Let your hearts roar. [Concerto: Roil of Stone]. March!”

She lifted her wand, and Golems began to stride forwards. Like a conductor. The [Virtue of House Terland] conducting Golems like she and her sister had once done…Ulva turned her head.

“[Arpeggio Volley]. Take that Purifier out.”

A Golem with a giant ‘mouth’ planted its feet in the ground, and a spell began to gather in its center. It fired the first spell at the Purifier as other long-ranged Golems joined it. Ulva Terland’s eyes gleamed as she spun her wand.

“Light of the North—to me! Bring the wrath of House Terland south! Avoid crushing cities.”

Then she was conducting her side of the battle as Golems advanced. From safety—only an idiot got closer to a battle. But she did smile when she saw Timekeeper halt a rank of Drakes with his Skill a moment before he crashed into them like bowling pins.

There wasn’t a Terland born who didn’t love to see their Golems using their full power.

——

“They’re going in? We ride!”

Marvus Lischelle saw Damia charging and kicked his [Ranchers] into action. With whoops and shouts, they began to race across the Cowpat Plains, and the herd of cattle followed them. Slowly, but with an ominous building of momentum.

They passed by a disbelieving Djinni.

Karsaeu was puffing on a pipe, eying the [Ranchers] like they were mad. They wanted to throw hands with a buried Walled City? 

Both she and Lord Gorthes Reinhart, who was trying to sneak up on the Djinni, had no idea what was going on, and like hells either one was going to get in the middle of a fight.

In fact, the Reinhart had ridden over a thousand miles, and his ass was sore as he called up Cecille Reinhart and the family.

“Hey, Cecille. Cecille, pick up.”

“Gorthes? This had better be good.”

He angled the scrying orb slightly.

“Might be. Any idea why your daughter’s charging an army of glowing Drakes? The fuck’s going on here?”

He was relieved when she spat her cigarette out. Good, so he wasn’t out of the loop that much.

The rest of the family began watching.

Calidus already was.

——

The watchers from Salazsar couldn’t believe it. The sight of two different groups of Humans, let alone the Terlands, going to Salazsar’s defense?

“They’re flanking you! Behind you, Major Shellc! They’re going to wipe—”

Wall Lord Zail had, in fact, been screaming at Major Shellc for the last five minutes. But the [Major] had just cut him off and refused to pivot.

That idiot from Rhir—he’d refused to take a defensive position. Because he trusted Humans. But not Terlands. Not—

Zail saw one of the Golems punch through three Drakes’ heads and go storming into the fighting at Salazsar’s position. He waited for the Golem to begin attacking the astonished Salazsar soldiers, but it didn’t.

He sat back.

“But they’re Terlands.”

He was drawing breath to say something when he saw a bright, emerald figure buzzing past the Golems. An arrow hit one of the glowing soldiers, and Bird the Huntress flew over the battle.

Wall Lord Zail began choking on his spit.

——

“Bird!”

Nanette was screaming, but Bird had begun flying the moment she heard what was happening. She beat Elia Arcsinger by a minute, but the Named-rank adventurer just started shooting from horseback, angling her bow up.

Two [Archers]. No one but the watching people saw either at first. They just flew or found a position and began loosing arrows. Bird landed next to Elia, and they saw a hundred Gnolls with bows split off from the oncoming army.

“Ooh. A hundred versus one.”

“Two, Bird.”

“Right, whatever. Let’s see who shoots more.”

“This is life and death, Bird.”

Elia was sweating as she drew another arrow to her bow and loosed it. They were well out of the range of ordinary bows, or even Naamreles’ bows. Her arrow arced up, up—it hit one of the marching Gnolls in the nose. Bird had fired four arrows in the time it took Elia’s one.

She got one of the Gnolls in the knee and another in the shoulder. Elia paused.

“And I’m winning. That’s one. Two.”

The half-Elf fired a second arrow and knew it would hit another Gnoll before it landed.

Bird frowned, drew back on her bow, and the Chitrx-metal flexed. Bird fired, and the arrow went straight.

It refused to drop and, after two thousand feet, punched through three Gnolls, then exploded on the fourth. Elia turned her head, and the light-soldiers all stared at Bird. They began to march a bit faster.

Bird lowered her bow…then rubbed at one of her breasts.

“Ow.”

“Ah. You need a breastband for—”

“Ow, that hurt a lot.”

——

Everyone in The Wandering Inn was watching as Lady Damia led a charge straight into the City of Purity’s legions.

Or to be more precise—Damia charged in with Varnie and her gang. Everyone else didn’t do that.

Silverfangs took up positions on a hill that a [Shaman] raised and began setting up barricades. The [Miners] advanced onto Salazsar’s position from behind, and before they could get themselves minced, a screaming Welsca found them.

“Rolx! Don’t advance blind! I’ll find you a position—we need you to dig!”

“You what?”

The [Adjutant] was running strategy. She landed, coughing out smoke. The wings were fine, but she didn’t understand her Dragonbreath, and she was a fire Oldblood, now. She’d tried to flame the light-legions twice but only gotten smoke.

“Listen—this is a long engagement. We need your people setting up a camp and digging! The amount of earth you can shift can literally bury the enemy or form a wall! Are—are the Terlands on our side?”

“Yes, and so’s Lady Damia—”

“She’s not going to survive that charge. She’s insane! Listen, I need to fly—report to Major Shellc, there! He’ll assign you to a spot!”

Welsca took wing again. It was only an idiot who charged the enemy. She glanced down at Damia Reinhart and winced; the [Lady] was actually making her way in. But she couldn’t bail out a single [Lady], even a friend.

The [Ranchers]—Welsca swooped down and nearly scared Marvus out of his saddle.

“Marvus, are you on our side?”

“Wh—I guess so!”

“Then move where I’m directing you! I need you on harassing duty!”

The [Ranchers] had no sense of how to move in a battle. He hesitated, and then she showed him where he could ablate the enemy while they were engaged with one of the earthwork walls. She gave him credit: when he whooped and whirled his hat, everyone turned with him.

Everyone but the herd of angry cattle. They ignored the [Ranchers] and kept stomping forwards. They were headed for the center of the glowing Drakes’ mass, and Welsca cursed.

“That’s not the best place for them! There are more reinforcement waves coming—can you get the cattle to turn, Marvus?”

“Hell no!”

“Good, then—”

“No, I said no! Big Burlap’s leading them, and they won’t stop! He’ll go tearing into ‘em, and if they’re not dead, he might come out the other side hitting your lot! Just stay out of his way!”

Welsca cursed again, but she flew with the [Riders]. Any idiot could see the cattle herd was going to get itself surrounded once its charge stalled out. But she couldn’t control cattle, and there was no one exactly riding a b—

Welsca’s head turned. So did Marvus’ and every [Rancher]’s. They nearly galloped into one of the trenches. But she was doing it.

——

Deilan El was giving orders to muster whatever [Mercenaries] and standing forces they had on offer. Kaalblades too. First the half-Elf, now this. He was pulling at his hair and trying not to tear any out when he saw someone on the cattle herd. He squinted.

Then he enlarged the section of the battlefield. He stared.

Zelonica, his assistant, bent down to stare. Then the door swung open. Irve El stood there with another scrying orb in his hands.

“Is that—Desinee?”

——

This was madness. But Desinee El saw the herd of cattle about to commit to a suicide-charge, and she had to do it. She’d stolen someone else’s horse and had to do a flying leap from the panicked animal as it raced away onto the giant bull’s back.

In fairness, it wasn’t hard because Big Burlap was slowly accelerating over the ground, and there was a lot of him to land on. Nor did he ever expect someone to get on his back.

Let alone twice. His huge eyes rolled up towards her as he felt her land, and then they slowly started turning red. She felt him tense under her and hollered in one ear.

“Now listen! Aunt Maviola taught me how to speak to animals, and so did Zedalien! I know you’re smarter than regular livestock! See this? This is a Kaalblade!”

She waved one of the fake samples from her bag of holding in his face. Big Burlap snorted until Desinee spoke.

“[Product Demonstration].”

The Kaalblade snapped into life with that snap-hiss that Deilan had insisted would sell real well. She held the glowing blade up.

“It will cut anything in this world. You’re going to turn your herd or you’ll all die, got it?”

Is that a threat or an invitation? I only see them dying in my future. The bull began to trot faster, clearly ignoring her. Desinee leaned forwards and hissed in the bull’s ears.

“Listen to me. If you don’t turn, right now, I’m not going to just kill you. I’m going to hop off your back and neuter you.”

She held the glowing Kaalblade over his head and cut a tip from Big Burlap’s horn to show him she was serious. He eyed her. He eyed the glowing blade.

The bull slowed down, and Desinee pointed.

“That way!”

She took the herd after the [Ranchers] as a disbelieving Welsca flapped back towards her. Then…they were accelerating as Desinee saw a thousand light-Drakes marching towards the battle. Four hundred angry cattle defecated, distracting one of the Purifiers. Desinee clung to Big Burlap’s back as arrows fell around them. Then her heart was pounding.

I knew I was mad. But the world was mad after the Winter Solstice. Because it was so ordinary. Here—right here makes a dreadful kind of sense.

Aunt Maviola?

Desinee stared ahead and saw a flash of red hair and a burning banner. Then she raised the Kaalblade high.

“House of El!”

She watched Big Burlap run onto a sword the glowing Drakes drew. Then hit a second rank of braced Drakes. Then crash through the third—and they realized the angry bull wasn’t stopping for mere flesh wounds. Desinee swung her Kaalblade wildly, screaming.

——

Once again, for the first time since the Sacrifice of Roses, a battlefield saw multiple [Ladies] advancing into enemy lines. A screaming, terrified [Lady] of the House of El. A Terland [Lady] with a Golem heart roaring like the rest.

And Lady Damia Reinhart. She was swinging the Kaalglaive, screaming, as Varnie and her people fought around her.

Her job was simple. There was a Purifier lumbering towards Salazsar’s forces. If even one reached the Drakes, it would crush and kill them. Damia’s mind told her the simple equation: the Purifier had to be stopped.

If she popped it, the waste would distract the others. The only problem was reaching it.

There were glowing Drakes everywhere, and Varnie was a whirlwind of blades, stabbing through faces, swearing nonstop. Damia’s mind was shrieking something at her, but she had meant it.

Level or die. There was only one way a weak [Lady] could be useful, and it was this:

“[Bridge the Gap]!”

She was close enough—a ramp opened and forced the glowing [Soldiers] apart. Damia rode up the ramp with Desinee’s screaming mare and saw a huge, clawed foot stomping past her. She swung the glowing Kaalglaive at it.

Missed.

Her third wild swing saw the cumbersome, poorly-designed Kaalglaive’s tip slash across the Purifier’s leg. Damia saw the magic deforming around the tip of the glowing blade. Then something black bulged from inside the Purifier—

This time, it popped like a giant zit, pus blasting out the leg. It knocked the light-soldiers down, and they began crying for more Purifiers. Above Damia, the giant glowing Drake form wobbled. It tried to hold its structure, but then it started to destabilize. Before it could ‘bend’, it just—shattered. Into a million fragments of light.

Damia Reinhart caught her breath. She gazed up and saw a being more magical than she had ever laid eyes on vanishing, claw holding a blade that vanished and turned to fragments of light.

In the distance, the fighting Drakes and Gnolls and Humans were shouting. Cheering her? Damia Reinhart hefted the Kaalglaive higher with trembling arms.

She actually had done it. Even she couldn’t believe it. And she wondered…

Was this her Level 20 capstone deed?

Or even more?

A new class?

Her heart thrilled. She almost laughed—then turned around. And all she saw around her were glowing Drakes. No gang.

Just…Varnie, panting, as she stopped her whirlwind of knives Skill. Damia’s mind told her that maybe Salazsar was cheering her. But right now they were also telling her to get out of…

She turned her horse. The mare collapsed onto her forelegs. Damia tried to urge the creature up, startled, then saw glowing arrows standing out along the mare’s head. She fell onto the ground.

“Up. C’mon—damnit, it worked, but it was stupid as hell—”

Varnie heaved Damia up and threw a dagger into a Drake’s eye. Damia whispered to her.

“Your gang, Varnie. I’m so sorry—”

The [Gang Leader] eyed her and leapt forwards. Slashed a Drake’s head off, backstepped, knifed a Drake without looking with a backwards jab of her daggers. Pulled something out and tossed it.

Explosion of smoke. She activated a Skill and stood in a cleared section of ground, balanced on the balls of her feet. Smiling.

“Them? They’re not all dead. They just ran for it ‘fore we got this far in. Whaddya expect? You hired criminals, remember? I’m just surprised the idiots followed me in. Dumb as rocks. It worked, though. You just didn’t think of an escape route, did you?”

Damia’s silence was enough. Varnie checked her corners, drawing her daggers.

“Why are you here, then?”

The [Gang Leader] grinned.

“I’m Varnie the Bloodletter. I’d rather be dead than a Face who ran from a debt. Stay behind me or we won’t make it. Shame there’s no bodies to hide behind.”

The smoke was clearing. Damia swung the Kaalglaive around wildly and wondered when the charge would run out. It’d kill any Drake soldier until then, but they were surrounded—

——

Damia’s destruction of the Purifier did not go unmissed. Everyone saw it—it was just that there was no one able to save her.

Ulva Terland was ordering her Golems forwards, but they had been fighting a flanking action, not doing a suicide charge. Bird and Elia were sniping down soldiers around Varnie and Damia, but…

Lord Gorthes eyed the Drakes and didn’t see any Oldblood Fliers anywhere near the fighting. Drakes liked fairly static formations, anyways. He leaned on the driver’s seat of his reinforced carriage and sighed.

“That’s your daughter alright, Cecille. Dumb as you. Goes charging in for a wagging tail and gets in over her head.”

“Gorthes. Be silent.”

Was that emotion in her tone? Gorthes grinned into the scrying orb and bit a lump of chewing tobacco. He eyed the Unmarked Coach, but the driver wasn’t doing shit. So Gorthes regarded the carriages of his best bullyboys and sighed. Then he lifted the scrying orb and spoke into it.

“This is Gorthes to the family. Is that Damia still sleeping with her brother? Werbel or whatever his name is?”

Silence. Some of the other Reinharts shrugged. Tourois Reinhart took a gulp of wine.

“I swear I saw that boy porking a [Maid] the other day. Not that it means much. In the damn garden.”

“She’s stopped.”

Cecille was pale-cheeked as she stared at the spot where the smoke was clearing. Gorthes nodded. He checked his chewed fingernails.

“Anyone got a good reason she should be dead? She murder too many people? Too much of a headache? Sleep with, I dunno, children?”

