(I am doing an AMA on r/Fantasy on August 13th at 4 PM EST! If you’ve got a question, now’s the time to ask! —pirateaba)

It sounded a bit like music without the actual music. No instrumentation, no lyrics that made sense, but a rhythm like one. And it was growing louder the more you listened to them. A pernicious and, yes, discordant sound.

But still. The world’s greatest living [Bard] sipped from some tea as he sat in the window of his room, overlooking the famous palace built on the bones of the Immortal Tyrant. He sighed.

It sounded like this:

“Horns of Hammerad! St—argh!”

The furious [Librarian] made it two feet outside the royal library, ran over the ice on the floor, and went sprawling. A laughing half-Elf with frozen skin and eyes filled with frost ran, high-kneeing it across the hallway.

“Pisces, Yvlon, Colth, run!”

The rest of the Horns of Hammerad were reading books by one of the inner courtyard railings, over a garden where some of the palace’s [Dancers] were training. At least one of the Horns, Pisces, was having trouble concentrating on his book.

At Ceria’s words, all of the adventurers peered up. They saw her sprinting, stuffing books into her bag of holding, and started running.

Colth had already begun, and Yvlon started sprinting the same direction on pure instinct. Ceria skated past them as Elena jumped and nearly dropped her book; Delitandra leaned over the balcony and snagged it out of the air in an amazing display of athleticism.

“What did you do this time?”

Yvlon made a fist to hit Ceria, but the half-Elf [Cryomancer] was just laughing.

“I looted some books from the royal library! You can’t hit me! You’re still in trouble for the Coliseum of Monarchs!”

That was true. Yvlon hesitated, calculated burglarizing the royal library against killing the Champion of Monarchs and breaking into the coliseum—and trying to murder a [Prince]—and lowered her fist. She pumped her arms and ran harder. Colth was rolling his eyes.

“What’s so valuable that you have to steal it?”

“Er, a royal book? Turns out it’s part of the royal library only it’s disguised with magic. I saw it and—”

“You stole one of Yisame’s secret books? Those are warplans, designs for siege weapons, maps of treasure—royal histories and genealogies—”

Colth began screaming. He activated a Skill, and they ran faster. Yvlon bit her lip. That was actually pretty funny given Yisame’s secret class. Ceria was beaming.

“I just need fifteen minutes to copy it as fast as I can read! Then we pretend to give up—”

“Your circlet can memorize that fast? I can scribe—”

“Nono, they’ll murder us for having a piece. But if I memorize it then do this mental gating—”

“Aha. This way! We can probably—”

“Horns of Hammeraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!”

That was the rather impressive voice of the [Royal Librarian], who screamed, purple-faced, after the fleeing trio of adventurers. The [Trickster of Crowns] turned and blew a kiss as she slid down the hallway.

Servants, royal dignitaries, everyone leapt aside, staring at that team whose name had captivated even the greatest nation of Chandrar. At first, people had assumed they were temporary. Transient chumps who’d occupy attention for a day, a week at most. Gold-rankers who had nothing more behind them than the ability to kill an Adult Creler.

Recent events and the dead Champion of Monarchs begged to differ. There they were, each one outstanding in some way. Even the team’s makeup was fascinating to just hear about.

A mysterious ‘Satyr’ whose species was so old that there were only references to her kind in the history books. Vofea the Rookie.

The first Antinium to ever become an adventurer, famous friend of multiple rulers of nations. Subject of the bestselling documentary and inventor of at least one viral dance move. Friend of cats and Golems. Ksmvr of Chandrar.

The skating half-Elf with, it was rumored, a cursed artifact. Prodigy of Wistram, master of ice-magic, and thief of at least one crown. A [Cryomancer] and [Trickster] who was currently levelling at least one of her classes. Captain Ceria Springwalker, the Ice Squirrel.

The Named-ranker from Izril, infamous for being the one and only [Supporter] to ever make his class into a powerhouse. Famous for associating with the old legends of Izril. The man who could do it all except, perhaps, find love. Colth the Eternal Virgin. (Or Colthei the Ultimate Supporter, but one was certainly more memorable.)

Then there was the most famous woman of all at the moment. The unstoppable force behind the Horns of Hammerad. Feared by anything she laid eyes on. The crimson slaughterer who had littered Chandrar’s sands with more blood than any [Serial Killer]. The woman who was now the unofficial champion of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, the [Gladiator], the Silver Killer, Yvlon Byres.

And last, but certainly not least, the man who was currently invisible, no doubt. Another prodigy of Wistram, but also a master of dueling. At least a Silver-belled duelist—but a [Necromancer]. More presciently, a man who had damned over a hundred [Slavers] with his bare hands, and who had led a slaughter across the eastern regions of Nerrhavia’s Fallen and Chandrar. The highest-levelled [Necromancer] serving as an adventurer. The Scourge of Roshal, Pisces the Bane.

“…Wait, where’s Pisces?”

Yvlon turned her head after a second, and Colth squinted around.

“Invisible, probably. Did that idiot go the wrong way or trip?”

The three fleeing adventurers looked around, half-expecting to see a passed-out [Necromancer] who’d collided headfirst with a wall. Or who’d [Flash Stepped] into a compromising position with some attractive Stitch-person.

Equally likely, knowing Pisces. But Ceria, who could see invisibility with ease, didn’t spot Pisces. Colth frowned, then his head whipped around, and he did a full turn. He slowed, and Ceria windmilled her arms as Yvlon skidded to a halt.

That really inconvenienced the palace guards, who had begun running after the book-thieves. But, conscious of the Silver Killer, they’d been doing that run of men and women who didn’t want to catch anyone. So they had to transit to a jog that looked fast until you realized they were virtually running in place.

The Horns ignored the guards and staring people, already pointing and whispering and sending rumors out of the palace. Pisces was not lying on the floor or buried headfirst in a [Lady]’s blouse. He was, in fact, kneeling on the hallway floors.

Over two hundred feet distant, his white robes pooling around a bunch of icewater rapidly warming. He was helping an old Stitch-man to his feet, and the confused and possibly concussed [Royal Librarian] was blinking at him. Elena and the Heromakers of Hraace were standing there, glancing between the three fleeing adventurers and—

“What’s that idiot doing?”

Ceria began, and Colth opened his mouth. Well, helping an old man that had fallen on the floor. Yvlon realized, after a second, that the Stitch-man did have white hair. His dusky face was screwed up in pain, and the [Armsmistress] turned her head.

“It looks like he might have broken something.”

“Wh—c’mon, he’s a Stitch-man. Do their bones all get weaker when they get old, even if the cloth is good? I had to lose him or he’d start using [Librarian] Skills on me!”

Ceria spread her hands out innocently. She didn’t look guilty—until she lifted her circlet off her head. Then she eyed the old man, hesitated—plopped the circlet back down.

“He can stitch himself back up, no problem. C’mon, back me up. Guys?”

Yvlon and Colth hesitated. Colth muttered at Yvlon.

“We won’t get a second chance. Might as well. I’ll help transcribe.”

He turned to rush off, and Yvlon nodded.

“Fine, I’ll hold the pursuers off.”

She strode at the [Palace Guard], who saw the Silver Killer walking at them. Smiling. Their pursuit-jogging managed to carry them backwards at commendable speed. Ceria hesitated, slowing as she and Colthei slid.

“Wait, Yvlon, you don’t need to murderize them—”

Yvlon turned to call back to Ceria.

“I’m just going to Knight a bit. [Gladiator] stuff. Hello, my name is Yvlon Byres. Some call me—”

The [Palace Guards] all ran away.

“The thieves are getting away! Avoid the Silver Killer!”

They sprinted for other corridors, and then Ceria and Colth vanished. Yvlon was left standing in the rapidly-emptying corridor ahead of her as people leapt out of the Silver Killer’s next bloodbath. She opened her mouth, then saw Pisces turning and realizing his team had run for it. He saw her standing there and blinked.

And there it was.

Barelle the Bard, watching the entire drama from his window, strummed on his harp. It sounded like it. A song, of a kind he could capture. Maybe even a song worth playing, despite his objections.

The melody was in the capital. Spreading across Nerrhavia’s Fallen, and it could grow. It sounded like fame. But it was also discordant. Four strings, each one playing a different note.

“Adventurers.”

Barelle the Bard sighed. Since he had nothing else to do, he grudgingly reached into his bag of holding with one foot. With remarkable dexterity, he kept playing on his harp and produced a magic quill with his toes. He flipped over a journal and began to write as he played.

Just in case.

——

When the Silver Killer strode into the Court of Silks, they saw someone who could make even the Court of Steel think twice. Just one woman in a nation of countless millions. But would you want to be the one confronting her?

That was the secret. Each noble present, the many royals from the countless houses, noble ladies, powerful individuals who held positions in Tyrant’s Rest—all of them could call on armies of servants and subordinates.

But when Yvlon Byres stood in front of you, the line of bodyguards looked like naught but cheap cloth before the hands that had broken the Coliseum of Monarch’s barriers.

Let alone the Bane of Roshal. Or the Ice Squirrel, who, one must remind themselves, murdered the Champion of Monarchs in coldest blood. Cold as her veins. The woman who double crossed the Siren of Savere—

Colthei the Supporter was, obviously, the gentle, good-natured adventurer trying to hold it all together and the weakest link. But even he was a Named-ranker of some finesse and actual quality. So the Horns were now a force in the Court of Silks, one in service to Queen Yisame.

How it made Yisame’s blood thrill. She was a bit sleep-deprived because she kept spending all night writing fanfiction about her beloved Horns, arguing in the new Wistram chatrooms about what they’d do next, or watching replays of their exploits.

In her kingdom, as her friends. What might they do next? Well…the incident with the [Royal Librarian] that morning had caused little genuine outrage, in fact.

Few of the Court of Silks respected him or his insistence they return books and pay for damages or misplaced books. The Stitch-folk nobility had some penchant for reading; being held to account, none at all.

Yisame, in fact, was the most troubled one because she cared for the old man, Dulstovie, who had gotten her into many a good series, but apparently, he’d forgiven at least some of the Horns. Ceria Springwalker had returned her books after merely fourteen minutes, which was not enough time to steal much of anything, and she had made no copies. The [Royal Librarian] had merely banned her from the libraries until Zeikhal turned green.

Pisces Jealnet and Yvlon Byres had been allowed to stay and were, in fact, reading books in the Court of Silks as Ceria prostrated herself before Yisame. One must apologize—but she did it like the [Trickster] she was.

“I grovel before you and apologize, Queen Yisame! Please spare me and my team!”

She stretched out on the ground, twisting about much like a cat, grinning, and the [Queen] herself suppressed a giggle as the Court of Silks laughed. Her Voice, taking her role seriously, was far more displeased.

“Your levity is noted, Adventurer Ceria. That Librarian Dulstovie was not injured beyond repair to his cloth is well for your sake. Your petition to access the Academy of a Hundred Thousand Tomes may well hang on future conduct.”

That drew Ceria up, and she sat crosslegged, then bowed.

“Your Majesty, I apologize twice, then, for Yvlon Byres’ recent conduct and my indiscretions! Surely, I may win your favor again? Perhaps if I offered my team’s services for any task worthy of Her Majesty’s good graces?”

Ah, she played the game well enough. Yisame smiled and wondered if Colthei had come up with this; she hadn’t even consulted with them. She flicked a few fingers in code, and the Voice spoke.

“This may serve. What serves Nerrhavia’s Fallen serves our humors. We shall find a task worthy of the Horns of Hammerad.”

It took some of the Court of Silks a second to catch on. Then there was a ripple of unease.

Cleverly, Ceria had positioned herself into doing Yisame a favor of obligation. Which then let Yisame assign the Horns a task of valor, perhaps even an ‘unpleasant’ one. It was rare for the crown to task adventurers with any obligations personally; these were menial matters in the jurisdiction of multiple court advisors, which they guarded zealously.

The power to command and pay for adventurers was the purview of the Counsellor of Arms, who held adventurer and mercenary contracts. Or perhaps the Chancellor of Coin, who could require their services for specific contracts. The Great General of any region might use them. Or the local [Magistrate]. Or the Seneschal of Public Order—a very powerful woman at the moment given the Plague of Oresects and the unrest with the wars.

These acted as checks on the crown’s power. However, Yisame now had a team whose loyalty was not in doubt, who could act on her interests—and who were dangerous indeed. She had a few use-cases she could think of…

The [Queen] smiled and saw Prince Zenol himself appearing in markedly better spirits as he drank and laughed. House Isphel was rising, and their enemies in Quarein and the other factions who were anti-Yisame were worried. After all this trouble with the plagues, the war in Tiqr, Pomle, against Illivere and the King of Destruction…Yisame thought things were looking up.

——

“Fascinating.”

Pisces Jealnet noticed what Ceria was doing, of course. He was paging through a book, biting his lip. He knew Ceria wanted to go to the Library of a Hundred Thousand Tomes, which probably had more than a hundred thousand spellbooks, let alone other texts.

Normally, he’d be all with her, learning magic, making the most of their time here before they had to go—and they did have to go to Baleros, to reunite with Ksmvr and Vofea.

It was just that things were changing. He thought of the letter he’d received. He glanced at Elena, who was listening to Delitandra and the Heromakers of Hraace explaining the political currents to her. He eyed Yvlon.

Silver Killer. Even now, people gazed at her, the new, unofficial Champion of Monarchs. They were having a tournament to crown the new champion. Mectail, Thexca, and Vitte were all competing to take the position, actually. They were now no longer in disgrace, and the new head of the Coliseum of Monarchs was a Yisame-loyalist.

In one fell swoop, they had added to Yisame’s power base, saved their friends, and…and that was well. Despite how dangerous it had been, Pisces wasn’t as mad at Yvlon as Ceria and Colth had been. They’d yelled at him for going with her, but Pisces had seen Yvlon’s logic.

She had a ring that could absorb magical barriers. Yvlon Byres was now one of the most deadly [Warriors] for any [Mage] to meet if they weren’t flying, behind a layer of traps, or ready to teleport.

She truly had changed from the [Armsmistress] who’d been a bit lost when she’d returned to Izril. She had mastered her temper and turned it into a weapon. She was incredible. Even Pisces could admit Yvlon was captivating in a martial sense. She was even calmer than before as she balanced on a Drake’s foot and read from the book she’d checked out, Famous Knights of Terandria, Edition LXXVIII.

Her blonde hair shone in the light, a rare color in the duskier courts of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, and her arms gleamed as she licked a finger and flicked a page, frowning at one of her ancestors of old.

By contrast, Pisces was aware of his white robes, which were plain cotton, if mildly enchanted, and frayed and damaged a bit from his adventures. He cast [Cleanse] silently and finger-combed his messy brown hair, which needed a cutting; it was getting in his eyes. He felt skinny and underfed—not that Yvlon was thickset. But he sat next to her and saw Ceria leap up, bowing, her clothing whirling around her. Floating—

Clothing from the Trial of Shields. So magic she leapt away at three quarters of her regular weight, and Colth caught her and ran away, a brown-green haired young man grinning like an imp, just like her. Skeletal hand, frosted skin, on her. His green hair waving about, bounding forwards—

Adventurers in their prime. The [Necromancer] rubbed at his nose, conscious of the eyes. Trying to keep up, but he saw even Ceria glancing at Yvlon, as if waiting for an explosion or wrench thrown into her plans, and Colth was smiling at the [Armsmistress]. It was not mere jealousy or his occasional bouts of self-doubt and self-loathing which prompted this feeling in Pisces today.