Silence. Which, when you got to it, was like a room full of applause in House Reinhart. No one ever said good things about the family. But if they had nothing overly bad to say…Lord Gorthes sighed.

“Damnit. Alright—on me!”

He grabbed the reins, then just drew a bullwhip and cracked it overhead. The stallion team moved into action. Behind Gorthes, he heard his minions, the sycophants and idiots he had for servants, hesitate.

“Lord Gorthes—”

They followed him. Although when they saw what he was driving at, they hesitated again. But Gorthes’ blood was up. He put the reins of the carriage in his teeth, gritting them so hard they nearly cracked. He swore he saw that damn driver of the Unmarked Coach staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

Gorthes spat out the reins long enough to bellow over his shoulder.

“Hey, you! Look at a real driver.”

Then he was roaring. The two carriages behind him were wavering, the [Drivers]’ faces white. The thugs he’d recruited were panicking.

“Lord Gorthes—we’re going be—”

“[Shut Up And Obey]!”

The [Brute of a Lord] roared. He saw the Drake light-soldiers turning. They paused, perhaps not sure how you attacked a carriage. A problem House Reinhart’s many enemies had faced over the years. Unless you had a pike wall, the horses, terrified of the bullwhip but mostly the multi-ton vehicle on their asses, wouldn’t slow.

Even if you got them, then you just had an out-of-control carriage reinforced with steel and magic—Gorthes was laughing.

A [Lord] laying around him with a bullwhip as he drove into the glowing Drakes. He kicked, got a slash on his enchanted clothing, swung a club into a face as he urged the horses forwards—

In his carriage, his servants were swinging their weapons. But the cowardly pukes were panicking. Gorthes saw one of the carriages pulling away.

“Traitorous cowards! [No One Double Crosses Me]!”

The [Driver] was turning his carriage away when Gorthes’ Skill hit him full-force. Literally; it was like the [Lord] wound up for the heaviest punch he could make and hit the man with it. The [Driver] reeled, insensible, and the carriage skidded into a wing of the [Soldiers].

Good enough as a distraction. The second carriage bogged down, and the panicked servants leapt out, trying to make a break for it.

Gorthes’ carriage went onwards. He felt the Drakes trying to grab him. But his eyes were on the smoke. One of the stallions went down, screaming, a glowing spear in its guts.

“[Cut It Loose]! Where—there!”

Gorthes saw a flash of blades. He bent down, leaning across the driver’s seat, and yanked something up.

A Kaalglaive, energy spent. He hauled Damia up, and she screamed, flailing, thinking he was a Drake. He punched her, dragged her over his lap, and then cracked the bullwhip again.

“Get us out of here, you damn nags!”

The stallions were screaming. They heaved, and the carriage moved as Varnie whirled, did a double-take, and leapt for the carriage. But the Drakes were clinging to the sides of the carriage.

“Lord Gorthes, we can’t get free! We’re too h—aaaaaaaaaaah!”

Gorthes grabbed the [Servant] who was screaming and heaved the man over the side of the carriage.

“[Die Before Me]!”

The Human projectile hit the Drakes trying to climb on board, and Gorthes felt the carriage moving. He shouted.

“I’ll promote ya if you live!”

Then he felt them accelerating. Lady Damia raised her head woozily.

“Uncle Gorthes? What the—”

Gorthes ignored her, cracking his whip at the horses, at the Drakes. It was only when he felt his carriage reaching a critical momentum and knew the Drakes couldn’t stop him before they burst free that he began laughing.

He threw back his head and roared with laughter, leaving bloody carnage behind him—even if most of it was magical light-soldiers. A full Reinhart. He grinned down at Damia as blood ran into one eye from a cut on his head; he had two arrows in one arm, and he didn’t even seem like he felt them.

“Always have a way out, you worthless little shit. Now you owe me.”

Gorthes just guffawed louder at Damia’s open-mouthed expression of astonishment. He loved it when he collected big favors.

——

They were—all fighting.

House of El. House Terland. Even House Reinhart.

Calidus was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. Clapping. Cheering even for Uncle Gorthes’ iconic madness. He’d never been prouder, truly.

Selys was searching for her friends, for Wall Lord Ilvriss. But Calidus just rose to his feet.

“He sees it. So does Damia. Are you all blind?”

The Faces of his Guild sat around him. Faces and Ranks. They were in the Assassin’s Guild. Selys was trembling, trying to be composed.

“Calidus, I—we need to assist. Strategically—if that is the Walled City—”

“Let them all die and collect on it after they’ve weakened the city.”

He nodded. Selys’ face turned stricken, then blank as she clenched her claws. But the [Lord]’s calm face burst into another maniac grin.

“That’s what my Grandfather would do. Because it’s the logical move in a world where no one trusts anyone and where allies are just that of convenience. The logic of someone who is unloved and loveless.”

Her eyes widened, and he turned. Calidus calmly lifted a speaking stone to his lips.

“This is the Guildmaster of the Assassin’s Guild to every Rank in the area. Undercover or not—you have full permission to attack the City of Purity’s forces. Do not attack or hinder Wall Lord Ilvriss or allied forces.”

He lowered the speaking stone and turned, beaming around at Losmere and the others.

“That goes for anyone who wants to participate, here as well. Don’t worry, I’m sure the fighting will last long enough for a carriage ride.”

Full permission? The Ranks and Faces eyed Calidus with as much skepticism as Selys. They looked, pointedly, at the giant Purifier shooting beams of light out its mouth before one of the Golem volleys ripped it apart.

But Calidus just chuckled. Then doubled over with mirth. Then ripped his shirt open because he liked the move. His belly flopped out as he breathed in and out.

“Do you not…see it? The City of Purity? And this is our chance! Rehabilitate our image! Put it out there, now, that the real Assassin’s Guild is defending the Five Families, as it’s always done! Levels! I bet Salazsar’s posting an all-call bounty for that Wall Lord! Get in touch with their Assassin’s Guild and demand a bounty!”

“Lord Calidus, you want our members to fight light-constructs from another era?”

Losmere was trying to do her cool, professional—Calidus seized her shoulders. Then scooped her up in his arms. She froze up, then tried to get free. He beamed at her, dropped her, and she landed on her feet like an angry cat. He shouted.

“Are you [Assassins] or not? I thought [Assassin] meant you killed things! Not just fleshy, blood-filled mortals! Here is the challenge of a lifetime with the rewards to match, and this is why your Guild died. Cowards stay behind! To every single Rank out there—the one that kills a Purifier is a Face! My oath on it!”

The Ranks froze up. Selys saw one of them, Slashface, push herself up from a table despite her healing injuries. Selys almost grabbed for her, but Calidus seized her shoulder. He glanced around in the silence.

“Well? Go!”

Two dozen Ranks were on their feet at once. One leapt out a window; another vaulted the table. And Calidus turned to the scrying orb, then hesitated.

“Ah, probably a little delay. Perfect. Well then…[Ascertain Consent]. Miss Selys? Would you mind it greatly if I swept you into an impassioned kiss?”

She blinked at him. Calidus Reinhart beamed at her. His eyes flickered—then he swept an arm around her and kissed her on the mouth. He was still beaming when she elbowed him in the stomach and slapped him.

“Someone get me a drink and a recording of this.”

Then he sat back down and leaned forwards. Because he couldn’t wait to see how this ended.

——

The news broke in Salazsar nearly two hours after the battle started. To be fair, there were people who’d seen it the moment the City of Purity’s alarms had been going off.

Alrric didn’t know if he’d blinked. He was sitting in his office, just watching, paws gripping his desk. He’d lost track of Ilvriss several times.

But now—he was aware the City of Gems was finding out. Of course they were.

Wall Lord Brilm’s son was there, and if there was a soul within screaming distance who hadn’t heard Brilm—of course, Eschowar and the smarter lot might have wanted to keep this private.

It was too late.

The funny thing was that it wasn’t on the news. Citizens of Salazsar were being told by word of mouth. Racing to get scrying orbs. But every time one of them tried to send a [Message] to Pallass News Network or Wistram to ask why the hell they weren’t covering this—nothing happened.

Only a bit concerning, that. Alrric filed that away for later. And he suspected—well, think about it.

All of House Terland was either engaged in the fighting or watching. They didn’t want anyone to know if their precious Golems died. Reinharts? Not big on sharing information.

The House of El was the only group who’d give anything away, and they might be glued to their scrying orbs like Alrric. If The Wandering Inn wasn’t shouting the news, then the only major city that could see this was Salazsar.

Salazsar was watching their Wall Lord fight. Ilvriss, the same Drake who’d been dragged in their own newspapers and the court of public opinion, the Drake who’d done the Right Thing at the Meeting of Tribes.

…His shouting at Periss still rattled Alrric. So he really had been in love. And…Alrric gazed downwards and saw.

Colonel Maiss was still holding the front lines. He was fighting side-by-side with Maisy, the Rubirel Guard having lost her damaged helmet, and the two were clearing the light-soldiers around them.

Roaring orders. Blood was running down Maiss’ rather impressively clenched jaw, and Maisy was hoisting a struggling Drake over her head with her halberd before she flung the enemy soldier off her.

“They’re fighting like Named-rank adventurers. We employ them? For how much?”

Alrric was checking on how much you had to pay someone to fight like that. He’d always complained about salaries, even if he was a big proponent of paying [Miners] better—but how much did you put on that?

Two hours of fighting. It felt like you couldn’t manage ten minutes, but Salazsar’s forces were used to fighting, or mining, for long bursts. They were rotating troops off the front, but the front lines still engaging with the light-soldiers were furiously battling for their lives.

See—there was Lady Damia waving her Kaalglaive from well behind enemy lines, exhorting the troops. Silverfangs had united under Elia Arcsinger and Salazsar’s [Archers] and were volleying into any exposed area nonstop.

There was a clearing in the fighting as Alrric saw someone standing at the fore of the battle. Alrric leaned forwards.

“Ilvriss?”

There he was. The Wall Lord came into view as he appeared on a giant scrying mirror in the main plazas of Salazsar.

His father, his administrator, his mother, his friends saw the Wall Lord. He was remarkably unhurt despite the fighting. A single cut marred his prismatic…purple…

What had happened to his scales? The Drake turned, and his eyes gleamed like the very gemstones his city was named after. His scales were still purple, but they had changed, taking on the colors of an opal. And his wings…

——

Helessia Gemscale couldn’t breathe. [Healers] rushed into her rooms, but she was pointing. And when they tried to turn the scrying orb off, she fought them.

She was gazing at his wings. They fluttered open as the Drake ran. So changed, but she would always recognize her son.

Wings.

It wasn’t…like he was the only Oldblood Drake anyone had ever seen. There were plenty, but—

——

In the City of Gems, Drakes were seeing the Wall Lord’s image being shone higher. On the sides of the towers. Someone had rigged up a projection spell, and citizens were pointing. Asking what was going on. Gnolls, Drakes, and a few other species, yes.

But it was the Drakes who went stumbling. Some nearly walked off catwalks or into traffic. They would look up, recognize Ilvriss, see those wings, and their minds would shut off.

For a moment, they’d be children again. Reading stories of Dragons and their ancestors of old. Seeing those Drakes flying with Dragons and dreaming of it.

Wings. How? How had he…?

To them, it was as important as seeing that Archmage fly. A dream that they’d forgotten they had, recaptured. Like seeing the Flying Gnoll of Pallass.

A million pairs of eyes followed the Wall Lord, and he was still running, larger than life, as his forces fought glowing Drakes. As if they’d come straight out of the storybooks into reality.

If they had been able to call the New Lands, the Meeting of Tribes, return of the King of Destruction, the ghosts—everything—anomalies, craziness, but within the keeping of this time, this was the final blow. Men and women and children going to their ordinary jobs working for the companies gazed up and wondered if this was the era of fantasies.

And if so—

What were they doing here? 

Still, Ilvriss ran.

——

The Son of Salazsar was shouting.

“Hold the line! Don’t give up on me now! I’m not laying your pay slip on a grave! Do you know how much a funeral and pension costs?”

—He was still doing it too. If anything, his voice seemed more confident. He spun, and Alrric saw he had on a crimson cloak. Was it enchanted? The Drake wasn’t holding a sword, but he strode past the fighting [Soldiers], a squad of battered Rubirel Guard following him.

He was peering around, gauging the fighting. Alrric was sure that one of the other leaders, like Major Shellc, was directing the actual battle from behind the scenes, but Ilvriss was on the front. He ducked an arrow, cursing, and Alrric heard some pithy language.

“—gargling ballsacks of a Oliphant—”

He’d never heard Ilvriss swear like that. To be fair, Alrric had never seen the Wall Lord fighting up close. Practicing swordplay, or as a tiny image at the Meeting of Tribes, yes. But this?

Was Ilvriss mad? One arrow while his rings were recharging and he was dead. But it was working. He went striding down the line again, then spotted something.

A knot in the fighting. Another group had plunged too far in and refused to pull back. Only, this time, it wasn’t a hairbrained charge by a young Human [Lady].

No, happily, it was Wall Lord Dramm who had rushed forwards with his entourage, thinking to press an attack. From above, his section looked like a bulging ball of shrinking bodies; he was being enveloped.

The young idiot was making it worse because he kept shouting the same ironic phrase used by dead Drakes.

“Drakes don’t run! Hold! Hold, damnit! Drakes don’t—”

“That idiot!”

Alrric thought he was about to see a dead young Wall Lord. Ilvriss seemed to believe so too. He froze, pointing, and the Rubirel Guard tried to advance, but they’d be too slow. Dramm was swinging his sword wildly, and the light-soldiers were closing in. So the Wall Lord looked around—up—and then sighed.

He flung the cloak back to let his wings unfurl with a snap, then leapt. One of the Rubirel Guard tried to grab his legs, but it was too late. The Wall Lord flew up—and fell.

Straight into the middle of the fighting. He snapped his wings open as he landed and sent allies and enemies stumbling back. Dramm whirled.

“Wall Lord! Wh—”

Ilvriss strode over, headbutted Dramm, and shoved the dizzy young Wall Lord back at his people.

“Get him out of here! You idiots—retreat! Enough of quoting Sserys! Real Drakes run when they have to! And fight when—”

A sword nearly pierced his stomach. Ilvriss whirled, and it then became clear that his saving Dramm meant the entire area of fighting was collapsing.

On him. Light-soldiers advanced, and Ilvriss didn’t have—

Where was his sword? He dodged another sword, then grabbed an arm. Alrric saw Ilvriss pivot—then he performed a shoulder throw.

The light-Drake went flying over Dramm’s head as the dizzy Wall Lord sat up. Ilvriss pivoted, kicked another light-soldier in the ground, and when that didn’t work, swept a leg. He backhanded another version of Vnariss, and then he was boxing, punching.