It was the disconnect between his team. And most of all…he gazed at Yvlon.

Level 47 [Silversteel Armsmistress]. She stood on the precipice of something. With each level, he felt her drawing closer. Colth was different; he held his nature back, and only showed his abilities when needed, but Yvlon was rising like the sun itself. Soon, Pisces felt.

Soon, she would be someone whom this world would know and respect in any land she walked. It had begun already.

“Not into your book, Pisces?”

Yvlon glanced at him, and he jumped.

“Er—no, no, it’s fine, Yvlon. Quite informative in an unsettling way. The writer is most excellent; though, one feels the inconsistencies in his telling. And the annotations? Most gratifying.”

She blinked at him, utterly blankly.

“Annotations?”

He showed her, and she scowled.

“Who writes in a book?”

“Don’t get mad, Yvlon. It adds to the book. Why, this book had been reprinted with annotations because it was so popular. You see, these are personal annotations by famed [Historians], even monarchs and other travellers who disagreed with the incipient text and narrative.”

She gave him that blank expression again as she shifted her weight and stood like an owl. Her foot morphed to a Garuda’s claw as if she’d had the same thought, and a Stitch-man sighed longingly. When both adventures glanced at him, he flushed, bowed, and hurried away.

So magical even Stitch-folk find you attractive, Byres. Pisces did not say that, he just explained as Elena edged over.

“Let me explain. This is a banned text in Nerrhavia’s Fallen without clearance; Librarian Dulstovie was kind enough to allow me to read it. It is Across the Immortal Empire by Corregrione the Explorer. A famously controversial book about Nerrhavia the Tyrant’s kingdom.”

Her very name made some of the Stitch-folk shudder, but Yvlon just raised her brows.

“Ah, so the annotation?”

“People clarifying his words, providing counterarguments or truth behind what was thought to be propaganda. Obviously, it does not capture Nerrhavia’s Fallen today, but some things—locations, even cultural markers—still remain after all this time. I thought it was germane to read.”

“Germane being…”

“Relevant or appropriate to the subject. May I read it when you’re done, Pisces?”

He blinked at Elena and nodded at the [Beautician].

“Of course, Miss Elena. Ah, good to have a fellow lover of history.”

So odd to have new people attached to his team, if not part of it. She smiled, and Pisces, who’d normally add some superior factoids, grew uncomfortable and—didn’t. He felt like it was tacky to do that, even though he knew that was his style.

And Yvlon herself didn’t glare at him for wording things fancily. She just nodded.

“If it’s that good, I might read it myself after Elena. This book isn’t much. Oh, it’s detailed about [Knights] and their quests, but it’s…I suppose I should have expected as much.”

“Not as well written?”

“No. It just makes it sound like every crusade and monster the [Knights] hunted down was just. They have a quote about hunting a ‘barbarous Chandrarian Stitch-folk’, and I took a look around and had to stop. One of my ancestors, no less.”

Yvlon closed the book and sighed. Pisces opened his mouth to say something needling about House Byres and stopped. But Yvlon did it for him.

“I knew my family was famous in its heyday. We truly have been everywhere and done everything—badly. I just bet Ylawes or my father would have loved to read this; even we don’t have it in our libraries.”

“Ah, well, not all Byres are objectionable, surely.”

“Name me a good one, Pisces.”

“…Ysara?”

She blinked, raised her head, and smiled at him. Again, it had seemed like she was prepared for a rude comment. She blinked at him, he at her, and they felt it.

Who are you? My friend. But what’s gotten into you? She raised an eyebrow. He waggled his. Yvlon snorted and jerked her chin up. He shrugged. She touched two fingers to her lips, expression slackening. Then just made a fist. Held up a thumb.

Pisces smiled at her. And wished it were so easy with Ceria or even Colth. After a moment, Yvlon coughed.

“My damn legs are giving me grief, anyways.”

“Still hurting?”

“Tingling. Like I can’t stretch ‘em out enough, and I ran around the palace six times today. I thought I’d die of dehydration. I’m worried I kept some magic from the Champion of Monarchs or some such. But Etrikah did clear me.”

Galas-muscle. Pisces saw Delitandra’s head swing around to Yvlon. He eyed her as she favored her metal foot, as if putting weight on her other foot felt odd. And he hesitated. Then said—

“Galas muscle. You’re developing it.”

Yvlon blinked at Pisces. He’d have kept it a secret, normally, a hunch. She scrubbed at her hair.

“Oh. Berr said I’d get ‘really strong’ if I levelled. Is that it?”

“It appears to be the case. I could be mistaken—”

“No, no, it makes sense. Do I activate it or something…?”

“You’d just rest for now, Adventurer Byres. If it is developing, and if—it normally comes after Level 50—you would need to wait.”

Delitandra strode over, and Yvlon ignored the heromaker. She just waited until Pisces nodded.

“That’s my understanding too. I need to research the subject. I know something of it from necromancy. But it is so rare, I defer to Hraace. You’ll get even more dangerous.”

“Well, if I die, you can have as much as you want.”

She grinned, and even that joke was new. Pisces smiled, and his heart hurt. He sat there until Ceria and Colth bounded over.

“Hey, guess who got us work?”

Pisces and Yvlon glanced around, found some appetizers a servant was holding out on a platter, and threw them at Ceria. At least they agreed on that.

——

“Okay, listen. I admit, breaking an old man’s hip wasn’t the best way to start the day, but Yisame’s going to use us, and getting out of the capital’s good for everyone. We’ve got objectives to pursue, right? Here’s my pitch: I want to raid the Academy of a Hundred Thousand Tomes. Pisces, me, Colth, all of us copy spells all day. Yvlon, you scare the locals. Then we do one of Yisame’s quests, see about these ‘Mad Ones’, and from there, we either pursue Ksmvr’s sword and my things to the west or go east to find Pisces’ friends. Plan?”

Ceria pitched her plan to the team, and Pisces held up a finger.

“Do we need to visit the academy now, Ceria? No offense, but if you were to steal any books, I would rather have it be tomes. If I only have a day, I’d rather spend it reading this book and searching for magical artifacts in the markets, perhaps.”

Ceria wavered and frowned at Pisces.

“You don’t want to learn every spell they’ve got? They have Tier 6 magic at least—!”

“Ceria. Some of us don’t have magical circlets.”

He hit her with his best sniff and arch look, and a guilty expression appeared on her face.

“Ah, well—I can’t learn it overnight, but I can memorize—right. Maybe a week of study or if we could buy a book—”

“You’re more likely to grow wings and fly, but I’d be down to at least see what’s there.”

Colth favored Pisces with a longer glance before switching to Yvlon.

“The academy is a marvel, Yvlon.”

“I’m sure it is, but if we have time, I need to find that [Bodyguard] I wounded. Especially if we’re going on an adventure. If we can’t split up, Pisces, would you do that if I go shopping?”

He made a show of thinking and nodded.

“I could agree.”

“Damn, you sure you don’t want to check out spellbooks, Pisces?”

“I do have my own spellbook which I believes supercedes most in quality, Ceria. While I am occupied with that, I don’t see the need to split my focus.”

Ceria was crestfallen, but when he shook his head, she jumped up.

“Fine. Oh, Elena, where are you gonna go?”

The Heromakers of Hraace and Delitandra were left out of the discussions, but Elena wasn’t. The young Earther hesitated, then smiled.

“I might muck about the palace if that’s alright. I’ll keep safe!”

Colth smiled at her, and Ceria blew out her cheeks.

“Well, I suppose we might get an adventure courtesy of Yisame. Expect it tomorrow—it’s a good use of time. Go deal with, uh—Beton? We have to take a Magical Carriage there and back. Or a carpet.”

“Magical carriage. Carpets crash.”

Colth opined, and Pisces realized he genuinely didn’t want to spend a few hours having to ride to the other city where the famous magical academy was, then ride back. He stretched out.

“I’ll rest here, thank you, Springwalker. Do note the best tomes for me? I have a penchant for [Necromancy], obviously, but I’ll take darkness magic, illusion, with an option on generalist theory and other magic—”

She flipped him off as she walked out of the rooms backwards.

“I’m going to check just for ice magic, Pisces. Do your own research!”

“I’ll bookmark a few tomes. Get the carriage, Ceria? I just need a few bribes to sweeten anyone we talk to. [Mages] love food, and I’m going to raid the royal kitchens.”

Colth grinned at Ceria. She nodded, and Colth glanced at Pisces once before he walked out of the rooms.

“<[Limited Telepathy]. Hey Pisces, something up?>”

Pisces ignored the mental voice and just waved Colth off. He saw Yvlon stretching and thought he’d played it well.

——

Outside of their shared rooms, Ceria Springwalker stood for a moment, and her mind raced. The repaired magical circlet was a bit weaker than it had been before Flos shattered it. Weaker—but more cooperative.

[Accelerate Thoughts]. [Detect Mood]. Magical and Skill-based powers built into it. It was no mere Relic. She stood there and thought to herself. She was almost sure it was just her thoughts, but perhaps it was both hers and the circlet’s. Either way, she was sure.

He’s hiding something. But what?

After a moment, she strode off and began skating away. Pisces was allowed to have secrets. It was just that she could tell this one was about…her.

Fair enough. He’d not said anything about killing the Champion of Monarchs after he’d surrendered.

She supposed she deserved that.

——

Yvlon Byres was the least subtle member of the Horns of Hammerad. She didn’t have the sheer education the others did, despite being raised as a [Lady], nor the effects of a class which boosted your mental abilities.

She also, a bit famously, didn’t bother with all that. But she did have the amazing power of looking at other people’s faces.

She knew something was bothering Pisces, but he wasn’t prevaricating like normal and playing it off. He just asked her if she wanted to visit Beton first since they might need time, and she told him she’d found his home address and asked to visit; he’d agreed, so they might head down at any time.

So…they went.

It was never as simple as that, of course. They had to fend off sixteen people in Yisame’s palace who wanted their time. To hire the Horns, to get an autograph, to talk about the coliseum, to ask Pisces about—

Yvlon held them off with her patented trick of introducing herself at length. Outside the palace?

They were mobbed inside ten seconds of leaving.

“Adventurers! I have the best artifacts at my master’s store—”

“Adventurer Ceria! I saw you fighting! Autograph my cloth!”

“I know where someone buried treasure! If you listen to—”

Yvlon and Pisces froze in the face of true fandom, a crowd of Stitch-folk who ran at them. Pisces vanished, but what could that do when they just ran into you, screaming? Yvlon smiled, began her speech, and realized it made it worse.

——

A rather smug Delitandra and the Heromakers of Hraace found the two slightly winded and messy-haired adventurers standing just inside the palace grounds.

“Would you, perhaps, care for a disguise, adventurers? An escort is common.”

“Capital idea, Trainer Delitandra. Is Elena around?”

Pisces managed, and Delitandra’s face fell. Yvlon got up, and after retreating to their rooms and some careful prep, she emerged with some pre-fabricated disguises that Elena had worked on.

Dead gods, she was good. Even the Heromakers had to admit they wouldn’t have tried to change Pisces and Yvlon into Stitch-folk. Delitandra did brief them, though.

“You are Silk-caste Stitch-folk today. Easier to go about the city. Some may decide to take advantage, but your rank confers far more privileges than not. You need not act greatly different. Just do not make obviously outsider comments. Oh, and do not do anything completely stupid for a Silk to do in Cotton or Hemp areas, since you are visiting one of the Hemp. It is unlikely you could.”

“And if we’re found out?”

Yvlon was nervous, but Delitandra gave her a quizzical gaze.

“Think on it, Adventurer Yvlon. If you are, so what? You are merely, then, the famous Horns, and no one would begrudge you that. You will then be mobbed, but this will let you exit the palace. Silk Adventurers. We would go with you, but, eh, we shall go with Captain Ceria as we are noticeable. Or help Nawalishifra with her great project.”

To find metal to augment Yvlon’s arms. The [Armsmistress] had been worried it would be far more onerous, but to her relief, she and Pisces were being treated like capable adventurers. He nodded to her.

“I think we use [Invisibility] anyways, Yvlon. More than one person’s used it that I’ve seen.”

She nodded back, and they emerged into the grand palace of Tyrant’s Rest, filled with orange-brown stone, the pale beige sandstone augmented with beautiful colors, a palace of ancient eras that had worn down with time, but still bustled with the most attractive Stitch-folk you could imagine, wealth and power beyond dreams on display.

——

—The rest of the city was sort of like that. But the moment you left the palace, you saw it became far less wealthy. Oh, the edifices were there. The streets were made of ancient stone, the coliseum, great buildings of old towered high, but the streets grew into disrepair in places, and the people were less grand.

“The architecture of old imperium has outlived that of the people, at least, outside the palace.”

Pisces summarized how it felt far better than Yvlon could as they strolled past the crowds clamoring to see the Horns. They were spotted, actually; more than one person turned as the two invisible [Adventurers] passed, but then sagged.

“Just some Silks. Wait, that carriage—[Fame Sense]! They’re on it!”

When Pisces and Yvlon heard one of the [Ardent Fans] activate a Skill, they hurried out of the way. But once they cleared the street around Tyrant’s Rest, the truth is they just became ordinary visitors to the city. Tourists. No one was waiting for them, so Pisces dropped the [Invisibility] spell. People ran into you otherwise.

It was the first day they’d really been allowed to just…visit the capital of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. They’d been so important and busy that Yvlon hadn’t taken much in. Now, she gazed around.

“Dead gods, we truly are on another continent.”

Pisces began chuckling, and she turned red, but it was in everything. The skin tones, the visible stitch marks—even the air—everything was alien to Yvlon.

Not bad, necessarily! But she stared at a group of young Stitch-folk who were kicking around a soccer ball down one street, laughing, young adults like what she might find around Liscor except in species—then at a flying Djinni bearing a huge load of goods on its back as it carried wares to market.

Fantasy. Even for a [Lady] of the north, this was truly like the stuff of storybooks. The same for Pisces. He was smiling upwards until he saw the cat-headed Djinni and remembered to look. Then he saw the chains around the Djinni’s legs, and it was like a shadow passed over the world.

For there was always the reminder, lurking in even the most beautiful sights here. That word that echoed in his mind.

Roshal.

Pisces’ head turned slowly, and he gave the street a second glance. The bustling hub that was one of the major cities of Chandrar hurt his eyes with the differences on the street. Darker skin. Stitched skin.

Sandstone where granite or wood would otherwise predominate. Different clothing from Izril; long robes and clothing that protected one’s skin from the abrasive sand and wind. Even different magic, yes. Enchantments in Izril tended to work based on gems, thanks to Salazsar. Steel was common as well, whereas Pisces saw more gold on display here.

Fine metals of far more diverse varieties, even mithril on display in stalls, albeit only enough for an earring or brooch clasp—if it was authentic. But also—Nerrhavia’s Fallen had more magic made into items.

A rug that might not fly, but could flip dust off itself. A magical doormat. Or how about a pot that would roll around for you, tumbling laundry or food? The magic was in the craft, not just an external sigil applied with melted gemstone. The hawkers of each stall called out constantly to every person.

“Cotton, sir! Would you be interested in fresh thread? Imported from Izril!”

“You three! Any interest in the latest goods from Baleros? Buy your spices now; shipping is still a mess, and prices will rise with the war!”

“Weatherfur dyes from the Meeting of Tribes! Support Gnolls, yes?”

That last one came from a boy hawking dyes at a respectable-looking stall attached to a store. It was built into the store such that he could open a door and nip inside for samples or to process orders. It was a clever advertisement; the Gnollish linguistic oddity caught Pisces’ attention and a few more on the street.

The boy was no Gnoll, of course. But he did have furry ears on his head. Pisces stared.

That’s right, furry wolf-ears. Not really a Gnoll’s if you knew Gnolls, but close enough. They stood up proudly and twitched as he convinced a few passersby to come over. He had a sly expression as he showed them Weatherfur dyes which were vibrant. Pisces began to drift over himself, wondering what Yvlon would make of—

And then, because he’d thought to look, he saw it. Just for a second, as the boy lifted a little sample tray for an interested Stitch-woman, Pisces saw a flash around his right arm. A thin bangle made of silver, engraved with deep runes that formed a magical circuit. One look and Pisces knew.

[Slave].

The boy was a slave. The magic Roshal used was…unsubtle. They did not need to hide the magical signature of their slave-collars. Far from it, they wanted someone to find a runaway slave. And the collars had only two main purposes.

To stay on the [Slave] so they could not escape, to act as locator beacons. And—to kill the runaway or to be activated to punish or manipulate those that wore such things.

This one had no ‘additional’ effects. It was a simple band for a child. And the boy didn’t appear to be hurt. He was, in fact, charming a Stitch-woman who asked how he’d had his ears done. Lying outrageously, too.

“These? These came from a Gnollish friend I have, Miss. He let me copy the designs and travels from the Meeting of Tribes to bring such dyes! From Feshi Weatherfur’s own tribe—he knows her, you see. This sunburst red one? Her favorite.”

Pisces doubted that the boy had any Gnollish friend from Izril. He was selling goods and was good at it, too. But the [Necromancer] drew no closer. He was trying to see if the boy…was hurt. He couldn’t see any bruises or scars, but in his experience, it was easy to hide such things. His father used to hit his back so it wasn’t…

He could feel the collar around his neck. Pisces tore his eyes from the boy for a second, breathing hard. Then he glanced around and saw them.

Once he recognized the magic, it was everywhere. Mostly in the more well-to-do stores or establishments. Not just storefronts, either. He stared at a restaurant serving pizza to Chandrarians like it was some exotic treat. And there, serving tables, was a Garuda with a bangle around one leg. So subtle it wasn’t even obvious—

Not everyone wore collars around the neck. In fact, the only group he saw with ones there were a bunch of laborers who had almost nothing beyond sack cloth and collar. Different kinds of [Slave]. But this was Nerrhavia’s Fallen; the largest economy in the world. And [Slaves]—

“Pisces?”

Yvlon touched his shoulder, and he reached for his rapier. He spun, and she recoiled.

“Pisces, I lost you. What—”

She glanced around sharply, but didn’t see it at first. Pisces breathed in, out.

“I—I’m sorry, Yvlon. I just noticed that there are—funny, I didn’t see any in the palace. There are [Slaves].”

“Where?”

She saw the laborers, but he had to point out the boy with wolf-ears. Yvlon stared at the ears, then the boy’s arm, and her face twisted up. Some of the enjoyment she’d had faded away, and she turned to him.

“I forgot that it’s everywhere. Reim hadn’t much, but they sell their prisoners of war for the King of Destruction’s armies, don’t they?”

Jecrass was anti-[Slave], and he had not lingered in Medain. Hraace might have had them, but again—Pisces shuddered. He looked around, then saw the boy at the dye-stall staring at him.

Out of the corner of his eyes. He was calling to people, but it seemed to Pisces that if he had recognized the boy, perhaps the boy had recognized him.

Why not? He might be wearing the Silk disguise, but he was still a [Mage] in white robes with a rapier…when everyone knew he was here. And Yvlon had just said his name. That, uh, was probably it.

Pisces turned, and for a second, the boy and he locked eyes.

Pisces tried to read the innocent green eyes of the ten year-old Stitch-boy’s face. But they didn’t give him anything. Just a bland smile. A bow and motioning with a hand.

Then—widening in alarm. The boy spun, and Pisces saw the door open. A Stitch-woman appeared, yanked the boy—

The shopkeeper? He saw the boy vanish into the store, hurried away by not another [Slave], but the owner of the place itself. She stared at him with true fear and hid the boy away. The stall was left unguarded, and Pisces realized that was because of him.

Pisces. Scourge of Roshal. Freer of [Slaves]. Killer of—

He stood there, and Yvlon put a cool hand on his shoulder.

“We can’t do anything right now, Pisces.”

“I’m aware, Yvlon. Don’t worry, I’m not—not a fool.”

They were only in Nerrhavia’s Fallen by the grace of Yisame. Breaking the law openly would void her support, and they were already on thin ice. He knew that, and Yvlon patted his shoulder.

“I know you know. I’m just…c’mon. We’ll get a mob of fans if we don’t hurry.”

He strode off, not glancing back at the stall. The boy might get in trouble. But Pisces did cast a simple spell; it reflected a corner of the world around him. A moving mirror. He saw, through it, the door open once he was two dozen paces away, and the boy slunk into his stall. He began calling out again, but his head turned twice to follow Pisces.

Then he was gone, lost in the crowd. The [Necromancer] kept walking. He had somewhere to be. But the sight of that was a stain on his enjoyment. It always would be. A shadow in every room, a stain on the ground. If he chose to look.

——

Tyrant’s Rest was pleasant, otherwise. And Yvlon kept pointing things out to Pisces as they walked. He tried to engage with it. In truth, he did welcome her company; without her, he’d have been lost in his thoughts.

But it was worth it to see Yvlon goggling at things like a girl, even if she did hurt his arms every time she grabbed him.

“Pisces, look! Look! An actual [Snake Charmer] and snakes! Are they for sale?”

Pisces glanced at a man encouraging passers-by to see snakes rising from clay pots as he blew a flute.

“I wouldn’t trust them once he stops playing or using his Skills. Oh. They’re for pest control?”

The quintessential sight the two foreigners had heard stories of was actually more of a pest-control service. The [Snake Charmer] was brisk as he lifted snakes up with tongs.

“For you, my Cotton friends, these are fine rat-hunters. Mice too! Just have them slither into any gaps in your walls or foundations and place a bucket underneath the hole—tall enough the rodents cannot jump out. And they will be gone, oh yes, within the day!”

“Do they handle Oresect bugs?”

One anxious Cotton mother asked, and the [Snake Charmer] hesitated.

“Not…metal insects. Some snakes may eat them, but they make the snake ill or will not die and just pass through them. Ah, but if you seek a remedy, I have an [Alchemist] friend who sells a most bountiful tonic one sprays to rust the dratted things! Almost all fall to it. A hundred pardons, but if you will wait but eight minutes, I could call him over to show you a demonstration…?”

He saw Yvlon and Pisces watching and bowed himself low as the people—all cotton and thus normal-looking to Pisces and Yvlon—stepped aside. Everyone bowed.

“Honored Silk-folk! May I interest you in my humble wares? If you had an interest in a pet or, pardon me to suggest it, pests of your own…”

“No, we’re just looking.”

Yvlon assured him, and the man bowed repeatedly.

“Of course, of course. Had you any desires? Any snakes to look at, Honored Silks?”

They assured him they didn’t, but he kept waiting for them, and only when they moved back did the worried woman and [Snake Charmer] resume their discussion. Yvlon knew that Elena’s treatment had made their skins glossier and touched up their faces, but that reminded her.

“Silk Stitch-folk truly are like nobility here, aren’t they, Pisces?”

“A second nobility given there are actual nobility, though I’ve never seen a noble made of cotton. It’s a bit unpleasant. It reminds me of home. That is to say, Ailendamus.”

She glanced at him as he walked with her.

“Terandrian kingdoms aren’t so bad, surely…?”

“Oh, not so openly. But a [Knight] receives privileges, as does any noble. It’s ‘better’ in Ailendamus—but I was always conscious of it. My father was in service to a local [Lord], so I had to be.”

Pisces scowled as he reflected on home, but it was so rare that Yvlon blinked at him. He caught her look and shifted.

“…It’s the only comparison I have.”

“No, it’s better than mine. I’ve always been a [Lady]. Just—imagine Revi having to bow and scrape all the time? No wonder she left.”

Pisces smiled, and they laughed about that. But his laughter caught like a fish hooked when he wondered if Revi had owned slaves or what her opinion was on…he coughed and shrugged.

“She’s not from here, but another Stitch-folk kingdom. But I imagine there are commonalities. Octavia is the one from here, Yvlon.”

Yvlon snapped her fingers with a sigh.

“Damn, I forgot. Do you think she’d really bow to every Silk person she passes?”

“Perhaps not as openly since she’s a Gold-ranker, but that’s the way it works. This bodyguard you injured? He was a Hemp-caste, was he not?”

Yvlon frowned.

“Yes…but a former top-tier [Gladiator]. I imagine he was rich enough to serve as a [Prince]’s primary bodyguard. That has to count for something, surely. I’m only guilty I wounded him so badly—I wonder what it was. He had mithril bones.”

She had a bad feeling she knew why, but Pisces just consulted the map Delitandra had drawn.

“It’s far from the royal palace. In the Sosyarn District…ah. It says ‘Hemp’ here. Well, this way.”

They strode onwards, and Yvlon noted that the streets of the capital were as packed with magic and wealth as Invrisil’s. Plenty of scrying orbs showing the latest Wistram News segment, but also song crystals from Terandria. Even, she realized, bootlegged versions where someone had sung a cover of the famous Singer of Terandria’s songs and was trying to pass it off as her own.

There were hawkers who assailed non-Stitch-folk, offering bolts of cloth, magical items of dubious value, trinkets—even a bunch of lamps and sealed containers which might contain a Djinni, you never knew!

Pisces and Yvlon got to see a flustered Garuda actually flap out of a crowd of [Hawkers], once again immune thanks to their disguises. People called out to them too, but of a different nature.

Would the noble Silks like to partake of a new food from other continents? Did they need their stitching redone? There was a Silk [Stitchmistress] who could tend to them. The latest alchemical balms? Alchemist Sulth’s own creations, the most important [Alchemist] trending in the streets! A recording of the Silver Killer fighting in the Coliseum of Monarchs?

Yvlon turned red at that last one, and Pisces managed a chuckle. Then, as they passed out of the main streets and came towards their destination, the magic and wealth…vanished.

——

Hemp Stitch-folk had their own shops and businesses, but every time Yvlon and Pisces passed, everyone stood up and bowed, or pretended not to see them. No one would walk in front of the two, and yet the adventurers felt like they were being watched.

Yvlon eyed a passing bakery, and the bread seemed no less good, but there were no fancy egg-brushed leaves, no advertisements for ‘baking soda from Izril’ nor cakes.

No sugar in great quantities. No magic in stores, and certainly no hawkers. Even the buildings appeared far worse.

“No paint on the façades. And their clothing…”

Pisces murmured, and Yvlon wanted to scold him.

“Don’t be rude, Pisces.”

“I’m not attempting to be, Yvlon. But have you ever seen anyone dressing like that? I haven’t, not in Ailendamus. Maybe a Terandrian kingdom with [Peons], but—”

Yvlon eyed the roughest shirt she had ever seen on a sweating Hemp man hauling bags of cement or other masonry supplies past her. He had six bags, three on each shoulder, which she had to guess were at least forty or thirty pounds apiece. But his legs were thick, and though he was sweating, he didn’t seem to strain.

He just plodded forwards, face set in that unthinking expression of someone lost in the work. Yet he moved aside for Pisces and Yvlon despite the load, bowing his head.

He was—perhaps—the roughest man Yvlon had laid eyes on. Not ugliest, just…rough. His nose was a blunted line, flat down the center, wide, a bit mismatched. He had thick arms which somehow contrived to not ripple with muscle so much as just bulge. His skin was so coarse it looked like calluses.

The effects of his cloth being hemp. He looked tough, but so much less refined than the sculpted features of the Court of Silks that he appeared to be a different people entirely. But his clothing?

You could make clothing out of anything, of course. Like how yarn or thread could be spun out of countless materials, hair, wool—another type of hair—reeds, you name it. But Yvlon had never seen someone wearing a yarn shirt that was so loose-knit that she could see brown skin through the holes. Let alone visible fraying in the cloth, fibers breaking out of the thread.

It looked like wearing one of those fuzzy, homemade sweaters Yvlon had gotten from members of her distant family sometimes as a gift. Only, a sweater made by someone who didn’t actually know how to knit and who was using such inferior materials that it was coming apart already.

That was the Hemp man’s shirt. His pants were some kind of hide, but untreated, just as fraying and poor-quality, stitched up with huge, white threads that did not fit. Neither Pisces nor Yvlon had ever dreamed of such poor clothing; even [Beggars] in their homelands wouldn’t have worn what this man had.

“Do you think he’s that poor off? Surely not. We could give him—”

Yvlon actually fumbled for her belt pouch as the man moved past them. Pisces turned his head, then glanced up and down the street.

“Delitandra said not to show ourselves.”

“But his clothing, Pisces—!”

“I think it’s normal. Look around, Yvlon. The clothing isn’t so bad on all, but it’s similar. Think about it. It makes sense.”

Because they’re Hemp? Yvlon drew breath, feeling a spark of outrage and recognizing it as such. She tucked it into the jar Berr had told her to make in her heart, then realized Pisces meant something else. He glanced at her.

“Because they’re Hemp. Because they’re Stitch-folk, Yvlon. They have better cloth. They are wearing it. It’s their skin.”

She blinked. Then she saw it.

Stitch-folk were the one species in the world who needed cloth to make their flesh and bones. Not all cloth would do, and they coveted rarer materials, which kept stuff like silk uncommon, for all they produced it. They had the highest demand for quality fabrics, and Chandrarian cloth was a watchword for sophistication in other continents.

But if you were Hemp and couldn’t make yourself out of cotton, or weren’t allowed to…or you just didn’t have the money, where did your cloth go?

Not on your body. In your body! If you had material for a shirt that was good, make yourself a chest or something instead! Naturally, it still implied a lack of money and resources that made Yvlon deeply unsettled, but she realized that for all their rough looks, the Hemp Stitch-folk seemed decent enough quality.

“Are they not allowed to buy cotton or anything, Pisces?”

“I…believe so. You cannot wear what is above your station. Or possibly you can wear it, but buying it is the issue. It must limit them greatly. With that said, I have heard Hemp is far stronger and more durable than these higher-quality fabrics, aside from Silk and magical cloth.”

“Yisame said that most armies are 70% Hemp with only a fraction being Silk.”

The further the two walked into the Sosyarn District, the more that became clear too. Broad and sprawling the capital city might be, but this entire district was just Hemp people. If Nerrhavia’s Fallen were a pyramid where Silk stood on the top, Cotton just below, that also went for demographics. There might be three Hemp for every Cotton Stitch-folk.

The quality of housing and the streets didn’t get worse the further Yvlon and Pisces walked. In fact, the opposite sort of happened. At first, the decrease in quality was instantaneous and jarring. The streets emptied of almost all non-Hemp folk and appeared run down. The buildings became thin apartments, and the air itself smelled less clean, the streets dirtier and unswept.

…After a few streets, the ground was re-paved. The housing became modest again, if less grandiose. And the Hemp folk looked, if somewhat rough, far more natural.