And still shouting.

“We are more than one damn Drake! Look at the folly of Naamreles! We are Salazsar—if I fall, keep fighting! Drakes, Gnolls, Humans—with me!”

He sounded a bit like that young [Lady] from House Reinhart. Only, Wall Lord Ilvriss was under attack as he said all this. A slash cut across his armor. He staggered as an arrow hit him from behind and went down—had he locked legs with another of the light-soldiers to trip the Drake up?

—He came up after four heart-stopping seconds and threw another light-Gnoll. He was throwing them into each other, and the Rubirel Guard finally cut forwards. But the Wall Lord wasn’t done.

He wiped blood running down his cheek from his face as one of the versions of Vnariss got an opening. But it stopped and ran that eerie light over Ilvriss’ body.

They’d largely given up on scanning, but maybe the Wall Lord’s clear Oldblood ancestry had provoked the scan.

The copy of Vnariss spoke.

“Analysis: 50% genetic viability.”

Even it seemed confused a moment before Ilvriss drew a dagger and threw it through the Drake’s eye, and it vanished. He swept his cloak off his shoulders; it was clearly getting tangled. The Drake turned.

“Oldblood doesn’t matter. This is where that line of thinking ends. With me. With me!”

Then he inhaled—and Alrric saw him exhale something that glittered and burst. The light-soldiers threw up their shields, but something coated their armor, their ‘skin’, and hardened.

Crystals. It weighed down the light-constructs, some to immobility, and Ilvriss exhaled again. Only then did he cough and turn.

His tail swished on the grass as he lifted a fist. He practically sauntered back behind the lines. Alrric was a very happily-married Gnoll with a loving wife.

But he had to stare at Ilvriss’ tail, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen tail-movements that suggestive on—more than one citizen of Salazsar experienced a moment of worrying confusion before putting it down to a trick of the light.

Certainly, the Wall Lord didn’t stop there. He rested one knee on a crate of ammunition, speaking to one of the [Archers], and his armor and pants outlined his body until someone blocked the shot. Possibly for his dignity, although dead gods, what did the Wall Lord have to be ashamed of?

Eye-catching. A presence larger than life. Captivating in his new form, in leadership and presence and—

Ulva Terland stood apart from Ilvriss, a forgotten heroine conducting Golems to war, eying the rising son of Salazsar. Across from them, a giant bull covered in wounds was deigning to let Lady Desinee clean his cuts—though Naamreles’ weapons left virtually no chance of infection—and the [Rancher]-lords and ladies fought for their lands.

Magic being plucked from fallen constructs’ hands. Levels gained by every person fighting. And more—more coming to give battle.

——

It was the only thing she could do.

Mrsha du Marquin was not stupid enough to join the fighting with the robes of Warmage Thresk or his staff.

She just…walked into a building after climbing a good-sized hill. Stopping to listen to the clamor outside. Moved slowly, despite the need.

She found him inside, for once, though she hadn’t thought to. But when the man turned from tending to the glowing, green flame, Mrsha stood there.

Almost ashamed. She didn’t want to do this. Not to them—but it was why they had been formed.

He would have wanted her to tell him.

“Mrsha? What’s going on?”

Dame Ushar said nothing as Mrsha handed Grandmaster Normen of the Order of Solstice a card. He read it, asked a few questions—and then his burned features firmed. He took something from the inner keep of the Order of Solstice, a single lantern glowing with green fire, and Mrsha wiped at her eyes.

The [Grandmaster] noticed and bent to hug her. And she didn’t tell him his stupid armor pinched her fur terribly. When Normen rose, he smiled once.

“We’re not ready. But we will never be. And we’re more ready than last time.”

So saying, he strode out of the Celestial Keep, still being built, and called out. Gnolls, Antinium, Drakes, Humans, and a half-Troll girl looked up. They listened—then, when Normen pointed, they began to run.

Antinium [Squires]. Over two hundred of them. Gnolls like Dekava Silverfang, holding yet-unlit lanterns. Waiting for their flame.

Armored—streaming for the [Portal Door] held open by a grim Liska.

Reinforcements.

Mrsha stood there as the remaining [Knights] that Normen had left to hold the keep should none return tried to go back to practicing, then ran to find a scrying orb. Then, heavily, she returned to the inn to see how it ended.

——

The Order of Solstice joined the fighting at the five-hour mark. The initial assault from the light-brigades had slowed, but with alarming regularity, Dig Site B spat out another group.

The Purifiers were almost completely entrenched around Dig Site B and the town of Thirthoof, engaged in a perpetual cycle of cleanup and explosion. Filth-elementals were rising as the Purifiers concentrated the waste, then detonated, unable to contain that much sewage. It was also pulling off some of the light-brigades who engaged the muck-monsters, but the rest kept attacking Salazsar’s position.

They ran into Golems launching spells, a rain of arrows from Lord Xitegen and the [Ranchers], flaming [Knights], Silverfang Gnolls, Salazsarian heavy armor troopers, the occasional pickaxe, and at least one bull too angry to die.

…It couldn’t last. Major Shellc had made a prediction.

“We can operate for three more hours at most before we begin to buckle. The moment we begin taking excessive casualties, the effect will snowball, and we’ll be overrun. Either we get help from Pallass or some other force or we’re dead. Lady Ulva’s reinforcement Golems will not make it in time.”

The faster Golems might, but not enough to turn the tides. Nor was the [Major] hopeless; he saw this entire affair as the opening salvo of a true battle, if not war.

They needed time. They needed to regroup, analyze which strategies were working, dig in, cooperate, and heal.

They would not have it. The power of Naamreles was to overwhelm and not quit. If they had space, hundreds of miles, it was conceivable they might wipe enough troops to get that time. Not with the City of Purity on top of them.

Yet the Drake was cool. Calm, even. He delivered this strategic assessment to Salazsar, and he was sure their High Command was counting which [Strategists] had figured this out and had viable solutions.

Major Shellc let the bigwigs, higher-ups, and brass confer and then ignored whatever they were going to say. Because, of course—

He’d come up with this analysis in the first twenty minutes of fighting. He had simply reaffirmed his hypothesis with actual observations and data. Now, the Drake raised a separate speaking stone to his mouth.

“Wall Lord, I trust you heard all that. We must slow the City of Purity.”

“Understood, Major Shellc. We are in position. We will begin the operation—now. Going mana-quiet unless we are compromised or need long-range Skills. Wish us luck.”

Major Shellc nodded tightly. Wall Lord Ilvriss’ voice was terse and a bit echo-y. But Shellc kept his posture, leaning on his war desk, not giving the enemy any signs he’d just said or done anything significant. They were probably dumb constructs, but they were adapting tactics. Slightly.

He went back to directing the battle, eying the Wall Lord who was still encouraging the troops from the front. Ilvriss didn’t seem to tire as he held a shield up awkwardly. He was dynamic, with the right thing to say to every soldier, captivating his city and everyone else with his charisma. Oh, and he had that stupid cloak back on.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss sneezed, then cursed as more dirt cascaded down around him. He was covered in it, and how not?

Five hours, more or less, of sneaking across the Cowpat Plains—literally crawling through cowpats in his armor—and then digging. He was covered in filth and would have liked nothing less than for a Purifier to clean him up.

But since running into one of those would botch this entire mission, he just stifled another sneeze.

“Damn. I forgot to ask if Xesci’s doing alright.”

He hoped she hadn’t gotten hurt, playing ‘him’. She’d volunteered, saying only she could do it. And it made sense to Ilvriss, because he had to be here.

This mission was going to win or lose the battle as much as holding the line up there. He had ten of the Rubirel Guard, three [Mages]—and Captain Osthia’s squad. All volunteers.

The Drake herself had somehow weaseled her damn way onto this mission despite having probably broken twenty or more bones. She’d insisted—and when he’d told her she was too hurt, she’d flown off and gotten Magus Grimalkin to cast [Restoration] on her.

Changing tactics. Even a healing potion couldn’t have done that. He and the other [Mages] were providing magical fire support, but Ilvriss had requested they save their mana for [Restoration] spells if possible.

He just hoped there’d be enough of them left to heal. He leaned against one wall and regarded his command squad.

“You heard Shellc. This has to be done. Now, to repeat the plan so we all understand it: we are to collapse the entrance tunnels to the City of Purity and everything else. The old mining shafts will be a problem given how they were reinforced, but if we can just tremor enough dirt, it’ll buy us time. Days, or if we’re lucky, the constructs will just forget we’re up here. Once the collapse starts, anyone trapped down there is dead. So we move fast, but we cannot hesitate. Understand?”

Everyone nodded. They’d dug down around Dig Site B to get to the mining shafts. Slow, stealthy mining while they heard the fighting above. Anxiety-producing. But they’d had to go slow to avoid detection.

Shellc had tried to collapse the mine shafts, but he’d only had time for a single spell. The magicore had absorbed the spell, and while it had slowed the light-forces, they’d just cleared the tunnels near the surface.

However…they had only one path of egress to the surface, via Naamreles’ ancient mineshafts. Collapse those and the security systems might not know where the ‘enemy’ was any more. Or they’d lose cohesion or, at very least, have to dig up through countless tonnes of dirt. The only problem would be collapsing the mineshaft and not dying.

Hence the tense Drakes and Gnolls, Rubirel Guard, Advance Miners, and Ilvriss. The Wall Lord checked his armor and sword. It sparked as he willed fury into it.

I am not going to die here. Especially not before I clear up that kiss with Lyonette.

It might be a stupid reason, but it worked for him. There was only one commenter. Advance Miner Georgie just had to say something.

“Listen, Wall Lord, I can see why I’m here. You need the best man for the job. Which is me.”

He ignored the other seven [Advance Miners] glaring at him. Georgie hefted his enchanted pickaxe on one shoulder as he gritted a fresh cigar between his teeth.

“—But why’re you here? We don’t risk the executives on this kinda thing. Sure you can’t get Magus Grimalkin?”

“Shut it, Georgie.”

Someone began, but Ilvriss held up a claw. He smiled at Georgie and got a gritted smile in return. They nodded at each other.

“Three reasons, Georgie. One, I have the levels and Skills to boost you all. [Opulence Guard], my Skill, will let us tank attacks when we’re noticed. Second—I have a magic sword that can kill constructs and, I hope, even Purifiers. Third, I’m not going to ask you to commit to a mission of this danger without doing the same.”

“Hmf. Sure. What if you’re that fake Ilvriss?”

Georgie grunted, but Ilvriss just smiled. As everyone braced for Georgie to breach into the mining tunnels, he whispered back.

“There’s only one way to tell us apart, Georgie. One Ilvriss can breathe magical Dragonbreath, use his wings, and is, I daresay, a charismatic, captivating Wall Lord.”

“Uh huh. And what makes the other one unique?”

Georgie tapped the wall, and it collapsed. The tunnel was aglow with marching light-soldiers coming up. Someone cursed—but Osthia’s squad was already charging forwards. One of the Rubirel Guard unrolled the Tier 5 scrolls, and Ilvriss began to run, heart pumping. He passed by Georgie as the [Advance Miner] threw his pickaxe through the first rank of surprised light-constructs. Then Ilvriss was shaking his hips right to left. Waggling his tail.

He ignored the look Georgie was giving him.

“This Ilvriss can dance.”

In hindsight, he really wished that sounded better.

——

Major Shellc saw the Drakes made of glowing magic visibly slow, and Shellc swore they grew…fuzzy.

Did that mean they were being projected upwards after all, like the Archmage of Izril was speculating? He hoped so, because it had turned a desperate holding action into a battle that could be won. He began broadcasting the news, of course.

“A strike force has collapsed the tunnels leading into Naamreles! The enemy is out of reinforcements! Hold the line and we have them!”

He heard cheering, but the reason Shellc was being so loud was because victory was no surefire thing. The [Major] was sweating.

This was going to come down to the wire. The dirt-fortress that Salazsar had constructed was under siege from three cardinal directions. If it was breached, or their other allies lost their nerve, he’d have to call for a full retreat.

The light-forces of Naamreles were a bog of glowing limbs throwing themselves at Salazsar’s walls. They were like that joke you told about the heathen barbarous enemies of your nation: they attacked you en masse with little strategy, marching into your killzones.

The problem was it worked if you had so many bodies you could flood the area. Worse—he put them at Level 15 [Soldiers] in quality unless they combined or activated more advanced magics—which they could do.

But the light-soldiers resisted magic. A [Fireball] would cook a regular squad of troops or leave them so disoriented and hurt they were functionally mincemeat. Hit a squad of Naamreles’ forces and the ones not blown to bits would get up and keep fighting.

The true danger was like Shellc’s studies of the Antinium; if the light-soldiers surrounded you, anyone but someone in plate armor was dead. And they pushed.

“Our western flank is folding! Do not let them encircle us! Ranchers, give me a skirmishing line, there! [Form Battle Line]!”

Shellc was engaged in a brutal clash along Salazsar’s dirt-fortress; his entire objective was to keep the elements of the light-forces from encircling Salazsar’s position. As long as he kept their rear open, they could rotate soldiers out for healing and keep ammunition stocked.

The moment they were encircled, they died. The enemy seemed to know this, despite not having a living leader, and were advancing again. They were slowed by Shellc’s only tools. The [Ranchers], who rode and shot arrows from horseback. A skirmishing line of irregulars who could maneuver and fire.

Their angry cattle could provide a flanking charge as well, but the animals had no real direction. Lady Desinee could direct them, but then they’d be butchered unless he gave them an escape route.

Suboptimal, and he had no healing potions. However, Shellc’s other tool was the Golems under House Terland. And Ulva Terland was a seasoned commander.

The light-Gnolls armed with bows were beginning to shower the [Ranchers] with their light-arrows when a trio of Golems moved forwards and screened the [Ranchers] with glowing barrier spells. Then one rolled forwards—it had wheels instead of feet—aimed its odd body upwards, and began launching arrows nonstop.

One of Xitegen’s personal Golems. Mobile artillery that spat arrows at the archers. That allowed the whooping [Ranchers] to rain down arrows on the advancing Drakes, but in response, the Drakes just projected those damn shields above their heads.

Cue Battle Golems, who smashed into them. The light-soldiers began to swarm the steel Golems—then pivoted, a hair too late. Cattle charge from the left flank; Rubirel Guard leading an advance from Salazsar’s fortifications.

Grind them down. The light soldiers didn’t stop, of course. They kept pouring into the pincer attack, and they’d eventually overwhelm the other groups and force a victory. Now that their numbers were limited, maybe Shellc could wear them down, but he had no fallback point from Salazsar’s fortress.