And the [Slaves] re-appeared. That was discomfiting to Pisces. He’d thought, perhaps naïvely, that once they left the richer parts of the city, no one would be able to afford [Slaves].

However, once you got out of the distinctly poor Hemp streets, they appeared again. Housekeepers sweeping out steps, a team assigned to repair a broken bit of street—and ones minding stalls again. Even a few personal servants accompanying Hemp masters.

Not as many, and not dressed as finely, but Pisces realized two things. Firstly, none of the [Slaves] were Stitch-folk. They were Human, by and large, Garuda, or…

And they had better clothing than their Hemp masters. Perhaps because they were allowed to have it. He saw many had some kind of badge which he assumed marked them as public servants. A way for the city to have many useful workers. Cheaper than Golems. Adaptive…

Yvlon broke into Pisces’ thoughts again as she nudged him and indicated a Hemp woman with a flax dress that nevertheless looked quite fashionable in how it was dyed. She could have fit into Invrisil with ease; only the fabric was off.

“Weird. This area appears richer to my eyes.”

Yvlon commented, and Pisces stroked his chin.

“Mine too. Odd that Hemp folk would live better away from the palace and richest parts of the city.”

“Unless they prefer it that way. My father used to tell me that the richer people in House Byres didn’t live close to our family. Rich commonfolk tended to their own communities. Lest they compete with the nobility. The same for the rest of the north.”

They were making rapid inferences about the state of Nerrhavia Fallen’s culture, and Pisces hesitated.

“We should avoid making sweeping generalizations about this nation, Yvlon. I do know what I’ve read: in the Immortal Tyrant’s time, apparently, cloth mattered not at all. The author, Corregrione the Explorer, made a point of referencing how Terandria also has a caste system.”

“…So under the Immortal Tyrant, everyone was equal? And now she’s dead, they’ve gone back to cloth quality mattering?”

“Er, well, yes. Not to say they didn’t have hierarchies in the Immortal Empire’s time. Just based on other factors. Perhaps I shouldn’t make allusions to Nerrhavia while we’re on the streets.”

The Hemp people were giving them increasingly wary glances, and Pisces and Yvlon got the distinct impression they were alarming the locals.

“They might think we’re inspecting something. How likely is it that Silks get robbed in the streets, Pisces…?”

“Er…I forget. We’re close to our destination according to this map. What if we—?”

He plucked at the stitching on his arms, and Yvlon wiped at her right and left shoulders, which were bare. When the ‘skin’ came away and revealed silver, the Hemp folk nearly leapt out of their stitching, then pointed.

“Is that—?”

“The Horns of Hammerad? Here?”

Ironically, the two Horns got much the same reaction as they had around the palace. The instant they took off their disguises, the Hemp people came forwards. Only, it wasn’t as instantly unpleasant as before. Perhaps because no one was trying to sell them things or take advantage.

“Pardon us, excuse us, we’re just here to meet one of Yvlon’s friends.”

“She isn’t going to rampage, is she? I saw you tearing the Champion of Monarchs apart. None of us hold chains here, Scourge!”

Pisces awkwardly signed an autograph card as Yvlon smiled.

“—so dangerous. I got my name fighting in the Coliseum of Monarchs in Chandrar, and we’re just here to see—Beton? Beton the Doomguard?”

Several people recognized the name and hesitated.

“Not to finish the fight? He’s lain sick for months—”

“No, no. Not at all. I owe him a debt! I swear by my arms we’ve come to simply help.”

That convinced some of the Hemp, who pointed out a house on the corner of the street. Pisces rubbed at his nose after shaking hands.

“Quite a friendly people. How do they know about us conquering Albez and the magic door?”

“Nerrhavia’s Fallen loves stories, or so Yisame said. By the way, did you see some of the children sweeping for Oresect bugs? Etrikah said they’re mostly contained here, but I think I saw a few around us. I sort of…felt them.”

Pisces glanced at Yvlon.

“They did come from your arms, or whatever Tolveilouka gave to you. Can you control them?”

“Nothing like that.”

They walked up to one of the nicer homes in the area, a two-story building that was broad and wide and, if unpainted, lovely enough. It even had a garden area, though instead of greenery, there were colorful rocks. A rock garden—given the heat, with plenty of shading. Yvlon rang a bell at the entrance, and they waited, glancing at the doors. Then Yvlon murmured.

“There’s more on this street than any other. And more in the house. A…a lot more. I’m worried, Pisces.”

“You didn’t know it was you, and you couldn’t have, Yvlon. If that fool of a [Magistrate] hadn’t arrested you, this might have never been a problem.”

She said nothing until the door opened and a woman appeared. She was different from the others; she looked like a Human woman with brown skin and a wary expression—until she saw Yvlon’s arms and gasped. Then she hesitated, slammed the door, and Yvlon winced.

“Perhaps he doesn’t want to see me.”

They might have dithered, but less than thirty seconds later, the door was flung open, and the woman appeared.

“Adventurer Byres, Scourge Pisces, enter, please! I am Coltora Hemp, wife of Beton. If you bear him no grudge for Prince Esceit Quarien, camels shit in his beds, enter. Beton was dismissed from the Prince’s service a month after he battled you, Silver Killer.”

“Miss Coltora, I have come to help Doomguard Beton. I owe him a great debt. May we enter?”

Yvlon bowed and took the woman’s hand to shake it. Pisces bowed too.

“I as well, Miss Coltora. May I compliment your cloth?”

It was customary in Nerrhavia’s Fallen to remark on someone’s appearance. Stitch-folk were simultaneously more willing to comment on features and also less impressed by it. Coltora took Pisces’ hand and studied him.

“No one holds chains within my home, Adventurer Pisces. It is merely my family and Beton’s. As for this—”

She touched her face and shook her head.

“It is to stand well enough among Cottons for my job. My family cuts cloth. But I thank you; does it look normal to Izrilian Humans?”

Yvlon didn’t know what to say, but Pisces felt himself relax a bit at Coltora’s words. He tried to be charming as she led them into the home. Stitch-folk didn’t mind comments on appearance, so…

“I would mistake you for any Izrilian woman but for your skin tone, Miss Coltora.”

She did smile at that.

“Thank you. Normally, I keep it darker, but there was some cloth misdyed that I found on sale. Had I known you were coming, I might have pulled out satin—”

“My word, satin? One supposes a famous [Gladiator] has access to all manner of cloths.”

The home was, far from mansion-like, crowded with plenty of rooms. No less than five Hemp people jumped or did double-takes as they entered. Yvlon saw a huge room filled with sewing equipment, and indeed, someone with a pair of huge scissors bent over a bolt of cloth. Another was stitching up what looked like a pair of lungs, complete with tiny bits of thread on the interior.

So this is how you made Stitch-folk bodies. Pisces saw a rack of cloth genitals hanging on one wall and completely lost his flow—Coltora waved at the Stitch-man working there.

“Hamlest! Cover this up! I apologize, we did not think to have guests today. Yes, I have satin, though it is a rare thing to wear it. Mostly when I must go into the inner city. Beton? No. He is Beton the Doomguard who wears steel wool, and so Hemp he always must be. Even if that were not so, you cannot rise if you are Hemp. Not truly. You can change your cloth, but you will always be the same in their eyes. Alked Fellbow knew that. I apologize; I know it is unseemly to show parts of us to outsiders.”

“Not at—uh, not at—they’re quite lovely genitals—”

Coltora’s lips twitched as she glanced at Pisces, and there was a guffaw from the closed workshop doors. Yvlon relaxed. There was the [Necromancer] she loved. She took over.

“It’s odd to me, but most things are, even in Izril, Miss Coltora. So you can make any limb or organ you wish?”

“We only provide for Hemp, of course; we have not the talent nor cloth for better.”

Coltora said instantly. Pisces nodded.

“Er, the quality of cloth and fine work dictates how well each organ is used, Yvlon. And Stitch-folk do need to replace limbs frequently. Revi, Adventurer Revi, always complained about that. And—er—”

“Is that a relative, Miss Coltora? Why would you want a man sewing up penises?”

It seemed to Yvlon that anyone from Izril would object in strenuous terms to imagine another fellow had handled their junk, even if it was to create it with cloth. However, Coltora began to laugh, and someone came out with little metal cups filled with some sweet, thick liquid.

“Cordial? For the heat. It is very sweet. Here is water.”

They were given a cup of the super syrupy liquid and water, which could dilute it. Pisces was so flustered he took down half a cup before gulping water. Yvlon savored the odd taste and mixture. Chuckling, Coltora took the lid off a little hexagonal box in the center and revealed puffs of white, springy bread or some such. They had a bit of spicing on them and tasted rather savory as you chewed. Soft as could be.

“Cloudpieces and cordial. It is not much, I apologize. As to your question, Adventurer Yvlon, I do not know how Izrilian Human men think. But to Stitch-men, I do not know a one who would trust any woman to design their genitals. They would assume we had no knowledge of how one worked well enough to craft it to a man’s satisfaction.”

“Aye, which means it pleases them and no one else.”

That comment came from one of Coltora’s sisters, who’d brought the platter out. Coltora swatted at her sister.

“Remiila! Forgive me, she’s excited to meet such famous adventurers. Please forgive the stares.”

Everyone was staring, even the man working on genitals. Pisces coughed.

“Quite understandable—forgive my ignorance. Lovely snacks. And, uh—”

“If you say the genitals look well-crafted, I’m telling Colth and Ceria.”

Yvlon whispered in Pisces’ ear. He shut up. Everyone was chuckling when Yvlon felt her arms tingling. She felt it as she turned her head, and then…

The buzzing was louder and deeper than usual. Even metallic, for it came from wings of steel. It was a huge, fat beetle which flew down the hallway, and Coltora’s laughter instantly cut off. She grabbed something from a wall—a net—and swung it.

“Forgive us, it’s just—Remiila, get one of the [Sweepers] to take care of this. Smash it outside.”

She handed it off, and reminded of her mission, Yvlon cleared her throat.

“Is Beton sick? I would speak with him. I hope I can help…”

When Coltora glanced at her next, the woman’s eyes were lidded. And there was a flash of—but she just nodded.

“He is in his rooms. He is not well, but his levels have held off the—complications. Sage Etrikah herself has seen him, but the issue is deep, even when we tried to change his cloth. I hope you can help, Adventurer Byres. He took his wounds for you.”

“Yes. Please, show him to me.”

Yvlon put the cup down, and Pisces followed her. Before she reached the rooms, deepest in the mansion, before she heard the faint buzzing sound, Yvlon could feel it.

The sin she had brought from the Village of the Dead; the plague of metal born of her arms. Living insects. There were a lot of them in there. When she opened the doors and saw the man lying in bed, wracked with apparent pain, but who smiled to see her, Yvlon bowed until her head nearly touched the bed.

They were in his flesh.

——

Beton the [Doomguard], a high-level Hemp man, former [Gladiator] and bodyguard to Prince Esceit, was in good humor for a man who had literal bugs eating his flesh and bones. He lay there as the faint buzz of insects filled the air behind the protective nets his family had hung up.

“It is merely the collision of two strange classes and the malady of Oresects, Adventurer Byres. Not your fault. I…have [Bones of Steelthread]. As well as other Skills of the same. Even when my cloth changes, my Skills do not. I am no woman of metal. Just a Stitch-man made of it. Alas, that means my flesh is contaminated.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, and I left—”

“I did not know I was sick either until you had gone.”

His body was, like Hemp, rough and even odder still for it had a slightly reflective sheen, as if he truly were made of metal. But he was lying abed, and his huge arms had atrophied slightly from lack of use.

From being eaten. For all that, he had been writing on paper when they’d interrupted him. Doing finances. Now he sat back, and Pisces saw something run under his flesh. A bug.

The [Necromancer] was used to foulness in bodies he dug up; he was used to putrefied flesh and maggots. He wanted to burn down half the city. However, Beton just caught his eye and shrugged.

“The horror of it wears off. No matter how much I remove, my cloth seems to birth more in time. I think…the sickness is in my very threads, and since I cannot simply remove my head without dying, I cannot cure it entirely. It will not kill me, but because I am a hazard, I stay here.”

“How do you survive, sir? The pain—”

“I removed my nerves, of course.”

Pisces started at the simple response, but Beton just indicated his arms.

“It is not common, but Stitch-folk can do so. It is far harder; we are made to turn cloth to functional limbs. But my family knows how we are made, and thus I feel nothing, just hear the damned things. As I can replace my body, it is not the worst affliction. And it even pays something, for there is a bounty on Oresect insects.”

He chuckled, but he was making light of his affliction, Pisces was sure. He was watching Yvlon as she finally rose.

“Beton…I will help you if it is in my power. I’m only sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“You remembered. Your debts to Mectail and to me are being kept.”

“Of course. You’re both [Gladiators] who I owe so much to. You, Zenol, and so many.”

She replied, and he chuckled.

“That is what I hoped for. That is how I know you two are not of here. You treat your debts to me like that of a [Prince] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Well then…what do you think?”

Coltora watched from the door as Yvlon pushed past the layers of curtains. There were metal bugs hanging there; when she disturbed them, they buzzed around her, then came for Yvlon, landing on her armor, her arms. She shivered; her metal arms visibly rippled and stabbed out. They hit the bugs, knocking them back. Then the bugs converged again, biting at the enchanted breastplate, at Yvlon’s arms. One nipped her, and she swore. Then—

They arose in a huge swarm, buzzing—and flew to the far side of the curtains. As far from Yvlon as they could. Beton’s head rose, and Pisces felt his skin doing that prickling thing.

“I can’t control them. But I can tell a part of my arms is in them. And whatever’s in my arms…I don’t think they can eat it. It’s like them. I think they think I’m some big bug.”

Yvlon spoke after a moment, and Beton exhaled.

“Ahh. What of the malady? Fourteen times, Etrikah has sent her formula that cleans surfaces, but it is deep in the metal. I have heard of metalworks in other parts of the empire which were rotted to the center, feet deep in the steel or metal. They had to be demolished, re-smelted to fix it. Oresects germinate from all mundane metals. I have not heard of any from Mithril or Adamantium…those would be true problems.”

“Do they get bigger?”

“Rarely. At the start, there were some big as rats. Dangerous too, for how strong they were. Mostly, they are small. Thumb-sized.”

“I can’t tell. I can’t tell what they are, only that there’s a kinship here. But whatever they are, it’s not me. They’re just made like me. No. They’re inferior.”

Yvlon was running her arms up and down Beton’s arms. He shifted, and Pisces saw a glittering bug crawl out of a hole in his arms. The skin was breached in places, eaten away, and they were crawling out of his—

Pisces had to look away, and he saw Coltora doing the same. But Yvlon’s voice was calm.

“I don’t think I could have helped last year, Beton. I wouldn’t know how. Even now, I’m hesitant…I don’t have a Skill that commands metal. But I think I’m cured of whatever Tolveilouka did to me. I know I am, because I have [Aspect of Silver]. You feel sick. Plagued metal.”

“What can be done, then?”

“I don’t know. But I do know what’s bad and what’s not. Where’s Etrikah’s formulas? I should have brought some.”

“We have some. We spray metal with it—I’ll get it, Adventurer.”

Coltora dashed off, and she came back with an alchemical tonic, half-full in a vial which you mixed with water. Yvlon just took the mixture, poured some on a hand, and grabbed a beetle.

It squirmed around mightily, not happy, but the mixture didn’t kill the beetle.

“Some mixtures from [Alchemists] rust the things or make them weak, but it is just how it would work on normal metal. Etrikah’s purifying liquid does not kill them.”

“No. But it’s cleansed the beetle. Can they still reproduce?”

“Yes, even when sprayed.”

“…They must be doing it naturally. But they wouldn’t plague metal like this.”

Yvlon held the squirming beetle up, and Pisces was fascinated, despite his nausea. It must have been her class. She squished the beetle, inspecting the metallic blood inside. Wiped her fingers with a grimace.

“Let me see what happens when it meets your flesh.”

She began to apply it with a towel, and Coltora went in to help when Yvlon realized she’d need to clean Beton’s entire body, including his unmentionables. After a few seconds, though, she grunted.

“Nope. It’s not working. We purified the top layers of your flesh, but you’re sick to your bones.”

“Good.”

Beton grunted as he lifted a sweaty limb out of bed. Yvlon eyed him.

“Good?”

“You’re certain. Thus, I believe you will help me. Moreover, you and I agree on what you see.”

Pisces could tell how Beton had survived long enough to become a [Doomguard]; there was a kind of stoic implacability to how he acted. No panic, just decisiveness. The kind of fellow who could have chaos spring up around him and pick out the first person to start hitting.

Yvlon grunted.

“Do you have…spare limbs for Beton, Miss Coltora?”

“I—I could get some out of hemp. Beton uses specialized steel wool for his skin and such, but if it’s just for now?”

“Those will do, I think. Pisces, do you have any ideas?”

“Me? I’m hardly an expert—”

“You repaired my arms, Pisces. Please.”

He approached and made a show of inspecting Beton’s arms; the man had removed one and opened the cloth down to the ‘bones’ inside. A few bugs moved around his insides, not just beetles but long centipedes, and—Pisces backed up, but Yvlon was focused. And she might claim she wasn’t intelligent, but she was dogged.

“Try this arm, Beton. It’s perfectly uncont—hmm. It just turned to metal, and the plague’s moving. Right here.”

She touched the joins where he’d connected it to his body. Beton was calm.

“The solution, then, is to replace my entire infected body with new cloth, piece by piece, while ensuring no new piece is infected. The problem, Yvlon, is my head.‘

He inclined it, and Yvlon exhaled.

“…There’s metal there too. No insects in your brain, though.”

“I do not think my brain is metal. But we have been very, very careful that no Oresect hatches there.”

His eyes glinted, and he indicated the stitch-marks around his neck.

“The problem is, removing one’s head kills a Stitch-folk. Not as fast as you Humans, but without precautions, it is impossible. And Aberrant Stitching is against the laws of Nerrhavia’s Fallen.”

“Hmm. So we have to fix your head. You couldn’t, I don’t know, remove your flesh piece by piece, and bones, then replace it all?”

Yvlon asked it so casually that Pisces had to turn to Coltora. The woman’s full wince and appalled expression said that this was not normal for Stitch-folk. But Beton’s voice was calm.

“If that is what must be done, I might risk it, but it is very, very risky. Our Lifethread is in our heads, and it is unto your own hearts or brains, Yvlon. Only, if ours are destroyed, death is inevitable.”

“…Something else, then. Can you—is there any Skill that can clean this plague? It can’t be impossible if Etrikah beat it!”

The Great Sage of Nerrhavia Fallen’s war against the Oresect plague had been intense enough to level her. For answer, Beton called for one of the [Sweepers] outside.

“I need one of your best [Sweepers]. Any of the ones who dealt with the Oresects at their worst and learned to clean the plague. Tomiec, I am thinking. Tell them Beton asks for an urgent favor.”

“At once, Clothsetter.”

The [Cleaner] was just a street urchin, but they bowed, fist to their chest, and ran out the door with their broom so fast that Pisces actually believed they were heading straight over.

“You didn’t even bribe him. What does ‘Clothsetter’ mean?”

He assumed it to be a title from Beton’s life, but the [Doomguard] hesitated, then sighed.

“A term I do not deserve. Clothsetter, for one who sets the look and feel of cloth. As unto someone who dictates the next fashion. A title of honor.”

Someone you followed the example of. It made sense for Stitch-folk. Yvlon was organizing a replacement set of limbs with Coltora, making sure they were all clean of plague, when a boy raced into the room.

He was fifteen, had a broom on one shoulder made out of plain wicker strands, a cheap sweeping tool, but he was, astonishingly, clean. He looked like any [Chimneysweep] or poor [Cleaner] that Pisces could imagine. A streetrat, only wherever you expected a bit of grime, a smudge of dirt, there was none.

“Clothsetter, Doomguard Beton, I came fast as I could. What can a poor [Cleaner] do for the likes of such famous lots?”

His eyes twinkled with all the impishness of his age, and Beton rumbled.

“These are friends of mine, come to heal my maladies, Tomiec. Be respectful. Yvlon, this is Tomiec, who can clean even the Oresect plague. They had him sweep the palace itself in the first few months.”

“For a lashing when I got in the way of fine Silks, aye.”

“A lashing you deserved to not do it twice. But for your Skills and my words and you’d have been hung or burnt. Tomiec, what Skill do you have?”

“[My Broom Sweeps Cleanest].”

Tomiec twirled his broom around showily, which quite impressed Pisces, but Coltora’s glower made the boy stop. However, something was odd that both he and Yvlon sensed. Pisces saw Beton’s eyes on him, and once more, he could have played the cautious [Necromancer], but…Pisces coughed.

“Tomiec’s level is well in advance of any boy his age I’d expect to find, Beton. He’s at least Level 30, isn’t he?”

Coltora’s head turned, and Beton smiled.

“He is. Tomiec Hemp has swept the sewers of Tyrant’s Rest, to the palace now, but also the rooms of [Mages].”

“Since they can’t trust Djinni to do it, aye. Magesoot, shitscummer, and the dirt of nobles, which is filthiest of all. But I’m just a [Cleaner], no [Healer].”

Yvlon glanced at Tomiec and motioned to Beton’s bad arm.

“Interesting. Can you show it to me on that arm, please?”

Tomiec did and ran his broom down the arm, letting the wooden bristles move slowly. They should have missed tons of dirt, but he even swept some of the metal beetle that Yvlon had crushed off the bed, flicking it to the side. Even dust. More dust than Pisces could imagine hit the far wall, to Coltora’s displeasure and dismay, but Tomiec whirled the broom around, and it became a pile on the carpets at his feet. He winked at Pisces.

“Most of what lies in a bed is dust and bits of skin and worse. Not all of it is bad. Good?”

“Yes and no. His Skill did better than even Etrikah’s mixture, but it only goes an inch or two deep.”

“2.2 inches.”

Tomiec corrected Yvlon, and she glanced down at Beton’s arm. Measured.

“Half that. It must not work on flesh as well. Even if he took his broom, he couldn’t get your bones, Beton. Unless we split you open vertically and he broomed you?”

Tomiec’s swagger visibly deflated at Yvlon’s comments, and he gave the Silver Killer a horrified look. Which was made worse when Beton hmmed.

“I would survive that. But my head is thicker than two point two inches around.”

“Maybe, but your brains aren’t sick…it’s only your bones. If only I could reach into you and just yank it out! But I can’t do that. I can turn my arms to liquid, but…”

One of Yvlon’s arms dripped into Beton’s infected arm and moved around. Then swirled back up, and she grimaced.

“I can’t pluck disease up. But I can heal myself; [Aspect of Silver].”

She turned entirely to silver, then reverted.

“It’s gone from me.”

High level Tomiec might be, but he retreated in the face of Yvlon’s madness. He bowed to Pisces belatedly.

“Scourge of Roshal. I’ve heard from the Cleaner’s Guilds about the blood your people spilled on sands across the kingdom’s borders. Not that I could afford a [Slave], of course.”

He watched Pisces’ rapier nervously, and Pisces, conscious of the fact that this was not him but everyone thought it was, smiled.

“I never imagined otherwise, Tomiec. Are all [Cleaners] your level?”

“No, especially not of my age. But someone must clean even the greatest [Mage]’s privy. And us Hemps get the hardest tasks. No one of Cotton is half my level!”

Tomiec folded his arms, and Yvlon glanced at him.

“That Skill of yours, Tomiec. Does it work with any broom?”

“Any in this world. Had I a magic one, I could clean half of Nerrhavia’s Fallen in a day! But without it I have levelled, and before I am twenty, I shall be double that in levels! Then I shall clean the shit from the faces of all the Silks who spit on us, instead of merely the streets where it lands.”

The boy was all confidence now. He lifted his broom overhead, and Beton and even Coltora smiled at him. Like a son. With pride and pain, and Pisces thought there was a story there. But all Yvlon did was nod.

“Good. Here’s a broom.”

She lifted a finger, and it turned into the tiniest broom imaginable, morphing. Tomiec’s smile vanished, and she pointed at Beton’s face.

“If I stick it under his skin in the right places, can you sweep along his bones? Even if you just hold my arm, is that enough of a broom for your Skills?”

Tomiec stared at Yvlon. Coltora backed behind Pisces, whose skin was doing the goosebumps thing again. Even Beton eyed Yvlon.

She smiled.

——

“Ew. Ugh. Ew—”

“Tomiec. Stop complaining. The metal is in my head.”

“It’s my finger up your nose. Shut up, both of you.”

The smallest broom in the world was scraping across Beton’s inner body. A purifying broom made of silver, moving as Yvlon directed her arms with the slow, exacting actions of someone who didn’t want to make a sudden move and…explode something.

Like Beton’s face. She was sweating.

He was sweating.

Tomiec wasn’t sweating because he looked like he was going to faint. He had hold of Yvlon’s arm, and he was sensing her doing something. It was working, at least, according to Yvlon.

“I’m positive we got most of his head. It’s trying to respread. I’m going to shift upwards along his skull—”

“Ow.”

“Okay, I’m not going that way. Tomiec, your Skill good?”

“It does not run out. I wish to go, please? H-how are you—? Your arm feels like a broom! It feels like an actual broom. How?”

For answer, Yvlon just smiled as she re-adjusted, and Beton confirmed it didn’t feel like she’d hit an artery or anything precious.

“[Limb: Imbue Skill]. I’ve never had to use it like this, but I can make it like a sword. Why not a broom?”

“What kind of madwoman thinks so? You are mad.”

“Berr says madness is mandatory at our level. Hold on. I’m not sure…”

One of Yvlon’s arms was performing the invasive cleansing process. The other one?

It was currently doing a cross-section of the Human—or Stitch-folk—head. An amazingly detailed one. She’d asked Pisces to crosscheck her work, and he stared at the silver map of a head as Yvlon wiggled a bit of silver tendril around it.

“[Silversteel: Structure of Species]. Okay, let’s go back and go through the ear.”

“Wonderful.”

“May I take five minutes to puke? I shall clean it up.”

“No. We’re on a time limit, and we’re more than halfway done. Pisces, if I go through the ear, here…”

Yvlon demonstrated, and Beton appeared ready to object, but it was working. Pisces just sat there, head in his hands.

“I regret ever helping you with anatomy, Yvlon. Has it occurred to you that we’ve gone too far?”

She just laughed at him.

——

It only took twenty-six minutes before Beton sat up, and Yvlon let him reconnect his limbs and pronounced his body clean of the Oresect plague as far as she could tell. He wiped at his nose several times, massaged his face, then got out of bed.

When he did, he looked…solid. Imposing, even without a body designed for combat. The [Doomguard] regarded his cloth, which was in tatters, mixed with the Oresect insects.

It would all have to be disposed of, but once the last taint was gone, he would be able to wear metal flesh again—without the same issues, or so Pisces believed. The rot that had infected him to the bones was gone, and now Beton smiled and nodded once.

“Yvlon Byres, Silver Killer.”

He clasped arms with her.

“You have repaid the debt I offered by knighting for you.”

She blinked at him, surprised.

“I have not even begun to repay it, Beton. All this time you’ve been sick because of me—! First, I cost you your health, then your job with Prince Esceit—I owe you a debt. Zenol does! I could ask him if he needs a warrior in his staff. I owe you gold and more.”

The [Doomguard] was steady now; only having a miniature rake inserted up a nostril had given him pause.

“Not for that, Silver Killer. When those above us use us like pieces on a board to war with each other, we do not blame and begrudge the other. We point a finger at the system and those who maneuver us. You and I are common cloth. [Gladiators]. Warriors. Comrades?”

She stared at him, then tightened her grip on his arm.

“Comrades.”

She met Pisces’ gaze as Beton smiled, then embraced his wife and lifted her up as she shouted and called for the family. Pisces mouthed at her.

He is so cool.

She nodded a few times. Tomiec flopped down on the floor, then threw up.

——

After the horrors of Yvlon’s broom-fingers, Pisces did feel like Ceria and Colth had missed a lot. True, they were visiting one of the world’s finest magical academies, but this?

This was nice. There were more important things than magic, sometimes. The Wandering Inn had taught him that.

The gratitude of Doomguard Beton was no small thing. Within moments of him being on his feet, the entire household and, indeed, street had turned out. It wasn’t like the Hemp-folk who were his neighbors were ignorant of his condition.

Again, it surprised Yvlon and Pisces to be treated like the saviors given Yvlon had accidentally infected Beton, but he had meant what he said to her. Now the food was being broken out, and a celebration was starting.

The Hemp-folk might not look nearly as gorgeous as their Silk counterparts, but their cooking did not fall behind as far as Pisces was concerned. If anything, it was far better on his stomach than the fancy food of the palace. He’d eaten a gazelle or something like that last night.

Eating Cloudpieces and sipping the cordial was welcome, especially when they brought out these really tasty sauced bites of white meat. Which Pisces was complimenting until someone told him it was crocodile. Everyone laughed as he choked on the food.

“But it doesn’t taste like—! It’s very good. Ahem!”

“Silks would never eat them. But the silly gators swim up the canals; you can find them even inland. Here, try this.”

“What is this giant chicken wing…?”

“Ostrich.”

Whereupon the largest egg he’d ever seen in his life was presented for his appetite. None of it was super gamey; Miss Coltora did wonders with the spices and sauces she had available. However, she did seem worried they wouldn’t like the food. When Pisces assured her it was good on his stomach—and he had housed a lot of food already—she relaxed.

“One cannot compare with the palace, of course, but if I could not satisfy the palates of adventurers, I would hang my hands up in disgrace! The richest ingredients are beyond any of Hemp. Saffron, rare meats, magical ingredients of any kind—”

“I know an [Innkeeper] whose cooking I am quite partial to, Miss Coltora, who does very well with basic ingredients. You shall find no complaints here. Yvlon?”

She was a bit more picky about her food. However, she was eating with good enough humor from the recognizable dishes and speaking with Beton.

“If I could pay you—”

Beton looked slightly harried, but it was again a mark of his stoicism that he only cracked after the eleventh time she brought it up.

“Agh, Silver Killer, enough. I have said my piece, and a [Doomguard] does not recant his words. Celebrate with me, my reclaimed cloth. Does my home look poor to you even though I am of Hemp?”

“No, of course not. It’s lovely.”

“Then you would surely not insult me by offering me coin. I, who was in service to a [Prince], have not been made pauper that quickly.”

His eyes glinted, and Yvlon shut up so fast that Pisces applauded silently. She edged over after a moment.

“He’s more persuasive when he actually talks.”