So they had to break the lines here. The [Swordgrace Major]’s eyes glinted as he saw the western flank bunching up. Thousands of the light-soldiers pushing to advance…

“Now! Major Shellc, requesting bombardment spells! On my position! Fire for effect!”

A [Scrying Mage] standing next to him flashed the sea of enemy soldiers up, and Shellc waited. He stared upwards, and this was the part that made his guts churn.

“Come on. Come on…”

He didn’t know who he was speaking to. Truly. Shellc prayed for magic from the skies like a man dying of thirst prayed for rain. And then he saw the air twist. A gigantic spell circle appeared in the sky, and he breathed out. Three of them.

Spells came down.

A tornado, two bolts of [Grand Lightning]—and a hail of magical arrows. They merged together, and winds hurled bodies of light-Drakes skywards. Some survived, despite the magical arrows raining down everywhere—Shellc cursed and ducked his head down.

“Beware of enemy soldiers landing around you! To anyone watching—no wind spells! Don’t hurl the enemy around! Reinforcements coming from the north!”

He pointed out another wave of reinforcements, hoping they were one of the last ones. And he gazed up at the skies again.

——

Major Shellc’s image of the enemy soldiers he needed dead were playing on scrying spells in other kingdoms, as was his commentary. Demanding fire support.

The effrontery of this Drake. [Kings] and [Queens] glared at him. Then asked their [Mages] how many spells they had. Demanded to know if Wistram was…

They were watching, of course. There were jamming spells everywhere. Terland Golems? Naamreles’ magic in the Purifiers?

Whatever it was, the battles were flashes of images. You’d get fifteen seconds of one particular area, then the scrying spells would fizzle out, go dark, and the [Mages] would need another coordinate. Major Shellc was getting around that by sending [Magic Pictures] with coordinates.

It wasn’t their war. In truth, the Five Families were probably sending the most magic. But even distant nations in Terandria were watching.

Naamreles. A name they had in their history books. The name provoked the same unsettling nervousness, the tension that had not left the hearts and bowels of the mighty since the Winter Solstice. Or even before that.

Once more, kingdoms tried to throw magic and Skills across the world. But they had spent their magics again and again—instead of one-time scrolls, it was linked [Mages] firing Tier 5 spells off, using all their magic to contribute a single spell to the battlefield. And the Drake was demanding dozens of such spells. But no nations wanted to spend their artifacts.

Ailendamus had hurled two dozen spells in the battle already. All products of their linked [Mages]. A sign they truly could influence the world. Lesser nations? One.

But Ailendamus had ample reason; occasionally, someone could see a Human man fighting at the front of Salazsar’s forces. Not in the vanguard around Ilvriss, directly facing the buried City of Purity, but holding down the eastern flank.

Virtually unsupported. He was two dozen feet in front of the spear walls and trenches, fighting with his clothing akimbo, surrounded by light-soldiers. At first, you thought he was being sent to die—until he threw a punch and sent the enemy around him scattering like dandelion seeds blown by the wind. He was throwing spells too.

So was the Archmage of Izril. She and several [Mages], including the Mage Runner, Salamani, and Magus Grimalkin, were launching spells skywards into the Drakes. There were fires blooming around one section of the battlefield as well; the Knights of Solstice were burning down the light-soldiers, refusing to yield before the forces trying to overwhelm the eastern flank and get around the defenders.

Lines in the sand. Magic from above. But reinforcements?

Not many of them. They kept coming from Celum, yes. Golems marching from the Terland’s holdings, even running south at such speed they made it to the battlefield. [Assassins]—yes, [Assassins], including one who managed to behead a Purifier as it lumbered down on the Drakes.

But where was Pallass? Where were the other forces?

Too slow to react. Too unaware; there was no 2nd Army to mobilize, and 1st Army had standing orders to guard the City of Inventions. [Wyvern Riders] were flying from Salazsar and Manus, but they would take too long.

They’d have to teleport in, if that was even possible, and there was only one force in the world who could do that, or at least, advertised they could.

Wistram Academy had tried it twice. The Archmage of Memories had clearly thought to prove that Wistram was everywhere, and with the Archmage of Izril fighting for her life, he had sent a strikeforce. The ‘Super Soldiers’ armored in enchanted platemail who could fly and [Battlemages]—a squad of thirty.

Enough, by his calculations, to make an impact. What Eldavin hadn’t considered was that Naamreles was a city whose magic was as advanced as his. They knew about teleporting [Mages].

The first squad had appeared inside the largest formation of light-soldiers. Only the [Barrier] spells on the [Mages] had saved them, and even then, half had been dead by the time they fought their way out. Even the Super Soldiers’ magical armor hadn’t saved them from a Purifier. They’d practically retreated off the battlefield, and the Archmage of Memories had tried a second force.

No one but Wistram knew a second attempt had been made. Eldavin still wasn’t sure where they’d gone. So he waited, pacing and cursing, determined not to look worse as shaken [Mages] asked about their friends.

The half-Elf ignored them. He was calculating which nations were sending magic so he could advertise Wistram’s services to them. Make it clear everyone needed long-ranged magic. That these events were only going to continue. Advertising. But he wasn’t sure who was going to win as he saw the western attack finally break.

The forces of Naamreles was making a push down the center now. Climbing over each other to just break that center line. Were they going to make it?

Did he want them to make it? The half-Elf didn’t know. His stomach hurt, but he watched as his advanced scrying spells finally broke through the interference. And he saw a man running to break the column of light-soldiers flooding forwards.

Just a man everyone knew.

——

It was a light war. Lord Xitegen Terland meant that sort of as a pun, but it was also true.

Dangerous as the Purifiers were, and the light-soldiers of ancient Naamreles, his heart had been pumping harder at the Winter Solstice. Against the Goblin King.

He still had nightmares about that crimson gaze. He still saw the Mortemdefieir Titan in his dreams, and that was why it was hard to be around his family.

They asked him if it was real. If it had happened. The people of Celum were humbler and did not know the north’s splendor. But they believed. And so did Lord Xitegen Terland.

He was younger than he looked, he knew. Most people didn’t believe he wasn’t a decade older, at least. It might have been his levels or stature. Or, more likely, the long siege that had cost him his entire family. It had aged him, the [Healers] said, more than merely physically. He’d had grey in his hair before he was even twenty. Lines that only deepened with the years.

So what? He was alive. Alive, when his parents and household had starved. After the soldiers and staff had starved, then eaten the dead. When one wondered why Lord Xitegen Terland was so high level, so relatively young—

That was why.

He was one of, perhaps, four people in this world to have charged the Goblin King twice. The second was Saliss of Lights. The third was a farmer named Himilt who Lord Xitegen suspected was a ‘Vampire’ that had the north so unsettled. The [Lord] was no fool; it became obvious, despite Erin Solstice’s trick, and rather, in spite of it. The last was Elia Arcsinger.

The Vampire Hunters would know that the val Lischelle-Drakles were Vampires after they had broken every Golem in House Terland, tortured him to death, and animated his corpse since he assumed undead had no concept of honor. A man who had fought the Goblin King twice should not be treated as less than a hero, unless he betrayed all trust—and he should be given all trust.

Now, Lord Xitegen had experienced a lot of unpleasant things since then. Having to team up with Goblins against the Titan. The half-Elf, Tolveilouka, Wall Lord Ilvriss being in the north—

He did not like these things. He did not trust the Drakes or the inn, and this was all Ilvriss’ fault, in a sense. The high point had been the excellent cookout. Xitegen thought of all these things…and he would continue thinking about them when he returned to his mansion, poured himself a light brandy, and sat with a charcuterie board and considered what it meant, what was good and wrong and his part in it all.

But as the light-arrows rained down around him, the [Lord] of House Terland just gazed up. The [Golem-Lord of Enduring Dignity]. Level 49. And he felt it was incredible to be living in these times.

He did not think he entirely deserved his levels. But he had challenged the Goblin King twice. Seen a dead goddess bringing a hundred thousand Draugr to life. Yes, it was a lighter war, despite the desperation. They could always retreat.

So…to speed up his too-calm heart, Xitegen went jogging forwards. He heard someone shout at him, but he had never liked following orders. Even Ulva’s.

His thick thighs carried him across the ground as his running outfit caught the falling lights. A glossier material, light, breathable—he took off his coat. He was wearing running shoes, of course. They just looked vaguely like a nobleman’s since he’d had them polished black.

Ryoka Griffin had once told him he had good running form. Arms moving in sync with his legs; when one rose, the opposite arm rose with it. His hands made blades as he held his fingers straight out, pumping, eyes fixed on the middle distance, over the heads of the soldiers.

“Hold the line! Hold until the tunnels are collapsed—”

Some Drake was telling everyone they were sapping the tunnels, or it might have been done. An end to these reinforcements—but in answer, the light-legions were mounting an offensive. The Purifiers were still gorging themselves and exploding like pimples of rot and ruination.

How beautifully abhorrent. The ground smelled like crap, but Xitegen had good purchase on it, even if he kicked up a bit of soil. When he turned his head and heard the thumping, he saw Controller Lectara running behind him.

A good woman who was piloting a Golem made for that purpose. Armor encased her, and despite the huge weight of the metal frame around her, which turned her into a giant in plate armor like a War Walker, she was running. Sprinting thanks to her new Skills. She’d levelled up well.

What?

Oh…she was calling his name. Xitegen Terland glanced down and realized the ground was moving under his feet at commendable speed.

I’m faster. He slowed and realized that Primera and Seconda were with him, as ever. But the foot-soldiers and Golems were further back. So he turned and jogged in a curve as light arrows hit the ground behind him. Faster. Faster—until his heart was singing.

[Run, Like My Beating Heart].

Such a fanciful Skill for a man of his dignity. But he had to run, didn’t you see? He did not necessarily like being on the side of Drakes. Or playing into this alliance. Or letting his brave people and Golems die here.

But she was there. Standing with the wind blowing in her hair, firing arrows down at the nearest Purifier, next to the Antinium.

Elia Arcsinger.

He hadn’t been wrong about her. She’d just forgotten who she was. All the trust in the world. The Named-rank adventurer was loosing arrows into the mass of soldiers coming at Salazsar’s forces. They were set—but they needed help. So, Xitegen caught his forces.

“With me!”

“[Follow the Standard]! [Raise the Banner of House Terland]!”

Lectara cried, and her armor projected the crest of House Terland over her head. How lovely. Xitegen thought the Golems who saw it moved faster—and he heard Primera’s heart singing.

I’m sorry. He peered at his bodyguard Golem and had so many questions. Then Xitegen ran on the guilt, his queries. The sight of Elia Arcsinger.

Arrows. Some Gnoll copied ten thousand times had seen his forces moving. They were sending more arrows raining down. Even—a light-ballista?

He saw something streaking towards him and ran left. His forces thundered left with him, and the ground exploded in showers of dirt. Now, his arms and legs were pumping. He remembered running at the Goblin King like this. If this wasn’t all a dream he was having as he lay upon the battlements, a child—

To make sure he wasn’t dreaming, he forced more energy into his legs and arms until he was gasping. Until the ground was truly blurring—then he saw the light-Drakes turning. Pivoting as a wing saw his forces coming. Xitegen was running across them. The light-Drakes spun, spears lowered to block his charge—but he just jogged past the spears. Refused to run into a damn line of pikes. He pointed one finger right.

“[Again, Again, and Ever Again]—”

His famous Skill. Shields appeared in the soldiers’ hands, and they raised them skywards. They’d seen his trick. Lovely adaptation. Xitegen stared into the eyes of a long-dead Drake who smiled at him. And Xitegen thought he could hear his weary soul asking for relief.

“[Covering Fire]! [Point-Blank Volley].”

Little holes in the air opened next to Xitegen—and then the arrows loosed. Not from above, but horizontally. A point-blank barrage. Piercing arrows, too.

Upgrades.

The light-soldiers jerked as the arrows hit them. Xitegen kept running as the lines of Drakes began to vanish—then they dropped their shields. So he rained arrows on them from above.

“House Terland, with me!”

He was still running, circling the Drakes, who had to slow and block his formation. But then Controller Lectara fired a [Ray of Incineration] as she ran. Golems unloaded spells as they moved, and Primera tossed a [Greater Force Orb] into the light-Drakes’ formation.

“Lord Terland! Purifier!”

Another one had approached the battlefield. Xitegen gazed up, and he remembered the Hag Queens of Aklat Vunn. He hadn’t been able to challenge them. If he had been the same level…

He was jogging at it when it vanished. Exploded in a shower of muck. Xitegen shielded his face at the smell, then looked down.

“Ah. You.”

So that was where the real Lord Ilvriss was. He had emerged from behind the light-soldiers. Which indicated that they were cut off from reinforcements if the [Major] shouting in Xitegen’s ears was any indication.

Some [Miner] had thrown a pickaxe through the Purifier. That, unfortunately, had just attracted every light-soldiers’ attention, and the Wall Lord was running from more arrows. And spellcasters.

That was really unpleasant to see; another light-Drake, female, with robes, conjuring what looked like [Fireballs] made out of yellow light. It was so unpleasant, in fact, that Lord Xitegen ran into her formation.

“[Full Momentum Kick].”

He saw her turn, and his foot hurt, but the blow blew apart her barriers and the light-mage. The copies of her went down as Primera ripped one’s head off, and his forces were on top of—

“Fall back! Fall back!”

Then they were gone again. And Xitegen was running at the Wall Lord. They locked gazes, and Ilvriss shouted.

“Lord Xitegen—”

“With me! We have to divide them or they’ll overrun us!”

The light-soldiers were getting distracted. Their push against the Salazsar wall was faltering. That was all they needed to do. Divide and conquer. Leave strategy to [Strategists].

It was just that Xitegen’s forces from Celum were maybe a thousand men and Golems because Liska had been able to send no more. They were dead the moment they were surrounded. And here came the light cavalry. Xitegen saw their lances dipping. He swore, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Ilvriss dance-running next to him.

“Objectively hilarious.”

“Leave the [Riders]! We need to charge the center; they’re going to combine into mini-purifiers and attack!”

That might break the Salazsarian defenders. Xitegen didn’t trust Ilvriss’ precognition that much. But when he turned, eying the center of the light-soldiers’ mass—he saw air glow before the Golem leapt.

Yweine landed, swinging a sword made of magic through the light-Drakes riding horses with long, scaled tails and who looked lizard-like. When they tried to lance her, she turned, pointed a hand forwards, and each claw on her talon rocketed off her hands and fired into the enemy around her.

Then the claw tips detonated. She swung around, and before the rest of the lances could touch her, they exploded in a shower of lightning. Xitegen raised his hand, squinting, and another man was running forwards.