“One supposes Prince Esceit did not care for his conversational ability, more his ability to loom. Which he does very well.”

Now that he was standing, Beton was visibly high-level. Level 40? Pisces thought so. His chest was broader around than any other of the Hemp-folk, and despite having replaced his ‘battle cloth’, he still looked metallic.

His skin was beautifully black and shone like metal when he smiled, and he had enough muscle to make Pisces compare him to Eldertuin the Fortress. But his voice, despite being deep, was eloquent, like a hammer falling with precision. He was, then, impressive, but the [Necromancer]’s mind flashed to another being like him.

Azam’du. The Djinni’s skin had been darker yet, and he had been like a cloud bound to earth, chained and recalcitrant. But Pisces had to blink to dispel the image and remember the falling rainbow.

Ah, this land is bad for me. He wanted to be away, but not before he found his comrades. It was a reminder, though: this was one favor of Yvlon’s, solidly done. Onto the next.

As if he knew they were upon a mission of urgency, Beton took time to speak to the two Horns, even to the point where people wishing him well had to wait some time.

“I wish you’d met Colthei and Ceria. Perhaps, if time allows, we could introduce you?”

“Perhaps, but I am not welcome in the Palace, nor would I trouble you to come here. You must move quickly, you two, to avoid the entanglements of politics. Nerrhavia’s Fallen is a tangle of threads, and they will pull apart even Named-rank adventurers in the machinations of the Courts of Silk and Steel.”

It was the most direct warning Pisces and Yvlon had received—again, gratifying.

“We have Yisame’s favor.”

“A terrible thing, Silver Killer. Has it not brought you to a battle with the Champion of Monarchs already? And a war, before you left?”

“No, that was just…it was obligations.”

Yvlon grew troubled, and Beton glanced at her.

“Naturally, my employment to Prince Esceit was one of finance. I hold Prince Zenol in some esteem as a warrior. The Queen, of course, has our support.”

Murmurs of agreement, but Pisces realized that Beton had not said he was actually on the side of the Queen. But, then…

“Is there anyone in the palace you’d back?”

Beton thought about it as his eyes flicked to his plate, then smiled in a way Pisces couldn’t read.

“You are in good company, Adventurer Pisces. We are Hemp; we stand below the blows of the mighty lest we be caught up. I would be careful in your stead. That is my warning.”

Intriguing and fair. Pisces coughed.

“Having been born to a nation as a son of a peasant myself, I can relate. I was born in Ailendamus, you know, and my father taught the local [Lord]’s children.”

“Ah, another born in the shadows of greatness. Well met twice, then.”

Beton clasped hands with Pisces. When Yvlon stuck her hand out, they looked at her. She, the daughter of nobility, lowered her hand, slightly crestfallen. To which Beton laughed.

“It is no insult, just an acknowledgement of fact, Silver Killer. One can be fine comrades in arms and allies without this first connection.”

“And find no common ground with those who should be kin to you. Beton, you will have more guests soon who you should greet.”

Coltora added. The [Doomguard] sighed.

“True. It would be improper of me to waste my health by asking you for a rematch, Silver Killer.”

Everyone turned at that, and Yvlon’s lips quirked.

“Last time you let me win. I have to admit, I wanted to know who would win if we really fought. Your class is fascinating.”

“A mystery that will have to endure until Zeikhal blooms. You would not put my love back in bed, surely, Silver Killer.”

Coltora’s voice made Beton and Yvlon heave huge sighs. He winked at her.

“We would tear each other apart, and though we can both remake our bodies, it would be far simpler than how you fought the Champion of Monarchs, Silver Killer. I stand and fight. Though my class is to avert disaster. As so.”

He glanced around. Tomiec, the young [Cleaner] of such levels, was flirting with one of the young Stitch-women who’d come to the party. Beton looked around, dumped his plate onto Yvlon’s, and flicked it at Tomiec.

Everyone winced as the [Cleaner] whirled, blocked the plate with his broom with commendable reflexes, but it still knocked him flat on his ass. He was on his feet in a second, complaining.

“Clothsetter! Have I not come to your aid? Have I wronged you that much? I—”

Beton raised one eyebrow and nodded to the side. Tomiec turned—and said Stitch-woman’s boyfriend appeared out of the crowd. Tomiec closed his mouth and bowed.

“Is that, uh, doomguarding?”

Pisces was highly amused, and Beton smiled as Yvlon handed him her plate, and he turned back to his food.

“Simple doom. The kind anyone with eyes can see. Ideal for a [Bodyguard] or battle. The white Gnolls of Izril would have used my services well. But we do not venture far from Chandrar’s shores, we Stitch-folk. A shame; we have been away from great events.”

Fascinating, she had to admit. Yvlon coughed.

“How does one get a [Doomguard] class, Beton?”

“Ah, well, I was a simple [Stalwart Warrior] at first, but I had a secondary class. [Problem Solver], from when I was a young man taking odd jobs. I was never as lucky as some, but I averted several crises. From a handful of Skills, at Level 30 my class changed.”

“Another win for Colthei’s theory of multiple classes being advantaged.”

“Do Izrilians only prize a few? Any class is worth having, surely, even if it results in less levels to a central one. We do not know who we will be, even if we think we do. One might become a Pathtrader in life.”

Beton countered, and Pisces didn’t know the term.

“Pathtrader?”

“One who walks a class’ path but changes it. Imagine if you had been a Level 20 [Necromancer], adventurer, then changed it all to become a [Trader]. It is not common, but it does lead to unexpected results.”

Coltora put in, and Yvlon murmured.

“Ysara. I can see that. Though it’s not the most pleasant thing.”

“Changing one’s direction in life is full of uncertainties. We, who stick to our primary classes, are little better. I suspect I am never to find work in the palace; well and good. But I shall find work soon enough to avoid being conscripted to fight the King of Destruction. That would be a doom I cannot avoid.”

Another sobering reminder of realities for Hemp, but Beton smiled at Yvlon.

“A second reason to not begrudge being sick too much, Adventurer. Or I might have been sent to fight as a sign of Prince Esceit’s zeal.”

“I’d refuse. Mars cannot be beaten by the three of us.”

“One does not refuse a [Prince], Yvlon Byres. Unless they are the Silver Killer, of course. You are not made of cloth, so you are outside the tangle. Use it well, and consider how you are being used in turn.”

Well, it really felt like the two Hemp-folk were trying to tell them something. Pisces sipped from his drink and nodded.

“We intend to finish our business here, posthaste. Fret not, Doomguard, at least some of us are canny about politics in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. By which I mean Colth and the Heromakers of Hraace.”

He nodded, sighing and relaxing a bit.

“Fair enough. Now, if you need the services of reliable folk, if nothing as rich as what the palace can provide, the word of Doomguard Beton will open doors for you.”

Yvlon would have tried to offer something in return, again, but Pisces was of the opinion this was just something you had to accept and repay. Open generosity, like how the Gnoll tribes would feed you and welcome you in. Nothing like Izrilian sensibilities. He enjoyed it.

And there were other benefits for doing good deeds he hadn’t dreamed of. Such as Tomiec swaggering over.

“Before you go, I humbly interrupt you, Doomguard, Miss Coltora, adventurers, to say that my services—however oddly used and may the worms of the desert never witness it being used such twice—might be needed once more. Adventurer Pisces, you may wish to clean yourself before you set upon more journeys.”

Pisces glanced down at his robes, flustered. But he didn’t see any visible stains. And Tomiec was eying something just over Pisces’ shoulder. Beton raised his eyebrows.

“Do you insult our guests, Tomiec?”

“No, Doomguard. Rather, it is a thing of [Mages]. Adventurer Pisces has fallen for the same trick many of Wistram have. It has been my dubious honor to serve Magus Voltehreim, supreme amongst magic in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. And to clean his many dimensions and paraphernalia. In doing so, I learned the folly of magic. Like [Cleanse]. Adventurer Pisces is not the filthiest I have seen by far; I have seen Wistram [Mages] visiting. But it would be well to cleanse himself before something grew of his personal aura-space.”

Pisces became increasingly confused, then alarmed by Tomiec’s words.

“My [Cleanse] spell? I use it to keep hygienic. What’s wrong with…”

Hadn’t he once heard it could be overused? But he didn’t get what that meant until Tomiec made reference to the doom that had once killed a city, the folly of all [Mages] who thought they could just vanish dirt. Yvlon stared at Pisces. Then saw Pisces gingerly flipping open a spellbook.

“Dimensional magic? That’s Tier 5 at least! I couldn’t bind even my own personal space of holding—well, I could now, in theory, but it’s not magic I’ve delved into.”

“Agh, and so it festers! Happily for you, I can clean even what is not apparent! [Broom: Nudge Doors]! You see, it opens many a place. Thus, I can open even what you have not made. Which means it shall expel most of it as there is no ‘space’ save what has accumulated. Thusly—”

Tomiec stepped back, and Yvlon saw Beton grab his wife and swing her back. The [Armsmistress] hurried away too and just got out of the ten foot radius when Pisces’ eyes went wide. He blinked—

Then exploded in what could be politely called a shower of dirt, grime, and filth. Only a year or two since he hadn’t known the spell long.

It still put everyone off their food. Tomiec grinned; he’d whirled his broom around to shield himself, but the [Necromancer] stood in the fallout, so horrified his mouth was open, which was a terrible mistake. Then Coltora smacked Tomiec’s head and called for water and a tub.

——

Pisces felt he hadn’t deserved that. He was grateful for Tomiec pointing out the—the error in his magic. But he couldn’t help but feel the young man had done that to get back at Yvlon.

Worse, it resulted in Pisces sitting in a filthy tub with water up to his waist someone had hauled, scrubbing himself. He was wearing underpants and a shirt since he refused to get naked, and covered in soap suds. The Stitch-folk were laughing at him. And staring.

He was scrubbing as fast as he could, red-faced, and Yvlon was shaking her head.

“I hope Ceria isn’t as bad. Dead gods, Valeterisa.”

Tomiec would counterlevel if he was near the Archmage of Izril when she had to deal with her own collected filth. The young man was scowling at the Stitch-girls admiring Pisces. He kept running his broom over the [Necromancer]’s back as Pisces swatted at him, to help the cleaning process.

Everyone was laughing at him when Pisces felt his nose tingle. He glanced around, hair filled with suds, and saw her.

A Stitch-girl, a bit younger than he was, perhaps, was striding through the crowd, pushing people waiting to greet Beton aside. She was big. Almost as big as Beton, and her skin had that familiar look to it.

Like Beton’s had been. Corded, rough, like scar tissue. Steel wool made to metal? Coltora’s head turned, and she exclaimed.

“Ashele!”

Beton turned, and the Stitch-girl halted, eying him, Yvlon, and Pisces. She stared at the [Necromancer] in the bathtub, utterly nonplussed. Then ignored him. Her eyes flicked to Yvlon’s arms, and she almost smiled. Then her face became impassive, and she spoke, arms folded.

“I heard you were cured, Father. Though you deserved it for selling yourself to royalty, at least you won’t waste away in bed. Is this her? The Silver Killer?”

She jerked her chin at Yvlon. Beton sighed.

“My cloth is not yours to wear, Daughter. Let alone share.”

He glanced at some of the other Stitch-folk who had followed Ashele, and Pisces saw Stitch-folk, all her age, all with the same skin. Most stepped back in front of the Doomguard’s stare, bowing slightly, but Ashele just sneered.

“Your cloth is wasted, beloved coward of a father.”

“Ashele! You will not speak to your father so. And you will remove your cloth and repent your ways before you call down fire upon yourself and everyone you think you help.”

Coltora glanced at Yvlon and Pisces, and the two adventurers got the distinct impression they shouldn’t be here. Pisces began washing himself off even faster; Yvlon just smiled.

“Miss Ashele? I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused your father. My name is Yvlon Byres. Some may call me the Silver Killer, but the truth is…”

Ashele listened for half a second before recognizing the now-infamous words and interrupted Yvlon.

“She’s mad as any other adventurer. Useless to the cause.”

“Not everyone in life revolves around your goals, or any other cause, Ashele. The Horns of Hammerad are upon their quests. Will you not celebrate my good health?”

Beton’s voice was mild, and he didn’t glance at Yvlon, but Pisces saw Coltora’s fingers twitch, and several people around her peeked at him and Yvlon. Tomiec was hesitating, looking between Beton and his daughter, and Pisces thought—

Drat. I wish Colth were here. Or Delitandra.

This meant something, and he had suspicions, but Ashele just turned away.

“I’d thought months of calling for help and seeing none of your privileged masters remembering your name would do aught. But I was wrong.”

She went to storm off but was surprised when Beton grabbed her arm. He was quick. She twisted, but he just spoke, intent.

“Ashele. You do not have dispensation to wear that cloth or thread. If you are arrested while wearing my cloth, they will send you against the King of Destruction.”

“I don’t fear them or him.”

“You should. You are not ready. If you cannot even break my grip, you have no chance at all beyond burning at a stake.”

She was squirming, putting a hand on his arm, but she couldn’t break his grip. Another Stitch-girl strode forwards.

“We are strong together, Doomguard, and in spirit, we will not be beaten!”

“Spirit is not strength of levels or flesh, Narive. Mark me, all of you. Whomever you are speaking to, there are wiser heads filled with less dangerous cloth. Stay. Listen. This is not a conversation for the streets, but one held indoors, in peace.”

He spoke to the group, and a few hesitated, but Ashele tore free—with a Skill, Pisces thought. He was putting on his robes as Beton let go and her arm twisted around.

“I have had years of this argument. Enough. To your health and all those made of plain cloth, Father. And to you, adventurers—nothing but curses so long as you serve the masters of Silk.”

She glared at Pisces and Yvlon. He felt like he hadn’t deserved that. She stared at him as he rose, robes sopping wet in his filthy bathtub. He had one reply; they were moving away, so Pisces shot in the dark.

“I would venture a guess that secrecy and subterfuge matter for everyone’s sake, Miss Ashele. Your father is eminently correct that trouble might not find you, but it will find your family and friends. I am, of course, speaking from experience. But tell me: this is not about slavery, is it?”

He asked the stupid question as she wavered. Ashele frowned at him as Beton’s eyes snaked to Pisces, and then she jerked her head.

“Not all chains are worn as openly as the ones you cut, Scourge. Look around. Ask anyone not in the palace, and you’ll see.”

Then she stormed off. Pisces rubbed at his chin and saw Tomiec staring after Ashele out of the corner of his eyes.

She was Level 30, he was sure. Not Beton’s level but like Tomiec—he’d sensed her. Come to that, her mother might be Level 30 as well, just not in a combat class.

Pisces noted how Coltora instantly came over to pull the teen aside, and Beton himself turned.

“Not every battle in Nerrhavia’s Fallen needs adventurers to fight. Nor needs fighting at this moment. It seems I have unpleasant work to do, as well as pleasant. I apologize, adventurers, but it is family and thread.”

“Not at all, Beton. What was that all about?”

Yvlon smiled at him. He eyed Pisces. The [Necromancer] shrugged in reply. He never knew if Yvlon was acting or just waiting to hit something.

——

In this case, it was genuine ignorance. Yvlon frowned at Pisces.

“Class struggles?”

“Hemp being conscripted for the war with the King of Destruction. They are almost entirely Hemp-based armies fighting his forces. He is advancing very slowly, because Nerrhavia’s Fallen can field so many armies.”

“But he smashes them. It’s boring, according to his Seven.”