Nerul Gemscale was no born runner. But he led the charge of the Erchirite Spears.

“Nephew! Get out of here!”

Every Erchirite Spear of Salazsar was present—a full battalion of a thousand. Disguised [Miners]—Xitegen saw Ilvriss shouting.

“Uncle, you get out of here! Don’t be a fool—”

“Wall Lord, we are escorting you out of danger. Do not resist.”

Yweine strode forwards, and Xitegen would have loved to talk to her as well. However, Ilvriss was pointing.

“They’re combining! We have to attack! Major Shellc!”

Sure enough, the Drakes were stepping back from the fighting. Walking towards each other, smiling, and forming glowing orbs of light. The orbs were getting bigger, and the first one disgorged a Drake that was twelve feet tall.

Light-soldiers able to break the enemy lines and fight Golems on equal footing. Xitegen hit one with arrows and watched the light implode.

“I concur. Gentlemen—if we nobly charge the foe, we may stop the worst of the casualties and all die. Since there are two Wall Lords here and one of me, I consider it a worthwhile trade. Shall we? Or shall we bravely pretend we were better than doing the right thing?”

Nerul hesitated. He looked to Yweine, whose eyes flickered. A Golem with a spark of light behind them.

“The action is tactically sound. However, I shall escort you and the Wall Lord back—”

She didn’t want to die. Xitegen smiled. He regarded Primera and Seconda and wondered if they wanted to run. But he was a bad man; he didn’t ask.

“I’m with you, Lord Xitegen. Let’s go. Georgie, fall back with the non-combatants.”

Ilvriss snapped at the Drake who’d thrown the pickaxe, and the fellow hesitated. Before anyone could make up their minds, there was a voice.

“You don’t know how to charge the foe, boy. You do it like a drunken [Sailor]. You, Drakes. And you damn cow-riding fools, with me.”

Xitegen turned, and if he had thought his heart leapt to see Elia Arcsinger, it truly beat now. For there she was.

Ulva Terland appeared terribly afraid. She was sitting on her Dais of Health. But she was making it fly forwards as she carried the conductor’s wand. Timekeeper and all her personal Golems were with her—and to the right? Marvus and Aronia Lischelle. He was trying to get his wife to leave, but the [Ranchers] were with him. Even some of the bulls too angry to quit.

“Great Aunt, House Terland cannot afford to lose both its leaders.”

“Quiet, boy. You sound like a coward, and we are many things, but not cowards. Ranchers of the Plains, to me!”

Ulva shouted, and Marvus rode forwards, breathless.

“They’re turnin’ into super-Drakes. If we run into them and can’t get out—”

“Then we die. Or we cut through. Don’t stop or turn. Trust me. I will lead the charge.”

Ulva Terland pointed.

“Wall Lord, you and your spears fire left. Xitegen, behind me. [Ranchers], fire right and do not stop. The Golems will fight; keep moving until we clear the other side!”

She paused, and no one argued with her, though even Xitegen had questions. Ulva turned her head, then shifted around in her seat.

“There’s no Petria. It’s the first battle I’ve faced without her.”

She breathed out, and for a moment, he feared she’d crumble. But then Ulva Terland just gazed down.

“You are no Petria. But I have no other choice. With me. Hearts of Golems, thunder! House Terland, forwards! Create a breach!”

The [Matriarch] of House Terland pointed, and the air split as the first Golem unleashed a beam of flames. Timekeeper followed as her dais sped up, and there was a second—everything froze, and the Golems smashed through the first rank of light-soldiers. Then the second.

She’d gone in so fast even Xitegen was running to catch up. Wall Lord Ilvriss and Nerul Gemscale were running to the left, and Marvus Lischelle was swearing a storm on the right. For a moment, they caught each other’s eyes.

Ilvriss, Nerul, Xitegen, Marvus—all of them approaching that next step or who had begun the climb. Nerul and Xitegen locked eyes and felt it.

It was calling to them. Something beyond anything they knew. Their next level.

It was she who led them forwards, that glorious heroine of House Terland he had always remembered. Ulva Terland pointed.

“Five Families, follow! Forwards, you Golems of flesh and bone! [Awaken, Hearts of Izril].”

His heart—! Xitegen felt himself speeding up as it thundered, louder and more furiously than he had ever known. He was running, sending arrows flying left and right—and he saw green flames bursting along Salazsar’s lines.

The Order of Solstice. Salazsar was counter-charging. But Ulva—

The giant light-soldiers were forming. Trying to halt the advance. It was stalling. Timekeeper slammed into a giant Drake and was fighting, punching. The other Terland Golems grappled with their foe.

“The Doom of Naamreles will end.”

“To the Matriarch.”

“Bear witness.”

Voices without inflection that still conveyed something. A Steel Wargolem bringing down a bladed elbow into a light-soldier’s head. A Golem shaped like a Gnoll stumbling as a warhammer was brought down on its shoulder.

A desperate [Rancher] lassoing one of the light-soldiers, pulling it back to keep it from mincing one of the Erchirite Spears. Xitegen kept running, seeing it all. And then he saw Ulva Terland’s dais go crashing down.

“Great Aunt—”

A light-soldier had knocked it down. Xitegen was charging at it as Ulva arose, blood running down from her forehead. She pointed the conductor’s wand up, fearlessly, waving it like she were still hearing a song.

“[To Me, Servants of My Proud House].”

She spoke, and the light-soldier thrust down at her. But it hit Lord Xitegen, and he landed on the ground as the spear overloaded his protection charms. Seared his flesh and bones.

I’ll live.

He was trying to get up, to grab Ulva Terland, when he wondered where those helpful Golems were. He didn’t see a lovely reinforcement. The giant light-soldier was glancing around for some, too. It turned—and looked up.

And up.

And up—until the largest Golem in all of Izril, the Light of the North, struck the ground with a fist. The earth quaked. Then it paused.

“LA-DY TER-LAND. ARE Y-OU WE-LL—”

It spoke, and Ulva Terland shouted.

“Light of the North, destroy every light-soldier!”

The Golem paused as light-soldiers milled around it, attacking its gigantic frame. It ignored them and regarded a Purifier, which stared up at the Golem. The great Golem opened its mouth, and Xitegen jerked his head away.

The beam of light blew a hole through the Purifier and two more. Then the Light of the North rose and was sweeping its arms around. Smashing Drakes flat.

“Keep moving! Out the other side!”

Ulva Terland’s words made the [Ranchers], Drakes, and even lesser Golems and men and women remember they were in the middle of battle. She rose and sat on the only vehicle she had left: Timekeeper’s shoulders. She pointed, and Xitegen began running again. Until they breached the other side.

Even then, the fighting didn’t end. But the light-soldiers were dwindling. Xitegen kept running until the last glowing form had vanished, and the Purifiers began flickering out as the Light of the North walked towards them.

It was not over, of course. But he did stop and drink some water Seconda handed him. Then…he saw the [Princess] running to hug Ilvriss and wondered who that Duke was, the one from Ailendamus.

He’d sworn he’d seen the fellow punching out an entire company of Drakes bare-handed. But the Lord of House Terland just decided to ask questions later. He did the only thing one did.

He made sure the wounded, Golems and people, were being seen to. Walked over to greet Elia Arcsinger. Made sure Farmer Himilt’s wife was well as she and her sister embraced and went about the difficult task of tending to the wounded and dead.

Then he went to check on his aunt.

——

That night, the television networks picked up on a story they weren’t really sure how to relate.

Er…armies of light-constructs attack in the Cowpat Plains! Which is really the name of the place! A Walled City dug up beneath our very feet, but halted, if temporarily, by an alliance of Salazsar, House Terland, [Ranchers], and—is someone smoking Dreamleaf?

It was already a crazy story, but one you could get behind—if you’d seen it. And surely someone had recorded it, but the copies were strangely hard to get ahold of.

None were coming from Salazsar despite eyewitnesses swearing up and down that they’d seen them. When someone had offered to sell Pallass News Network a copy, the bill had come to Sir Relz’s desk.

70,000 gold pieces to the care of House Reinhart. For half the recording.

He…was almost tempted to pay for it after having to sit in front of a camera and try to get answers. No one in the region was answering, and it wasn’t like the place was replete with Mage’s Guilds!

And someone was blocking scrying spells to the entire region. Which was fine. Just send a [Mage] from Pallass to the spot, right?

…Only the [Doorgnoll] claimed there wasn’t an exit point there. The [Mages] insisted she was lying, but she refused to open the door, and Sir Relz just gave up and hired a Magical Carriage instead.

When he finally got a [Mage] over there, the carriage never got to the site of the fighting. Instead, it was stopped by a [Lady] and a patrol of Golems.

The [Lady] had a glowing Golem’s Heart, and she introduced herself as Prithna Terland and informed Wistram News Network that the area was off-limits.

“By the authority of House Terland, this region has been sealed off.”

“But we’re the news—”

A Golem swung down a giant sword, and the news team backed up. The young woman smiled sweetly at them. Her heart…pulsed, and Sir Relz saw her gaze into the scrying orb.

“Please speak to Lady Ulva Terland or a representative of House Terland.”

“Miss, that is to say, Lady Prithna, we are Wistram News Network and representatives of Pallass.”

Her face never changed.

“And we are House Terland. Cross this line and you will be neutralized. By Golems.”

So that meant Sir Relz had to interview eyewitnesses raving about Drakes made of light appearing everywhere. A very entertaining Mayor Bootsy gave the best account, but when she said she was going back, she undercut the danger.

“Wait, back?”

“‘Sright, fancy newsman. It’s my home. Plus, I reckon there’s more call for us. Them Terlands are settlin’ down, and the damn Salazsarians are digging. Reckon we’ll bill ‘em for trauma and insist on walls, but I smell a fortune. And if there’s new boots down there, Mayor Bootsy will be wearing them!”

“Down where?”

She developed a twinkle-eyed smile and spat through a gap in her teeth.

“Can’t say.”

——

No one wanted to say. Even the miners who’d fled just got shifty-eyed and said ‘terrible thing, nearly died, but I guess I’ll be back to work. For the, uh, incentives.’

Naturally, everyone smelled a rat. But when the other Five Families politely inquired about the situation—did House Terland need help? Happy to send a few Named-ranks or a regiment, what’s with our lighthouse walking off—they ran into Ulva Terland.

Ulva Terland ignored everyone except for Deilan El and Magnolia Reinhart. She gave those two some time as they were heads of their families, but steadfastly refused to let anyone approach, even nobles.

The few who tried were sent back with a salve for the bumps on their heads. And spanked backsides. When an outraged conclave of Wellfar’s Admiralty demanded answers, her rejoinder was simple.

“If we need help, I’ll ask for it. We have it under control. I didn’t see you lot down there.”

“Down where? Lady Ulva, what is going on?”

And have you dug up a Walled City? The Wellfars were all glancing at each other. But the ones old enough to know Ulva Terland, the Ulva Terland of old, had a sinking feeling in their stomach. Ulva just grunted.

“I’m sure someone will have explanations at some point. I have to go.”

Golems were striding around behind her, their hearts beating. That told the Wellfars something. When one caught sight of Wall Lord Ilvriss running across the plains and hugging a little white Gnoll and swinging her around, then hugging a [Princess] and an Antinium—well, they did check their drinks for Dreamleaf too.

One of the oldest of Wellfar’s [Lords] raised a hand. Captain Adamaze looked Ulva in the eyes.

“Ulva. Tell me one thing. Was what we heard the Golems saying real? If it is a Walled City—really?”

His voice cracked with disbelief. The Admiralty leaned forwards, and Ulva Terland considered the question. Then she leaned forwards too, and her face of stone seemed to come alive.

“It was as real as the Winter Solstice.”

She cut the call on that. Belatedly, House Wellfar realized it might be further out of the loop than it wanted to be.

——

The deal was simple. Not that there was a written deal; Nerul was working on it, but it’d be the work of months, if not longer.

But Ilvriss had hopes. Now they’d found the City of Purity. All they had to do was, uh, re-dig it out.

They’d buried it pretty damn well with the Advance Miners’ help, but the [Miners] speculated that it was only a matter of time before the constructs got out, with that many of them. Even if they didn’t know how to dig for shit.

By the time they emerged, Salazsar would have real Gem Regiments ready for combat and specialized weaponry. Ilvriss was calling in everything he could, and the Sons and Daughters of the Wall had unanimously voted to send him reinforcements.

Even if they were hopping mad about the other unofficial part of the deal. Which was that whatever House Terland, the [Ranchers], or any of the interested parties found, they kept.

Oh, there might be a division of spoils, shares of the items, but more than one [Soldier] was swinging around a looted blade this night—as Enchanter Hedault politely screamed at them not to do that before he’d appraised them.

Keep what you take. Ilvriss had told them it was the only thing that kept Ulva Terland from killing them all.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t try something, but the [Matriarch] seemed willing to admit that the City of Purity might be too hard for House Terland to take on alone. So, she, Marvus, and Ilvriss were going to sit down and come up with a plan of action.

For conquering the City of Purity.

No adventurers—unless they were hired. No games or infighting. They went in, they grabbed treasure, they walked out.

It’d probably go bad, but Ilvriss had seen the City of Purity. He sat, sipping a juice drink.

“It’s very…shiny.”

Lyonette just stared at him. Ilvriss ignored her poking him until it hurt too much.

“Ow, ow, stop that! Oh, fine. It’s all reflective surfaces or so it seems. Nothing to, ah, prove purity than seeing one’s reflection in the mirror. It’s actually so damn dazzling that the look we got at it was blinding—but Osthia got inside a building. She says the windows are tinted so you don’t get blinded inside. Predictably, she and her squad looted the place. Even their cups are enchanted.”

Everyone was hanging on his words. Ilvriss saw Georgie bragging about being the [Advance Miner] to all the other miners, who were giving him the time of day despite his personality. Lady Damia was still being tossed up and down by people cheering her—he winced as she finally threw up.

And he laughed. He laughed and sat there, feeling relieved, feeling a great battle ahead of him and risk—dead gods, the risk!—but relieved.

The city was real. Even if it hadn’t been—he glanced at his boots, and they twitched a bit. Lyonette noticed.

“I suppose you’ll have less time, what with all the action here.”

She sighed wistfully, and Ilvriss coughed.

“Actually. It might be pretty slow. We’re not going to risk a breach like that again. There might be a lot of periods of entire boredom. Followed by heart-stopping terror.”

“Oh? How so? Now that you know it’s there…”

She raised her brows, and he clarified.

“Now that we know it’s there, it’ll send waves of soldiers at us nonstop—if we go in the way the security systems remember. But if we find other points and send in Stealth Golems or [Rogues]…we have even more digging to do. It looked like a lot of the city had collapsed, and there’s all those damn filth-monsters. They’ll keep turning into trouble, so we do have to actually deal with the waste at some point.”

It turned out that after all that digging, they needed to do more digging! He sighed. At least they had a framework, and Lady Ulva Terland had Golems. Dead gods, Ilvriss loved Golems.

He was still eyeing Yweine. She had introduced herself, and he’d barely screamed at Nerul about the crazy deal, but Ilvriss had it on his calendar to do sometime this week. For now, he just sat back and laughed.

“Okay, okay. Let’s not talk about all that right now. Who wants a souvenir?”

Nanette Weishart was beaming as Mrsha pinched her nose; the place stank even worse now that the true origin of the smell that had plagued her had come up. Lyonette sighed.

“Ilvriss, come on. I have a hundred thousand questions, and I know you must be exhausted—but your Oldblood form? How does it feel to have wings? And—wait, souvenirs?”

Ilvriss modestly put one hand behind his back and felt at his bag of holding.

“I can see you’re not interested, Lyonette. But as Osthia’s people reminded me, whenever you visit a new city, you take souvenirs. I suppose I’ll let Nanette have the first pick.”

“Wall Lord, thank you so m—”

Nanette put her hands out, and Mrsha and Lyonette shoved her aside. They began to fight as Ilvriss peered around for Hedault. He waved at Bird, who was smiling as she waved back. The inn, triumph, and dead gods, no one he loved had died.

Except Merls. Ilvriss’ head bowed, but then he smiled and put the grief aside. He stood—and wondered, selfishly, what he’d get when he levelled.

He was a Drake, despite everything.

——

People were signing up for Wall Lord Ilvriss’ company, banging on the doors, asking if they could join up.

He was the talk of Salazsar. A hero who had challenged Sserys’ cursed words. Who’d fought his way through the enemy.

A Wall Lord, the very image of one.

And he had even grown wings. Become an Oldblood. There was a certain kind of traditionalist Drake who read a lot into that.

Wall Lord Zail might have been considered one of those Drakes, but he’d never really cared about Oldblood. The rest? Yes.

He was trembling in his rooms. He’d left Eschowar to scheme with the others. For once, he’d not been in the mood.

Everyone put it down to him being overwrought with relief that his son was alive after all that. And Zail was glad.

However…

His shaking wasn’t from that. It was from nerves. He’d watched the recording of the scrying spells—Salazsar was intercepting the others, and they’d leak eventually, but to his knowledge, this was the only recording of this particular incident and scene.

It wasn’t hard to see why; this scrying spell had been just before Ulva Terland had blocked all scrying spells, and most people had stopped watching after the battle was well and truly over. Zail, who had wanted to see all angles, had kept watching the footage until this had crossed his path.

Nearly three hours after all the fighting had ended, when the real Ilvriss had emerged and the [Princess] had run over to him with the white Gnoll girl, he’d been hugging people, trying to talk to Major Shellc, nothing to really see.

The Wall Lord was grinning, and it was really him; Zail had wondered if the fake Ilvriss was his son, but his son wasn’t good at fistfighting, let alone throws, and he would never have gone into a battle without his sword.

It was just one moment that not even the [Strategists] had paid attention to, yawning as they let Zail inspect the recording. They hadn’t seen him appropriate the memory crystal. So…it might be only he’d seen this.

Zail paused the recording again in his private scrying orb, which he’d been assured by the [Wardmistress] that no one could tap into. He saw the scene play out, rewound it, stopped it.

“There.”

It might be that this was the fake Ilvriss. Somehow. Or—no, he doubted it was faked, but maybe? Would someone have been that subtle? Ulva Terland? It wasn’t beyond her, but surely she’d have made it more obvious. The answer was more likely that it was real. But then…

Wall Lord Zail stared at the frozen image of Ilvriss, who had turned and was hugging an emerald Antinium with wings, beaming with delight.

Bird the Huntress. He was embracing her—just for a moment—before he went to high-five the others. An unguarded moment of…

An Antinium.

Zail vividly recalled Ilvriss being in his study, talking to him the day after Bird the Hunter had appeared on Pallass’ walls. They’d talked. About Bird and the Antinium, and that had led to…

Everything.

Zail rewound the clip. Played it. Stopped it. Went frame-by-frame until he’d burned it into his memory. Then, silently, he got up.

With his reclaimed strength of youth, he crushed the crystal and swept it into the fireplace and mixed it with ash. Then he went to sit.

Sit and think.

——

There was a party afterwards. Another damn party.

You had to have them. Victory celebrations, even if, as she kept pointing out, the threat of Naamreles wasn’t done.

Not by far. Even now, the damned light-sentinels were digging upwards. But they’d bought time before round two, and so, Ulva Terland allowed it.

She just didn’t partake of the wild, drunken celebrating. At least the Wall Lord was sober, but her heir apparent, Xitegen, was far too ready to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Marvus and toast.

Male camaraderie. It had been like this after they’d gone to save the Drakes from the Antinium. At first, it was all formality. Then you had Linter Veltras singing songs with Sserys.

“Ridiculous.”

But then, two decades ago you might have had Ulva Terland right with them. She forgot. You just got old and upsettingly crotchety, and she knew she had aged. Losing your twin sister did that.

Let Damia Reinhart be the one singing with beer mug in hand. The other one—Lady Desinee El? Well, a mother was allowed to be young, and she had done what was needed. There was even a damn giant bull drinking beer out of a trough.

That was normal. You saw strange things after battles. All that excitement and energy had to go somewhere. Ulva recalled one time she’d seen Sserys riding back from a fight, then jumping off his saddle and kissing the nearest three soldiers in a row. A Lady of House Wellfar, a Gnoll Chieftain, Zel Shivertail.

…There was a reason she was thinking of the past. And why Lady Ulva was walking around the party, despite being tired and wishing only for her bed. Her back hurt. Her damn dais was broken, and they’d lost a lot of Golems, despite Xitegen’s Skill. She had a headache from all the organizing she had to do.

“Nevertheless, I will not be kept from my conversation any longer. You. Halt.”

One of the countless soldiers milling about the party stopped on their way to the latrines. They were drunk and, when they turned, clearly one of the Silverfangs.

“Er, Lady?”

The Gnoll man squinted at Ulva unsteadily; he was wavering on his feet. Ulva spoke.

“You will answer my questions.”

“I, uh—yes, Miss? Are you sure you don’t have the wrong—”

“Timekeeper, if the shapechanger lies again, hit her.”

“Yes, La-dy Terland.”

The Golem loomed out of the darkness, and the Gnoll jumped, turned—then gave up midway and sighed.

“Damn auras. I thought I had done it convincingly too.”

Xesci turned her head, and in the darkness, her body shifted. Then she was the plain Drake once more. Lady Ulva felt her stomach flip-flopping.

“Golems cannot be fooled so easily.”

“Mm. Well, I suppose I’m just sloppy. And drunk. Hello, Lady Ulva. You know, if you kill me, this entire alliance might fall apart?”

The [Courtesan of Change] bowed to Ulva. She was watching the [Lady] carefully. Ulva just folded her arms.

“Timekeeper, privacy. You. How do you know Petria’s face so well? You could copy her look. But never her mannerisms. Not without more.”

She was angry again. Angier than she had been at the Wall Lord, the [Princess], or anyone else. Ulva had come south to judge and played her role, but this woman…

Xesci tilted her head left and right.

“I can copy anyone I wish to, once I know them well. Even if I haven’t been intimate with them, Lady Ulva. I thought I did Ilvriss well enough.”

“You can breathe Dragonbreath if you change shapes?”

That had seemed incredible to Ulva, but Xesci just nodded.

“[Shapechange: Magical Form]. It’s not as good as having Skills, of course. And flying is so difficult if I haven’t done it in a while. I do apologize, of course, but you were trying to kill Ilvriss.”

Ulva Terland drew closer, and this woman had no scent. No real aura. Nothing. She was truly a mirror of all she chose to be. That was not what unnerved Ulva; she had met Golems capable of much the same. What had her heart beating with actual trepidation was…

“Do not lie to me by omission. If you knew Petria, it cannot have been long. There is only one way for someone with your class to steal a face. Answer me—how did you know her?”

Xesci regarded Ulva in the darkness, absolutely unreadable. Then she spoke.

“You do not appear to be trying to murder me to preserve her reputation. Or as upset as I feared you might be.”

“Do you think I’m some child who hasn’t seen the world?”

“No. But the older you get, the more inflexible your position. Dying truly has helped you.”

Ulva didn’t dignify that with a comment. But Xesci was a dangerous woman to be alone with.

“You were far more rigid in your way—if simply happier, I think—thirteen years ago. I did meet with you six times. Each one a different face. Do you recall a Lady Kinbe Wellfar? Silver-rank Adventurer Melts?”

Ulva stared. Then recoiled.

“I never found her. The adventurer made sense because there are so many, but no Wellfar ever—”

Xesci nodded and smiled ruefully.

“That was me going too far. I was younger. And Petria thought it a grand game. Six times, six different identities. That was all.”

“So—my sister hired your services six times?”

Ulva had known the moment she spoke to Petria’s ghost and woke and thought of what it had meant. But it still felt like a shock. Xesci nodded calmly.

“She found me. I was quite flattered to have the attention of one of the leaders of the Five Families. It got to my head. But yes. She hired my services when I was in First Landing.”

This woman had gone the length and breadth of Izril. Ulva licked her lips and felt nervous again.

“In which…form? No, I already know. She—was a sapphist, then?”

She had no other word besides that or ‘Turnscale’, but it didn’t fit. Xesci didn’t reply.

“I asked you—”

“I don’t give away my clients’ preferences, Lady Ulva. I would normally not even acknowledge the fact, but you two were twin sisters, she is dead, and I think there are extenuating circumstances.”

“I met her ghost. Answer me.”

This time, Xesci did blink.

“Fascinating. You know, I still had my doubts about that particular story Ilvriss told me. But…interesting. It’s all too much of a story for my tastes. Buried Walled Cities, ghosts. What is this, a tale with the Lightning Thief?”

She was one to talk. Ulva hissed at her.

“Just answer me! Petria never told me.”

“No. She was afraid of how you’d react. You two were the Twin Virtues. And you were, oh, a bit more of the traditionalist one. She worried you two would rift and never come back together.”

“She never said that to me!”

Ulva was stung. Ten years younger—and Xesci just smiled.

“It’s easier to tell a stranger than family. And we were intimate. No, I won’t betray her trust. Does it matter?”

“It matters to me. We knew everything about each other!”

The thought that she hadn’t known Petria fully hurt. That her sister had kept…Xesci spoke in the same way she’d cut Ulva before.

“She was finding out who she was. No—she already knew. But she’d been holding it off, fighting desperately to deny it. It was bursting out of her. I was just one of the final dams. I think, if she had lived, she would have begun exploring more.”

She had been taking more time to herself. And when she was so riotous to fight the Goblin King, they’d quarrelled. Growing apart. But Ulva just hissed.

“Did she think that would make us not sisters any longer? Did she think that little of me?”

Now she was furious until Xesci bent down, and her face became Petria’s again. Ulva’s heart jumped, but it beat on. Xesci showed her an uncertain look, Petria biting her lower lip with her teeth—then passed a hand over her face. Like magic trick, it became the Drake’s blanker face again.

“No. She was afraid of your reaction to her being a Turnscale…but also what it might do to you, Ulva. Because you were twins.”

And what one twin was, surely, the other was as well. That struck Ulva. It might have struck the younger Ulva far harder. But Petria was dead, so Ulva just clung to the knowledge. Hungrily. Bitterly.

“I wondered why she never searched for love. I thought we needed none for our own bonds or she just never found anyone worthy—let alone two, because one of us being wed would be so hard.”

“Well. Now you know. Does it change anything?”

Xesci stepped back, and Ulva stood there. She closed her eyes, then turned.

“Yes and no. Go about your night, Xesci the Changer. I will not have you hurt or killed, despite what you did. But I will summon you again to tell me more of the Petria I did not know. My word on a Golem’s heart on it.”

She was walking off, tired. To go and think and remember the Petria she knew and, if she was lucky, dream of a world that no longer was. Xesci watched her go. Then called out.

“Wait a moment.”

Ulva turned, and Xesci approached. She handed Ulva something.

“My card. My current establishment is destroyed or filled with muck, but this is a personal contact card. My rates are on the back, and if you’d like t—”

Ulva tossed the card in Xesci’s face. The [Courtesan] picked it up and handed it to Timekeeper. The Matriarch stomped off before she told the Golem to rub Xesci’s face in a cowpat pile.

Damn Drakes.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss had done something amazing out in the Cowpat Plains, which people were all saying needed a rename to make it sound more impressive.

Naamreles’ Folly, perhaps. Or the Cattle Plains? It was a work in progress. But the truth was that something important had gone down, and no one actually knew what it was.

Normally, you just talked about it and then forgot, but the news was captivating multiple cities far from there. After all…there was a magic door close by.

So from Invrisil to Celum, people considered how this might change their lives immediately, and they were excited, asking where that [Recruiter] was—they could do some digging.

As a smug Lady Damia would have told her family and any citizen—you had to be there to be truly part of it. You could still get a piece of the pie, but if you’d been there when you were needed, then you were truly at the heart of a great event.

Not that Lady Damia was in any condition to do anything at the moment. She was so badly hungover that she wasn’t sure she was alive. Soon, she’d be upright and freaking out about her new levels and making plans and getting up to her wacky hijinks.

But at least for now, the many people deserving of levels were slumbering their great efforts off, and their worth was being calculated, calculated…

However, the voice that spoke as two people woke delivered news to them before anyone else.

[Reformist Politician Level 30!]

[Class Consolidation: Reformist Politician → Politician of Liscor, the Flooded City!]

[Class Consolidation: Avaricious Shopkeeper Removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Handyman Removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Overly Proud Parent Removed.]

[Politician of Liscor, the Flooded City Level 30!]

[Rank 1: Son of Liscor Obtained!]

[Rank Reward: Signet Ring of Liscor Granted!]

<(City of Liscor) ranks system enabled. Criteria unassigned, ranks unassigned.>

Whereupon followed a bunch of Skills, but he exploded out of his bed. You see, he knew.

“It can’t be.”

Lism rushed to get his clothes on and stumbled out of his front door. It was before dawn, and he knew they were counting the votes. Everyone had tried to stay up, but the truth was that because there were so many new citizens, people had been having trouble counting, and everyone had put up a huge fuss over who got to count what—

In the end, they’d had to have [Mages] casting [Detect Truth] and had to bring in Pallassian and Invrisil mediators. So the count had gone into the night, and everyone had to sleep on it.