“Exactly. But a boring war for the King of Destruction still means countless Hemp being killed, maimed, or sold as [Slaves]. Putting together some of Beton’s words, and it’s clear he feels like the commonfolk of Ailendamus might. Though they were never as resentful of the nobility as the Hemp are here.”

Yvlon, as the noble herself, didn’t get a lot of it. But she strode on.

“Hmm. Well, Beton’s right. It’s nothing to do with us, and Yisame hasn’t mentioned any problems with the other Stitch-folk castes.”

“Well, she would not, would she, Yvlon?”

The [Armsmistress] frowned—then changed the subject.

“It’s like the Fox Beastkin. We helped Beton, you cleaned yourself; we call that a win and move on. We have to get to Ksmvr. I’m afraid we won’t be able to repay all our debts, Pisces. Beton being so sick…just another reason that Prince Esceit deserves a beating.”

“I almost wish he’d agreed to you challenging him.”

Yvlon smiled slightly.

“He’s not that stupid, alas. But he is feuding with Zenol, and we owe him too. Do you think that if I figured out a way to cause an incident and killed him, we’d get away with it?”

Pisces tripped on his wet robes. Several Hemp people turned their heads and then instantly pretended not to have heard and hurried down the streets. He stared at Yvlon. Her face was calm. Pisces’ mouth worked. Then he bit back a shout and thought.

He didn’t ask if Yvlon was serious. He just regarded her, engaged the question, and his chest grew cold.

“Let’s assume you did kill him in a duel in the coliseum or just if you managed to create a justification, Yvlon. What’s the difference between you and Ceria?”

Yvlon bit her lip and slowed. She checked her arms, which had the beautiful filigree that Elena had helped her design and memorize. Pisces saw it stained with blood for a second, and Yvlon flexed her hands.

“We didn’t talk about it. She might have been right, but she did it like it was the circlet. What’s the difference? I prefer a fight, Pisces. That’s fairer. If I’d killed the Champion of Monarchs before he surrendered, I don’t think I’d have lost sleep over it.”

“Prince Esceit’s no Champion of Monarchs, Yvlon. Is a fight different from a coldblooded execution?”

“He has bodyguards, artifacts—”

“It’s a fight he can’t win, ever.”

Yvlon frowned at Pisces and stood in the now-empty streets, eyeing him.

“Anything could kill me, Pisces. Even with the Ring of Siphon Barriers, the wrong piercing arrow or lucky hit does me in.”

He understood what she meant, but Pisces’ reply was slow.

“That was what we could say when we were Level 30, Yvlon. But imagine if Mars said that to you. ‘Anything could kill me’. If you and Prince Esceit fight, no matter what, he dies. Is that not execution?”

She went walking down the street for a second before returning.

“All I know is what he’s done to Zenol and how he treated everyone else. It’s not pleasant, but I recognize an enemy, and I can’t fight him with words or influence, Pisces. Berr says…”

He interrupted her again, a bit impatiently.

“I want to know what Yvlon thinks, Yvlon. The coliseum was the right thing to do. I went with you instead of telling Ceria or Colth because I agreed. But we may have gone too far.”

She studied him, then nodded slowly. She jerked a thumb, and they walked on back towards the palace, but languidly. He felt like she was listening to him, not just getting mad, and that was better than Izril. But still—there was a line between them, and Yvlon tried to bridge it. But she had no convenient Skills.

“We can only continue on, Pisces. We’re full of mistakes, even if these ones feel different.”

“I know, but we’re not working like we were, even in the Crossroads of Izril, Yvlon. It’s not just this morning. Can’t you feel it?”

She nodded.

“I can. I miss Ksmvr. He’d have kept us together.”

“Me too.”

Silence. They thought of Ksmvr and Vofea, and Pisces felt that urgency rise. Then Yvlon jerked her head.

“So, thoughts on killing Prince Esceit?”

He sighed. She was like a dog with a bone with ideas, and in this case, he was glad she hadn’t made up her mind already.

“No. Everything we do must be within the limits of sanity, Yvlon. Yes, we got away with the Coliseum of Monarchs. Barely. We can break rules, but not threaten everything. And killing a [Prince]? That threatens the status quo, and believe me, if we do that, the Court of Silks and Steel will retaliate. We might already have [Assassins] after us.”

“So we get a dozen more—”

“Break too many convention and they won’t send mere [Assassins], Yvlon. That’s when they send Djinni. Which they won’t do unless they think we’re completely out of line. There are rules, written and unwritten.”

“…Ah. We probably can’t beat the ones that almost killed the King of Destruction. So that’s the way it is?”

Pisces conjured an illusory chessboard, made two pieces in his and her image, and placed them on it.

“We are pieces on the grand game of politics, Yvlon. Don’t topple the board or the true pillars. You came close the other day; we must present ourselves as somewhat flawed, allay suspicions. I imagine that’s part of why Ceria pulled her stunt this morning. It allows Yisame to assert control over her. I’m just guessing, of course; she might have just wanted the books.”

Yvlon was nodding thoughtfully. Then she smiled.

“Do you think, sometimes, we just do silly and stupid things because we’re not as smart as you, Pisces?”

The question left him genuinely astounded.

“I may pretend to some degree of sophistication, but I don’t think I outwit anyone, Yvlon. Colth is far more knowledgeable about Nerrhavia’s Fallen and Chandrar than I am.”

She waved this off.

“Colth has been here, and it’s his job to know things. Ceria’s got her circlet, and she was already intelligent. But you just like to know things. Ksmvr and I can barely keep up. Alright, you’ve convinced me. No killing [Princes]. And we did good today. What’s next? Your mission? Tiqr, for that dratted sword? What about your friends?”

Pisces hesitated.

“I do have an obligation to them, Yvlon. But I don’t wish to involve anyone in trouble—”

She reached out, arm elongating, and grabbed his shoulder. Yvlon’s eyes were calm, blue, and serious.

“Pisces, I’m your backup. You came with me today. Anytime, anywhere, you want to find your friends? I’m coming with you, Roshal or [Assassins] be damned. We may be having a rough patch as a team, but we’ve not forgotten that.”

His back felt lighter, as it always did when she said ridiculous things like that. Pisces might feel the shadow of Roshal on him, the chains of dead men around his feet, even with his class gone, but with the Silver Killer behind him? He sighed.

“No. We haven’t forgotten. Thank you, Yvlon. In that case…I will want to go eastwards and find them, but I have only a few names and clues. I have something else to tell you.”

He cast spells, though he feared they might be eavesdropped on by superior magics. No, he had anti-scrying protections, and you had to risk it. Yvlon glanced at him.

“Something about Beton’s daughter?”

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, using her hair as a shield to hide his lips.

“No. I received a message the other day, Yvlon. Elena knows. It was from an unknown sender. It said that the second Relic to Ceria’s circlet, an amulet, lies in Chandrar. The clue is in the Academy of a Hundred Thousand Tomes. The letter told me not to let her find it.”

She didn’t react, but her arms seemed to ripple as she turned her head. Then murmured back.

“Thank you for telling me. Why did you let her go?”

“I didn’t think it was likely she’d find it in a single day. My goal is to keep us away from there.”

“…Agreed. But who sent that?”

“I don’t know. But I’d bet the inn.”

They grimaced at each other. Whenever in doubt, just put The Wandering Inn in there and assume it was like the original creator of the circlet had become penpals with Mrsha. Yvlon sighed.

“Well, I hope we have an adventure, then. Good work, Pisces.”

She patted him on the shoulder, then sniffed.

“…You forgot to wash your hair properly. It reeks.”

He sighed gustily and resisted the urge to cast [Cleanse]. Nothing was good and sacred in this world anymore.

——

Ceria and Colth returned to the palace that evening empty-handed. Not empty-headed; Ceria described the library of a Hundred Thousand Tomes to Pisces, and he was properly envious.

“Stacks of books, Pisces. You have these huge ladders—some poor bastard fell off one. Colth had to do a flying dive to save them from dying.”

“[Featherfall] spells are standard over there, even for apprentices. And there are spells.”

“What, for anyone to read? What about having to win a master’s approval to learn the spells?”

Ceria and Colth smiled at Pisces, a touch sadly in Ceria’s case.

“Nothing like that. You just can’t access higher-ranking spells until the instructors think you won’t blow yourself up with the spellbook. You, personally, are fine. Tier 1-4 magic is just…available if you’re a member of the academy.”

“What, no personal spellbooks?”

“We had to bribe our way into seeing the better stuff, but no, Pisces. It’s just free.”

That stung Pisces, who remembered how closefisted Wistram was with its magic, until Colth added a detail.

“Free for a member. We’re guests of the crown, so we had permission, but it was Cotton or Silk. No Hemp. And remember, Wistram’s in decline. If the upper floors were open, I bet Tier 1-4 magic would have been free and the masters would be fighting over the higher-tier spellbooks.”

That did put it into perspective, and that comment…Pisces glanced at Yvlon.

“You might have taken something from visiting Beton. We didn’t see much else, honestly. Fascinating sights in the city, but we didn’t find anything worth buying.”

“Except this.”

Yvlon had a comb for scratching pets, which also de-fleaed them, that she’d bought for Ksmvr. Colth listened to the account of meeting Beton, and Ceria stopped eating.

“You put a little metal rake up his nose? Dead gods, Yvlon. That’s genius.”

“Thank you.”

“Ahem. Some of us are eating?”

Elena seemed a bit less happy about the description as she chewed down her meal. She was wincing a bit, and Colth eyed her.

“How was the palace?”

“Less fun than I thought, but I did good work. I’ll report in when we’re not, um, surrounded.”

At this, Elena glanced around, and Pisces was reminded of where they were.

The Court of Silks was almost always in session, and the huge, spacious gathering had places where you could sit and eat, like the ‘private’ booths. Everyone was sitting around a round table on couches as servants placed down food and bowed away. Pisces didn’t see any [Slave] collars on them, and he was on his best behavior, wary of making a scene. However, the [Queen] sat upon her throne, and the court was just…social.

It didn’t always have someone kneeling before the throne. It just was, and he saw people talking together. Members of the Court of Steel, dignitaries, and yes, even Prince Zenol and Prince Esceit, though the two were distinctly enemies.

Colth nodded at Elena as he settled back in his seat, and Pisces worried he might have revealed too much about Beton, but Colth just winked at him, casual as could be.

“We’re not rocking the ship at this moment. I got a hint from Yisame’s people that she might have our quest. Fancy a trip to the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“What, like a plebian, Colth?”

Ceria turned her nose up ostentatiously, and Pisces snorted as Yvlon sighed, but spirits weren’t bad at the moment, despite his reservations. Delitandra put in.

“It might do you well to be seen and act as adventurers, Horns. You have the smell of the palace about you when you are truly a Gold-rank team. The whiff of the crown is best kept at that, lest it grow overbearing. Better to be a useful scorpion than part of the great tangle of politics.”

There it was again, the same advice Beton had given them. Yvlon pursed her lips.

“Everyone wants us to keep out of politics. Ceria’s the one who keeps getting us tangled.”

“You attacked the Coliseum of Monarchs—”

Delitandra stared at Yvlon, and the [Armsmistress] pointed at Ceria.

“And she got us involved in a job.”

“Adventurer Yvlon, do you think fighting the Coliseum wasn’t politics? Your lessons—”

The Heromakers of Hraace stared at Yvlon until they saw her lips quirk. Elena snorted, and Pisces grinned. Delitandra relaxed and fanned her face.

“When I return to Hraace, and the Mentorship judges my deeds, I shall pen a poem on the trials of dealing with the Silver Killer. Truly, I had thought I did well to escape the Pedagogia’s grasp. Little did I know a challenge greater than teaching the King of Destruction had befell me.”

“Well, you’re not teaching us anything at the moment. Where are our lessons? I could have used some training.”

Yvlon seemed determined to murder the Heromakers today. Delitandra drew herself up, fanning her face, and pointed.

“No? Then look and listen. You have refocused the Court of Silks and drawn attention. Not just you; Cognita Truestone, Barelle the Bard? Some of Nerrhavia Fallen’s powerful figures eschew these courts, for it is only part of where power lies. But here they come. Who is that?”

She pointed at a rather solitary old man, who had a clean shaven chin, youthful features—oddly youthful for how Pisces suddenly felt like he was old—and the richest and most magical robes that Pisces had ever seen. But that was common in the Court of Silks, and Pisces had tuned out most magic that flowed everywhere.

Yet these robes were a hazard. Twelve feet long were the hems, so trailing that they appeared to be a midnight river. Black, until streams of color rose upwards and twined together, like snakes, and rested on his massive epaulets.

But the cloth didn’t seem to weigh on him. Nor did it truly fit the younger man’s face. The only clue Pisces had was…

“His eyes. They look old.”

Yvlon commented, and Ceria frowned.

“He’s got robes fit for an [Archmage]. But no magical signature. None. It’s like staring at a rock.”

That was the thing that put Pisces’ back up, he realized. Everyone had magic in them, just a bit. But this fellow was an absolute neutral. Like he had none. Or—more likely—he was hiding it. Colthei just murmured.

“That would be the Magus of Falling Skies. The highest-levelled spellcaster in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Remember the [Meteor Storm]? That’s him.”

Ceria and Pisces focused on the man harder. Him? But he was a Stitch-man; he could change his face. The youthful body clearly belied his age. His eyes…

They felt like they were refracted inwards. Like Pisces was staring into an optical illusion. As if there were a room behind his eyes, a cube of gold in three dimensions shaped out of his irises.

It unsettled Pisces, and those eyes passed over the entire Court of Silks. Bored. Ceria shivered.

“Okay. I didn’t cast any kind of appraisal spell on him, but my circlet just told me he’s Bad News. Capitalized.”

Delitandra lifted her hands, cautious.

“As well you do not. He is known to cast spells back for slights. He would be a neutral party. See how no one dares approach him?”

Indeed, even the Horns usually got accosted by the nobles, but no one was swanning up to the Mage of Falling Skies. It seemed he called to you; he crooked a finger, and a [Chancellor] instantly abandoned a conversation and strode over. A goblet vanished from a servant’s tray and appeared in his hand.

“Whoa. Pinpoint teleportation. Think he’s holding a grudge for the Death Zone we made?”

“I doubt he even remembers us, Ceria. Which is good; he outclasses Larracel.”

Colthei seemed mildly wary of the man, which made Pisces glad that Yvlon didn’t get up to introduce herself. The only comment the Silver Killer made was—

“How does no one trip over those robes? Wearing them must be a nightmare.”

“I bet he fries whomever trips over his robes. And I bet they’re so enchanted it’s worth it.”

Elena muttered. Delitandra nodded and turned her finger.

“In order of trouble, he would be at the top, but he is famously mercurial. Little can interest a man of his powers, and the [Queen] herself would hesitate to make him an enemy or use his services unless at need. We shall leave him as a Giant to sleep or avoid his steps. Of the beings who might actually deal with you—here is another important man, if not in such enduring prominence. See.”

She turned her finger, and there was a man who was the exact opposite of the Mage of Falling Skies. He stood in the center of a huge crowd of people…juggling. At first, Pisces took him for a performer, but when he realized what the man was juggling, he realized it wasn’t knives or balls, but…potions.

“Which one shall I demonstrate? An Elixir of Great Vitalities? A Potion of Thunderheads? I would set the capital to lightning, if not rain! Whoops—aha!”