And…what was that last part before the Skills? Lism hunted around and found a little ring that had fallen onto the ground when he’d leapt out of bed. He picked it up with trembling claws and saw it had the emblem of his home embossed on it.

He didn’t crow or scream, he just sat there before the city woke up. The rains were stopping. They’d had the impromptu elections just on time. But he was thinking.

“It said something about the rest being ‘unassigned’. Son of Liscor. I wonder, do we have to figure out what that means? What kind of rewards you’d get?”

He stared around Liscor and wondered how big it was, now. Invrisil was surely bigger, and Pallass incomparable. But how many Drakes cities were as big as his?

How big can we get this year? We have so many pressures on us. The other Walled Cities. 

Who else won?

Suddenly, he had to know that because his ebullience faded. If they didn’t have the seats? If some idiots decided to pull back on all this was, wanted to be closeminded, ham-fisted, grab the money from the top instead of spreading it around?

He was afraid, then. Afraid because he saw himself in that mirror, and he’d nearly been ready to fight over making the city better his way then…

This time, it’d be better. Lism charged out the doors and heard the news spreading. Someone was running down the streets, shouting. But he was faster.

The ring. Lism felt the rains pelting at him, lighter, but they slid off his scales. He was as sure-footed in the street as could be, despite the wet cobblestones. Half his neighbors were slipping as they yelled questions at him, but he was running towards City Hall, screaming something over his shoulder.

They were already assembling there, the winners. The losers might still be asleep, but that was the thing.

The voice knew. The adjudicator of levels had told the winners. Lism came to a halt, panting. Counting.

“Is anyone…is…”

He saw enemies, at first. No less than three of them, all standing together, and his heart sank. With our new council of thirteen that’s not a problem if we all won our races, but if more won…

Then he heard a voice and turned. His heart lifted.

“Alonna? Elirr?”

Two of the Councilmembers he’d grown to respect were coming down the street. Elirr was yawning, but nodding at Lism.

“We made it, yes?”

“Ah, I see not every election went as well as we could hope. Councilmembers.”

Nertoyll, the current head of Liscor’s Merchant’s Guild, sneered at the old Council. He couldn’t hide a flicker of dismay.

Alonna and Elirr had been endlessly popular in their races. Of course, the original Council had won, the ones doing their jobs. Lism strode towards them and saw a familiar, tall Gnoll coming from the northeastern streets. He called out.

“Raekea! You made…it…”

It was only because she was wearing a poncho from the rain and he hadn’t seen her in the crowd that he made the mistake, even for a second. Lism stopped.

That wasn’t Raekea. His heart sank into his boots until he saw the figure walking towards him throw back her hood. Then he breathed again.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark?”

The Gnoll woman strode into place with Alonna and Elirr and turned to Lism.

“I apologize, yes, Lism, Alonna, Elirr. It was me or Raekea, and we agreed there would be no hard feelings afterwards. She had mostly dropped out of her race and told her followers to vote for me.”

“Wh—but how?”

Lism was confused until he remembered the redrawn districts. They’d changed to make sure each district was equally weighted in terms of population. Beilmark had lived next to Raekea’s district. The new district had pit the two Gnolls against each other. He remembered Beilmark running but he’d put it out of his mind because either way—but he’d thought Raekea…

“What about her class? She knew how to work with us?”

We don’t know you. He tried not to be reproachful. It was Beilmark who stood straighter and spoke, a hint reprovingly.

“I ran for Jeiss. We have to have one member of the Watch on the Council. Raekea and I talked it out. She has good prospects with Pelt’s blacksmithing. She had to choose between her classes. [Councilwoman] or [Armorer]. She told me to give my best shot, and if I hated it, she’d run in the next election.”

Lism remembered how the last Council election had seen some underhandedness that meant Jeiss had won when it could have been Beilmark. At the time, the two Senior Guard partners had suffered a rift because of it.

Now? Beilmark was here. There was some poetry to it. Lism swallowed any comments he might have had and held out a claw.

“Of course, Councilwoman. Forgive me. I’m delighted to have you with us.”

She smiled at him and took his claw. No hard feelings, he hoped. He’d make it up to her, and when Alonna and Elirr greeted Beilmark, it was with a hug from both. The traditionalists had to nod at Beilmark grudgingly. Everyone knew the Senior Guardswoman, but when she stood with Lism, Alonna, and Elirr, Beilmark made it clear whose side she was on.

That made the numbers three and four, but there were thirteen seats up for grabs. Lism turned, worried.

“Where’s Krshia?”

She had to be running all the way from her home on the east side, of course. Alonna was eying the new Council, and another person stepped onto their side. A Gnoll.

Four and four. Equal numbers between Lism’s side and theirs. Then another—Lism’s heart sank.

Five and four. Not that all of them were united, but he knew four were old Council, old-Liscor traditionalists. Then came an independent candidate, the first to not belong to either side.

Guildmaster Okr. Head of the Mason’s Guild—the Gnoll who’d been building great parts of the city. He’d swept his race, then. He hadn’t tied himself to Lism’s Council, but he was a Gnoll.

Then again, there was at least one Gnoll among the ‘traditionalists’. Traitor. But Okr might…Lism’s head was buzzing. He just turned his head as Beilmark and Elirr congratulated Okr. Krshia. So long as they had her…

Another Human walked forwards. A man that Lism knew, but he’d been so caught up in his own fight that he’d forgotten—

Timbor Parithad, the owner of the Drunken Gnoll, had food in a basket, and he shared it around, smiling. He shook everyone’s hand, and Lism thought—The Wandering Inn. An ally?

He couldn’t read Timbor, but maybe—

It was five, two, and four, now. The traditionalists weren’t as happy as they were pretending to be. But if they got the others, then Lism’s progressive Council would be stalemated.

But the last two candidates…a Drake walked down the street as Lism stood on his tiptoes.

“I’ll go see Krshia. They might be not letting her get to us.”

“Lism—”

He could just imagine the Gnolls throwing a party in the streets. Howling. But Alonna just pointed, and he turned.

‘Mama’ Vala, the Drake who’d challenged Krshia for her district, stepped into line with the traditionalists. She was smiling so broadly he didn’t get it.

Why was she here? Krshia—Krshia was definitely coming. It was all a mistake.

“I’m the one who got her into this mess. She’s the Gnoll who fought at the Meeting of Tribes. The one who took Silverfangs here in the first place. If anyone should have won—”

Elirr was staring past Lism, and Beilmark was glaring at the old traditionalists celebrating loudly. Timbor simply stood there, munching on a breakfast sandwich. Then the final Councilmember of new Liscor arrived.

He parted the crowd gathering for the council gently. And the rain falling on them stopped. It ceased on the street he walked, across the city. He leaned on the staff he carried, and he did not smile. Not fully. It seemed as though a familiar and great weight was placed upon his shoulders, but one he had wanted.

Lord Mireden Raithland made the traditionalists stop celebrating. They stared up at him, and he raised one hand.

“Greetings, all. I apologize for my late arrival. I went to speak to the former Councilmember, Krshia Silverfang. I regret she is not part of this Council. But I have every faith that she will rise higher without us to hold her back.”

His voice was loud, carrying, and Lism just stared at him. It wasn’t fair. He felt that. It wasn’t fair. He’d gotten away with it, won by bluster and talk, and the woman who really belonged here…

Mireden’s eyes met his, and he nodded, calm. As if to say this is how it is. Then he focused on the current Council.

“I—good morning. Well then, shall we get started? Much to do, and I think we have plenty to discuss.”

Nertoyll was counting the Council seats. He clearly put Mireden with the independents and seemed to think he had a chance. Certainly, this Council was no longer an easy majority. Lism just trailed into the building, for once without words. He almost turned back.

“Get started without me. I’ll—I need to talk to her.”

Beilmark caught his arm.

“Give her a moment, Lism.”

“But I have to apologize.”

He pulled, and she hesitated, but before Lism could turn away—he felt so empty. Like this victory had all turned to ash. He’d trade his new class, the ring, to rewind time to a week ago. But then…

“Ah, Councilmembers. Good morning to you. I apologize, but we did not know when you would be up.”

Lism…paused. Someone was in the City Hall. Well, of course. The staff worked when the bigwigs slept. But someone other than the staff was here. Waiting before the stairs leading up to the council room.

“Who—what are th—what is the meaning of this?”

The traditionalists had come to a stop. The new Councilmembers had halted too, with mixes of alarm, curiosity, and, in Timbor’s case, sudden interest. It was only Lord Mireden who smiled.

Lism turned and blinked. For there, standing in front of him, were a pair of…

“Garry? Silveran?”

The two Antinium nodded at him, and it was Silveran, or rather, Silverstache who spoke.

“I reckon it’s mighty impolite to be here, but I thought it’d be good t’have some words. If we might address the Council?”

“This is all highly irregular. It’s our first day, and we will hear all citizens, of course, but—”

Councilmember Vala was standing behind the others, visibly distressed at the sight of Antinium. Especially these two.

Garry was brolic, but even Silverstache appeared…different. He’d levelled up in confidence, in authority, and indeed, even his accent. They no longer looked like ordinary Antinium, and Silverstache took off a hat.

“Pardon me, ma’am—and excuse my injuries. Terrible accident of racism on the streets. ‘Spart of why we wanted to talk to you, you see.”

His head was all bandaged up. The Council all stared, and Lism began to feel something. Just like last time—he cast around for Krshia. But then Garry spoke.

“At your earliest convenience will do, Councilmembers. It is a matter of importance, however, and I regret I cannot open my bakery until we meet, so the sooner the better.”

“The same for Silveran’s Cleaners.”

The two highly important, highly popular Antinium-led businesses…Lism stepped forwards.

“Naturally, the Council will hear you.”

“You’re not in charge, Lism!”

Nertoyll blazed at Lism instantly, but Lism just held up his claws.

“Oh, we’ll have to vote on that, of course, but we couldn’t hold up both businesses, surely? On what grounds are you asking for an audience, Cleaner Silverstache? Baker Garry? As individuals—there are plenty of petitions.”

All by the books. But Baker Garry just smiled in a way the Walled Cities had learned to fear.

“Ah, I see the misapprehension. We are not here as individuals, Councilmembers. Rather, Silveran and I are petitioning the Council as two members of our Guilds. Silveran is, of course, the Guildmaster of the Cleaner’s Guild.”

A pause. And Lism’s heart leapt. One of the traditionalists spoke slowly.

“We don’t…have a Cleaner’s Guild.”

“You did not. But the paperwork was filled in, and enough representatives filed paperwork. You must have not paid attention. I myself, of course, am now Guildmaster of the Baker’s Guild. I won the election last night.”

Baker Garry cheerfully tipped his hat at them. Silverstache went on.

“That’s right. So we’re here on behalf of some other Guilds. Driver’s Guild. Butcher’s Guild—you can ask them, but we’re friendly with several. We’d like to talk about any laws you were all thinkin’ of passing. Just to put in our voices.”

“And if we chose to pass laws that go against your very respectful voices?”

That came from Lord Mireden, who leaned on his staff, smiling into his beard. Garry scratched his head.

“I am sure this Council will do as it must. We simply represent a good number of workers who will have to decide what we will do in response to any laws the Council passes. You are our elected representatives. And we are those who bake, clean, or perform other services for the city. Thank you for hearing us out. I have some breakfast scones and coffee if you would like to partake.”

The Council peered at each other, and the Antinium gestured to the stairs. And Lism felt it. He began to walk upstairs after Timbor as the man moved first. Mireden was next.

“I believe we should table discussion of any citywide ordinances until after we hear our unions—I mean, Guilds—out. I would also like to request a meeting to discuss a system of ranks.”

Lism’s head swung around, and Lord Mireden smiled at the suspicious looks the other Councilmembers gave him. His eye found Lism, Beilmark, and a few others like Okr and even Timbor, who twitched, and he murmured into his beard.

“…With appropriate parties.”

“You know what that was?”

“Indeed, I do. We are premature in this lifetime, but call it a gift from my home. I’m glad; I have earned it. We have.”

So saying, Mireden strode up the steps, and Lism was presented with another mystery he tied to The Wandering Inn, and he recalled those words. What might they do? Did they have to give rewards? Could they? Or would they just decide and let the voice of levels itself…?

Wondrous. Momentous. He saw that chance again, that opportunity waiting for him like the most lucrative of sales, as the Council headed upwards. But Lism kept glancing over his shoulder.

Krshia…

So his city changed. For the better, but today? Lism knew one thing he regretted losing.

——

Krshia Silverfang sat on her bed as word spread. The new Council was in. Things would be different. But for a moment, she wiped at her face.

Her fur was wet. She cried for a bit, because it hurt.

Her class was gone. Changed back to [Royal Shopkeeper]. Her position was gone, too. Everything she’d worked for—

No, not everything.

But it felt like coming back to her burnt-down stall.

“What now? What do I do now?”

She didn’t know. She only knew she was tired and the worst had happened. So she cried until someone knocked at her door. It was one of her neighbors and the Silverfangs. And then Krshia realized someone was calling her, and when she answered the scrying orb, her sister was there. So Krshia smiled, cried, and hugged people.

Tomorrow, she’d search for a vision of the future. Today, she mourned what might have been.

——

It was all going to change. Again.

But this time, actually change. One didn’t dig up a Walled City without consequences. People loved to talk about ‘new eras’. The King of Destruction had been…

No, he had been serious. But it had been stupid to call him a change in the world. His empire had collapsed with his will.

This was the true marker of an era. No one man, but an inevitability. The Gnolls were right, as always.

The new era was coming like a wave, and nothing in this world could stop it. It would sweep across nations and leave the world different forever.

It was a terrible, horrifying thing. But if there were anything that gave Karsaeu-Dequoa hope, it was that. She did not hope after so long. Her chains were part of her being.

But in a new era, the current of change might rip asunder even established powers and grant her, if not freedom, then respite.

That was all. She finished reporting to her master on all she had seen. He was an unhappy man. Mostly because his Assassin’s Guild was being hunted and he’d been bested in some way. She had no love for the Circle of Thorns, or even his competitors. If anything, him suffering hurt her; she had to drive more passengers and his [Assassins] across Izril.

Work harder. At the same time, she didn’t wish for his success.

That was what it was to be a slave. So yes, she acknowledged the changing era, but wished for it, like someone called for the meteor from the heavens. Let it all burn.

She cared little for the Wall Lord’s alliance with House Terland. House Terland held a different kind of slave, and their suffering was as long as Djinnis, if different.

The driver of the Unmarked Coach lit a pipe made of her own essence. In it, she smoked some dirt and grass and cowpat manure since she was too poor to even afford the smallest amount of tobacco. What was foul to other people was just another kind of air to her. Smoke.

It kept people from being too interested in her if she smelled of it, anyways. She gazed at the old city she reckoned she remembered. A tired being who hadn’t really been part of it. Just the driver.

Then her head snapped up. And she turned. A man was walking towards her.

“Hey, you! Woman!”

Lord Gorthes Reinhart was still drunk and flushed on his own heroics. His surviving bodyguards and servants, a mix of bullies and lickspittles, followed him. He was a huge man and jerked a thumb at his chest.

Karsaeu didn’t answer. Lord Gorthes approached.

“Your damn carriage ran mine off the road. No one gets in my way. I am Lord Gorthes Reinhart. I heard you’re some famous [Driver] I don’t know about. Popped up while I was off the road, eh? Well, well, well.”

He sauntered closer with some of his bodyguards. Karsaeu flicked some ash out of her pipe. She ignored him as some Silverfang Gnolls who’d camped close to the coach poked their heads out of their yurts. They looked around, thinking to stop the impending trouble. But Lord Gorthes just strode over.

“Not gonna run? Good. Let’s get this over with.”

He put a hand on her shoulder.

Karsaeu smiled.

——

After a while, one of the Silverfang Gnolls ran to get someone in charge. The rest just watched. So did Lord Gorthes’ staff.

Well, the servants. Not the [Bodyguards]. They’d all tried to swing on Karsaeu or pull her off Lord Gorthes, so they’d been included in her self-defense clauses.

The servants of House Reinhart were used to incredible violence. Even so—one of them was wincing each time there was a thump.

That was Karsaeu slamming Lord Gorthes’ head into the side of her carriage. She eventually seemed to get bored, because she picked him up, threw him twelve feet, and got in her coach and drove off.

She aimed a glob of spit and hit one of the [Bodyguards] in the head. Only when she was a speck in the distance did the servants rush over with a healing scroll.

“Lord Gorthes. Lord Gorthes—”

He required a healing scroll from the Antinium, half of a real healing potion, and five slaps to get him to open his eyes. He wasn’t dead because Karsaeu wasn’t an idiot and she had restrictions on killing nobles. But he woke up and promptly told them to knock him out and get a [Healer].

A very confused Gnoll [Healer] had to rouse himself and treat the [Lord]. ‘Testicular torsion’ was not an ailment the Gnoll had ever had to deal with before.

Only when Gorthes had stopped crying out for death did he lay there on the ground, sweat, dirt, and blood covering his face, and rasped.

“Servant.”

One of them approached, out of range of a punch or kick, though Lord Gorthes didn’t seem capable of much at the moment.

“Sir?”

“Find out…who that was. Got it? Careful. No one speaks of this or I’ll kill them. Pay them Silverfangs off. Then find out if she likes flowers or some shit.”

“…Milord?”

Lord Gorthes stared up at the sky.

“If you can’t kill ‘em, marry ‘em. Now, I’m gonna sleep.”

He passed out, and at least—

Well.

At least he got to level. Almost everyone did.

——

[Class Change: Master Plumber → Master Plumber of Distant Stacks!]

[Master Plumber of Distant Stacks Level 40!]

[Skill – Personal Sewage Network (Residential) Obtained!]

[Skill – Personal Sewage Network: Service Line (Ceramic) Obtained!]

[Skill – Explosive Venting Obtained!]

[Skill – Heavily Reinforced Pipes Obtained!]

[Skill – Impressive Dodge Obtained!]

[Rank 1: Son of Salazsar Obtained!]

[Rank Reward – Medal of Bravery (Salazsar) Granted!]

[Rank 2: Son of Salazsar Obtained!]

[Skill – Free Upgrade (Plumbing) Obtained!]

[Advance Miner Level 39!]

[Skill – Thunderous Impact Obtained!]

[Skill – Take Cover, Idiots Obtained!]

[Skill – Treasuresense Obtained!]

[Rank 1: Son of Salazsar Obtained!]

[Reward – Grade 5 Civilian-Contractor Unlimited Travel Security Pre-Cleared Passport Granted!]

[Fangirl Level 8!]

[Skill – Braggarty: I Was There Obtained!]

[Bound Spell: – Magic Picture (Daily) Obtained!]

[Sharp Dame Level 18!]

[Skill – Lucky Charge Obtained!]

[Skill – Wild Flailing Learned!]

[Skill – Aleieta’s Melded Perspective Obtained!]

[Courtesan of the Reflected Façades Level 51!]

[Skill – Copy Low-Level Skill Obtained!]

[Queen of Intrigue and Contracts Level 46!]

[Skill – Squad: Elite Operative Agents Obtained!]

[Skill – Imperial Aura: True Manipulation Obtained!]

[Class Change: Bereaved Matriarch of House Terland  → Remaining Virtue of Terland’s Hearts!]

[Remaining Virtue of Terland’s Hearts Level 55!]

[Skill – Sing, Hearts of Stone (Petria’s) Obtained!]

[Combined Skill – The Orchestra of Stone’s Voices Re-obtained!]

[Class Change: Chief Diplomat of Bijou Splendor → Expatriate Conciliator on Assignment to Forgotten Peoples]

[Expatriate Conciliator on Assignment to Forgotten Peoples Level 50!]

[Skill Change: Persuasion of the Heart of Opulence → The Man Who Grants Wishes Obtained!]

[Skill – Overrule Authority Obtained!]

[Skill – I Keep My Promises (Nerul Gemscale) Obtained!]

[Skill – Per Procura (Walled Cities) Obtained!]

[Rank 1: Son of Salazs—]

[Rank Up cancelled.]

[Class Change: Golem-Lord of Enduring Dignity → Lord of Thunderous Hearts!]

[Class Consolidation: Runner Class Removed!]

[Lord of Thunderous Hearts Level 50!]

[Skill – Awaken, Hearts of Stone Obtained!]

[Condition – Heart: Heroic Lionheart Obtained!]

[Skill – Unstoppable Run Obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Speed (Golems) Obtained!]

[Skill – Mass Restore Stamina Obtained!]

[Skill Change: Revive Golems (Autonomous) → Revive Golems (Autonomous, Weekly) Obtained!]

[Class Change: Wall Lord of Corporate Opulence → Inheritor of the Lost Walled Cities!]

[Inheritor of the Lost Walled Cities Level 43!]

[Skill – Locate My People’s Legacies Obtained!]

[Legacy: Lay Our Sins and Glories in Open Air Obtained!]

[Legacy Skill – Gift of the Reclaimer (Walled Cities) Obtained!]

[Skill – Sword Art: Diamond Cleaver Obtained!]

[Skill – The Sky is Falling, Advance (Tier 3 Magic) Obtained!]

[Skill – Bond of Species (Humans, Gnolls) Obtained!]

[Rank 6: Wall Lord of the 6th Rank Obtained!]

[Rank Reward: Original Ring of Salazsar (House of Gem’s Scales) Granted!]

——

Consequences. They could be endless, but in the end, a Walled City had been uncovered. When you really thought about it, wasn’t this the best outcome?

Terlands and Salazsar working hand-in-hand. An amazing feat of diplomacy, really. Only the united threat of a certain handsome half-Elf and the Walled City of Purity had allowed them to put aside their stupid differences and come together.

If you really considered it, put your pink matter to the test, then you had to conclude that the outcomes of this particular disaster were, in fact, the work of a genius.

Such a genius that he hadn’t even known what he was doing. And here Tolveilouka had been down on himself.

“I’ve just gotten out of touch, that’s all. But it was clear it was all instinct. You play your enemies against each other once, you can do it in your sleep. It’s like riding a horse or something.”

He patted himself on the back. With someone else’s hand. It was a bit floppy, and when he took a bite, Tolveilouka recoiled.

“Ugh, it’s filled with poison.”

He chewed, then hesitated.

“Now hold on…actually, that’s pretty unique. Let me try another bite. Mm. You know what? I’m sold. Where’s the rest of him? Her?”

He hunted around, but the pile of limbs wasn’t exactly easy to mix and match in the dark. Sighing, Tolveilouka decided to savor what he had.

Small things. He’d been really stressed of late, but he’d done it. Erin would have to get on her hands and knees and admit that this time, her best servant—er, reluctant ally—had come through. He hoped she’d be impressed, not that he needed her approval.

It was just nice to have validation. Tolveilouka nearly told the observers that before he remembered.

“Secrecy. Right.”

He kept eating, tearing pieces of meat off the arm of the dead [Assassin]. He wasn’t sure how many that made.

“Was it three waves or four? I never count how many mooks I have to kill. Mooks. What a word. Someone called me that once. Exceptionally hurtful. But then, he was a Giant. Two punches and I was out. That’s real monstrosity. This City of Purity—heh. That little outpouring was nothing compared to what it used to do. Ever seen it ‘purify’ lesser cities?”

He shook his head. You start firing Tier 8 spells like that and you run out of allies real quick. But you had to be super unlikable for everyone to call a truce with the Putrid One to destroy you.

He finished eating and licked his fingers. The group of silent [Assassins]—emissaries, really—shifted.

He suspected they really didn’t want to die. But, presumably, they had orders. It was only on, like, the fifth wave when even mind-controlled servants started breaking orders.

Happily for them, he was in a good mood. Tolveilouka stretched.

“So who’re you and why shouldn’t I kill you like the last…sixty idiots?”

A pause. Then a figure leapt forwards and landed, soft as a feather, in front of him. A masked figure with very [Assassin]-like gear. Tolveilouka approved, even if the all-black cloth wraps made them stick out more in the dark.

“We are the True Assassin’s Guild of Izril. Our Guildmaster, not the false fool, has sent us t—”

Tolveilouka kicked the [Assassin] and grimaced.

“Eugh. My sandal went through everything. I thought you lot were sturdier than—”

He found a piece of cloth and wiped his foot off. Then sat back on the pile of bodies.

“Okay, try again. Waste my time and I’ll kill you all, hunt down whomever sent you, and…”

He snapped his fingers.

“…something else.”

He wasn’t giving them his best material here. He was tired. Triumphant. But Tolveilouka humored them as the next of the Ranks landed and spoke.

“The Circle of Thorns has noticed you, Tolveilouka. They wish to offer you—”

Snap.

A few of the figures flinched. They didn’t move as an order was given. It was repeated, and still none of them moved.

One of the Ranks’ heads exploded. Still, none of the [Assassins] moved. At last, one of the figures hanging well back moved forwards. He was a Face.

He watched Tolveilouka yawning, and the half-Elf beckoned him forwards.

“Ugh, don’t you have someone who’s actually a real [Assassin]?”

The Face…decided not to clarify his rank. He spoke swiftly.

“The error that time was…”

“My name. And deference.”

Tolveilouka inspected his fingernails, and the Face spoke quickly.

“Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer—”

“Thank you. See, that’s all I ask for!”

The half-Elf sighed. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye and had the Face’s head in his hand. He drew the Face closer.

“Now…what does this worthless organization want, and why shouldn’t I kill them?”

The Face spoke faster.

“They would like to employ your limitless powers, Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer. Surely, the Putrid One’s greatest servant has no need for mere gold. However, the Circle would gladly pay any outstanding debts and give you all that you are worthy of—”

“Less flattery.”

“—To eliminate their enemies and complete certain tasks?”

Tolveilouka hmmed. He let go of the Face, put his hands together, and turned away.

“Debts. It’s true, I am perfect. But I do have a few…annoyances. I suppose this group picked up on that. So long as that damn woman’s shackling me—fine. Some gnats are trying to disrupt my master’s resting spot. Make sure they stop.”

“It shall be done. If you have any other desires—”

“Mm. No, no. Just gold. Pay me appropriately and tell me what you lot want. I shall consider it, and if I don’t like what I hear, I’ll just murder you all. Good? Splendid.”

Tolveilouka waved them off, then made a show of beckoning one back after catching them.

“One question. This Circle of Thorns. Is it…allied to that…[Princess]? This Wall Lord?”

His face twisted ominously, and when he was assured they were not, he smiled. Let them go after patting the [Assassins] on the head. Tolveilouka stood there a second, then made a point of staring up at the camouflaged [Scrying] spell they’d put on him and cut it in half.

He leapt away and went running across Izril. Even when he was sure he’d lost any tails, magical or otherwise, he just ran.

Calm. Collected. Elegant even.

Somewhere, Tolveilouka was sure, this Circle of Thorns were popping drinks and tugging each other off under the table about acquiring the services of a being beyond any they had ever met. Obviously, they’d treat him as a dangerous, unpredictable asset they might have to deal with—but a weapon they could turn against their enemies.

That was obvious. Every organization thought they were the first to invent the old double-cross. What they didn’t know, and what would have really concerned them, was that inside Tolveilouka’s mind palace, he was pouring himself a bath of celebratory drinks.

The good stuff that foamed. The half-Elf hummed as he ran, an old, merry dirge.

My, my, my. The Circle of Thorns, you say? Why, the same organization that seemed to hate Erin Solstice and allies of her inn?

My, my. I wonder where they’re hiding and what they want. I’m glad they hired good old Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer, yes sah. I’ll be so helpful they’ll let me into their confidences, like plague into a city of millions. And I’ll incubate there—and let them pay off my debts. Yessir, what a pleasant outcome for all.

They’ve never, ever, had an ally like me.

And people thought he wasn’t clever.

Author’s Note:

That was a lot of levels.

Okay, okay, that was a lot of CHAPTER. And I have been working nonstop to get this one to you on Tuesday, as promised! Now I rest until the 8th!

I will be travelling to sign the bookplates, so I do need more time off, actually. Remember, the physical book incentive campaign ends, and so do any rewards, in August! But that also means I have to prep some of the rewards, hence me wanting to get this chapter out to elongate my break.

…Well, also I didn’t want to keep you hanging. I hope you enjoyed this long arc! Do you like having it all done like this?

Again, I’m looking for feedback. A few anecdotal comments say people prefer this, and if I could break this up with interludes, maybe it works? It takes a while because I hit so many arcs—like we did Liscor’s entire election arc in the background here, which I don’t think was the worst.

Only so much of that I can make entertaining. Please let me know, but I hope you found Ilvriss’ big glow up (literally shine a light on him now and be prepared for a discoball) rewarding.

He’s changed so much from the haughty guy we met, but that’s the point of a good story. Change. I say it again and again, but that’s what I love about writing.

Now, I will prepare the chapters I owe, like Rickel (and Oelnnox, I’m working on something special for that), in the background, but I regard the Horns as the next big arc thanks to the vote. I can’t believe Erin lost, but I guess that’s how it goes, and I am glad I’m being incentivized to work on these arcs. I like them all—well, mostly all of them.

Thank you for reading and please clap. I’m tired.

—pirateaba

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