He nearly dropped a huge vial with a stormy, dark blue liquid within and zigzagging bolts of lightning streaking through it. There was a scream, and he winked at a palace servant and then produced another vial.

“Or merely a Potion of Infatuation? Pure romance, for two days and nights, with you and any other? For you?”

He placed it in the servant’s hands, and there was a clamor at once—then the [Alchemist] turned and produced a second vial.

“Who would like another?”

He had every noblewoman and nobleman jockeying for one instantly. Pisces raised his brows. A Potion of Infatuation?

“Aren’t those illegal in Izril, Ceria, Colth?”

The [Supporter] nodded, baring his teeth as he whispered back.

“Highly. Even if it provokes genuine infatuation, it’s a serious crime to spike someone with them. Not in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, it seems. It is an alchemy capital of the world.”

“Gross.”

Elena wrinkled her face up and eyed the man. Like the Mage of Falling Skies, Pisces bet he was older than he appeared. He seemed like a man in his early forties, a dark black beard trimmed short across his chin, eyes sparkling with mirth. He was very good-looking, but that could be said of almost any Stitch-man made of Silk, as he clearly was.

The difference was…the Mage of Falling Skies was a good example. He might have handsome features, but he stood like a lump, speaking dispassionately, clearly bored, with little beyond his clothing to add to his posture or bearing.

This [Alchemist] moved like a performer. Cupping a chin with his fingers, sliding across the floor, arms moving in flourishes. Too much for Pisces’ tastes, but with a charisma. When he spoke, it sounded like you should listen.

However, for all that, he had both a group of hangers-on who wanted his potions and quite a number of people who were pointing at him and smirking. The [Alchemist] pretended not to notice, but he was playing towards an audience.

“Interesting. Who’s that, Delitandra?”

“Why, none other than Master Therel, one of Nerrhavia Fallen’s greatest alchemists. Famous for his achievements in alchemy—the Flashfreeze Orb was his creation. Also, known philanderer. Lover of ten thousand women. I believe the number is higher these days.”

Pisces’ jaw dropped. Ten thousand—Colth raised his brows.

“So that’s Master Therel. I’ve used Flashfreeze Orbs. They’re Gold-ranker gear. Pretty potent for modern-day alchemy. Didn’t someone cut off his dick and stitch it to a camel’s backside?”

Ceria spat out her drink, hooting with laughter. Delitandra and the Heromakers laughed, and one of them whispered.

“He got it back, but only after nearly a week of chasing it, to hear the stories! That is Therel. He is not as famous as he was in his prime; note how he has as many detractors as allies? To hear it, his wife took much of his riches with her, and since his rivals stole his inventions, he is barely making ends meet. Doubtless, he has come here to revive his fortunes.”

“Unless he’s got a bunch of healing potions up his sleeves, I doubt we need his services that much. He looks like he’d be annoying to deal with.”

Yvlon was cool on the man, which was unfortunate—he seemed to be coming this way. Pisces groaned.

“Why does he want us?”

Ceria shrugged, eyes alight with amusement.

“We’re the most popular team in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, Pisces. Maybe he wants us to use his potions. Cheer up! We might get free samples.”

He did perk up at that. Alchemist Therel did indeed call out halfway towards the Horns.

“Ah, there is the Silver Killer herself! Horns of Hammerad, who stand in Her Majesty’s favor—you would do well to heed a poor [Alchemist]’s words! For when one reaches Named-rank levels, they require true potions and preparations for battle! Who else, then, but the man whose potions armed Torreb the Undefeated and have been used by the King of Destruction and other champions of Chandrar?”

His voice was carrying, loud, and Pisces groaned as he saw Yisame’s head turn. Eyes fell on them, and Master Therel was trying to make a scene, clearly. Since there were about six such events a day at least, many elected to go on chattering, but people turned. Pisces began shovelling food into his mouth.

Like hell he was going to deal with whatever came next on an empty stomach. Ceria was rising, an impish smile on her face, and he hoped she didn’t cause trouble. But rather to everyone’s surprise, before Therel could get to them, someone stepped forwards.

“Aye, the Horns of Hammerad and great adventurers should use the services of a master of alchemy! A pity, then, you chose to speak up. I doubt the Silver Killer is looking for a Love Potion. Are you trying to sell her polish for her arms? A Potion of Warmth for the Ice Squirrel? Your best works fit Silver-rankers, Therel!”

The [Alchemist] spun on his heels, face clouding with fury.

“Who dares insult my work—ah. Apprentice Shedrel. Cowering behind your master’s reputation. What, is the great Alchemist of Ten Thousand Trivialities too afraid to face me in person?”

A knife appeared in one of his hands, and he pointed it at the younger Stitch-man, who stood wearing a more ornamental version of Octavia’s clothing. His vest was festooned with pockets which held glowing bottles, and he had on glass goggles on his head. There was even a small pack on one shoulder, clearly there more for the appearance of it; he looked like what you imagined if you thought of Saliss and never met the Drake.

A battle-alchemist, a travelling concocter of magic. Therel, by contrast, was closer to a nobleman in tall boots and a stylish red coat that swept around him. But it was Apprentice Shedrel—who was a full [Alchemist], Pisces guessed, at least Level 30—who sneered back.

“My master, Alchemist Patsiuda, for you Horns of Hammerad, is the Alchemist of Ten Thousand Creations, the best [Alchemist] in Nerrhavia’s Fallen and, dare I claim it, the world! Her creations serve adventurers far and wide. Nor would I stain the floors of the Court of Silks with your blood, which would not be useful in the simplest tonic.”

“I take your words and challenge you to put them against me. My alchemy has melted more than one challenger to dust, and your master is nothing but a rank amateur who was begging at my doorstep a decade past. I turned her away for being a waste of talent!”

Therel motioned with the dagger, and Shedrel sneered more as he yanked a vial out of a holster on his right arm. He raised it.

“My master is in her prime and only avoided your tutelage because she had better uses of her time than jumping into your bed like every apprentice! Such as surpassing you, Therel. Look. Here I hold one of her creations: the Elixir of Gorgon’s Form.”

He uncorked it with one thumb and drank it—and his form shifted. Pisces blinked, and a Gorgon rose over Therel, scales flashing. His clothing fell to the ground, and Ceria whistled.

“Whoa. I’ve seen Saliss do that, but that’s top-tier alchemy.”

“Alchemist Patsiuda is considered the best. She has dozens of apprentices. Therel…”

Delitandra’s voice was a bit too loud. Therel flushed.

“You think a simple polymorph potion makes you dangerous, boy? Let us dance.”

He seemed ready to fight, and Pisces recalled that [Alchemists] were known to fight in the very streets. Octavia had talked about going over to beat another [Alchemist]’s brains out for a slight; he’d thought it was hyperbole.

Not so. But Shedrel flicked a second vial into his clawed hands and hissed.

“I would hate to kill you before Her Majesty’s eyes. But if I must—here is a Vial of Molten Snakes my master herself brewed. Liquid lava that hunts. It can kill any three Manticores you name before it expires. And what do you have, Therel? A Potion of Burning Rays? It won’t even scratch my scales.”

It was faint, but Pisces thought he saw Therel lick his lips. Colth agreed. He whispered.

“Lot of magic in that vial. This apprentice came to play. And Gorgons are resistant to spells. He came with a counter.”

There was some kind of rhythm to this, though. It wasn’t a pure street fight, Pisces realized. The murmuring voices died down as music rose. The court musicians were playing? Therel strutted right, circling the Gorgon. He brushed at his robes. And his voice took on a different cadence. Faster? He spoke past Shedrel, to the crowd as much as the apprentice.

“Boy—you aren’t the first, you won’t be the last. I’ll melt you in the time it takes to wipe my ass. I’ve seen the best, and your master isn’t even close—do you know how I know? She isn’t here. She’s sent you and a bag full of tricks. How rich. You’re nothing in my eyes. Not a surprise. You don’t have a chance, so I will let you walk away. Go home, boy, find the other no-namers, second-rates, and play. Not here, not in Tyrant’s Rest. You stand before me, Therel the Incandescent, best of the best.”

He whirled the dagger around his fingers, and the one vial became five, held between his fingers, each a different color and type, and he was nodding to the right and left, a confident smile on his face. Pisces—blinked.

Was that poetry? It was close, and he saw Delitandra and the Heromakers nodding along. A murmur of approval rose, but everyone was clearly waiting for Shedrel. The Gorgon had listened impassively to Therel, and now he lowered the vial in his hands. Tossed them down to murmurs. Therel wavered, and tensed—but he hesitated, and then Shedrel replied.

“Old man. It makes me sad to see you here, all filled with fear. Do you think my master’s hidden away? She’s just too busy, sad to say. Busy making alchemy for all the adventurers who’ve come to call. Who’s at your shop? No one at all. Not [Beggars] on the streets. No mistresses between your sheets—and oh, your poetry puts every courtesan I know to sleep. You’re washed and out of date. You’ve come here for attention—too little, too late. If you want me to put your sad reputation to rest? I can. But don’t do that. Don’t play to be the best. You’re not. For your sake, old man, walk away. Live, tail between your legs, another day. Go pretend you’ve got another camel to chase. That’s my piety towards the old. I rest my case.”

He bowed, then held up his claws as he slithered about, showing everyone he had no vials. He didn’t need any. Therel’s face reddened, and when Shedrel turned to face him, it went silent. Dead silent.

He’s going to throw and fight. Or…Pisces was tensed. He didn’t know if the next thing he’d see would be explosions until there was a pounding sound. The throne.

Neither Yisame nor her interpreter spoke, but a lesser member of her circle.

“Her Imperial Majesty is not inclined to see one of Nerrhavia Fallen’s finest [Alchemists] melted upon her courts. If the [Alchemists] declaim they are the finest, let them provide their services to the brave adventurers here.”

Instantly, both [Alchemists] bowed, and there was a sigh. A relaxation.

No duel. Instead, Shedrel shed his form and emerged, a nude Stitch-man who stood behind a towel, dressing himself swiftly as people came over to applaud him or ask about his vials. Therel stepped away, throwing his head back to laugh in Shedrel’s direction, then to speak to someone he knew, slapping a back, acting confident. But Pisces eyed the larger crowd around Shedrel and knew who’d won that.

Colth agreed.

“Bad look. The moment the apprentice faced down Therel, he lost. Even if he won, he just beat his opponent’s apprentice, and if he had fought for his life, that would prove he was weak. Plus, Shedrel had him dead to rights. Yisame saved him from losing face. He might have even signalled someone he needed a favor.”

“I liked that. What was that? The speaking-poetry.”

Yvlon was tilting her head, more intrigued by the wordplay. Delitandra smiled.

“Verbal sparring before the knives fly. Common in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. You’ve truly never heard the like?”

“I have. It’s rapping. Or close enough.”

Elena was familiar with it, of course. Earthers seemed to have an example of everything. Pisces just waited for either [Alchemist] to approach, but they were playing to their bases.

“Do we not get free samples of alchemy?”

He was disappointed when Delitandra favored him with a shake of the head.

“It would make it seem as if Therel were scurrying over to us, and Shedrel would very much like us to come to him. There are other adventurers in the room; they will go secure their favor first.”

“But free potions—”

“We can just buy them, Sniffmaster Pisces.”

“But free, Colth.”

The [Supporter] patted Pisces on the shoulder. Pisces knew that his team had money, but he hated the idea of wasting potions. Magic was free, and once you used a potion, that was it. He was mostly familiar with mana, healing, and stamina potions. Did they need alchemy? He knew Colth would take them if no one else, and Ksmvr loved alchemy.

But not every adventurer subscribed to Pisces’ model of fiscal responsibility. In fact, a team practically charged Shedrel, shoving people aside, and he met them with open arms.

“Ah, the redoubtable Conquerors of Rameid! What brings the northern giants of Gold-rank adventuring so far south?”

Ceria’s head turned, and Yvlon closed her eyes. Then a loud voice cut over the babble.

“Why, we were invited, of course. We heard a fellow Gold-rank team were making a splash, and we thought we’d show them what real Chandrarian adventuring was like.”

“Ah. And there’s the competition. I blame you for this, Yvlon.”

Ceria stuck a fork into a burrito and began to munch. Yvlon herself sighed. Pisces eyed her.

“You know them?”

The Conquerors of Rameid were a four-person team who were mixed Stitch-folk and Human. Yvlon shrugged.

“They were in Medain, and I don’t think they took to me. Perric used them to get us to go back to the capital. Apparently, they conquered Medain’s biggest dungeon? How did they get here?”

“Doubtless, someone’s decided to counter Yisame’s new pet adventuring team with their own. They’re not the only adventurers in the room. Heads up. They’re going to start something. Yvlon, don’t play into their games.”

Raava, the Stitch-woman who was speaking, was clearly the captain of the Conquerors. She was haggling for Shedrel’s potion and glancing at the Horns.

Rather to her displeasure, all the Horns were eating. Pisces watched as Therel slunk around the room, searching for other adventurers. There were clearly a few allowed in the Court of Silks, but Therel definitely was on the outs.

“I wonder what Saliss would say about all of these [Alchemists]. He studied here.”

“Think he ever did that poetry-duelling?”

Ceria smiled, trying to imagine it. Pisces shuddered.

“If he did, I pity the fools who went up against him. No wonder he’s so good at dodging. So what’s this about Yisame’s quest?”

“Oh, that. She’s going to tell us she put up a request in the Adventurer’s Guild. As a <Quest>, no less.”

He brightened up immediately.

“Aha! A <Quest>? We haven’t done one of those in a while! All of ours were rather fraught too; a lower-stakes one would be welcome indeed. Excellent! Elena, do you want to come with us?”

“Uh…how deadly is it? I can definitely stay in the palace, and if there are monsters anywhere around, with respect, I don’t really want to risk it. I’ve been in danger, but I don’t exactly have the Skills or reflexes to survive if things get bad.”

“See? That’s sensible. That’s why I like her.”

Colth pointed at Elena and handed some sauce over. Delitandra cleared her throat.

“We are able to both record your deeds and hold our own, Adventurer Colth—”

“You’re not invited.”

“Ah.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Pisces saw Alchemist Therel moving around the room, greeting people he knew, trying to engage the more powerful people in conversation. He didn’t seem to have much luck, or they just didn’t need his alchemy. Which—fair. You didn’t need alchemy all the time, especially given how much it probably cost.

Therel stopped just once, though, as a huge trailing mass of robes swept out of the Court of Silks. The Mage of Falling Skies had no time, it appeared, for anything here. Everyone got out of his way, but he halted, just once.

Nodded to Therel, who turned, spoke to him with a weak half-smile. The Mage of Falling Skies moved on, and Therel kept circulating. That was all Pisces noted.

Well, that and every adventurer in the room not really liking his team. The Conquerors of Rameid were extolling their exploits and mentioning how a certain team was wanted back in Medain, only saved from wrath because they were the High King’s brides.

Yvlon seemed to have genuinely not heard a word they said…she was poking at a fried scorpion with more nerves than Pisces had seen in her the entire trip, and Ceria kept daring her to take a bite. But then Ceria glanced around.

“Hey, another Gold-rank team. There. See that trio? What’ve we done to them?”

A trio of adventurers were being fêted at another table, if less grandly than the Horns. Pisces turned and saw three Humans looking his way. Two were quite tanned; the third had naturally dark skin. Two young men, one young woman. One of the two young men had dark black hair dyed white, like a slash across his hair; the other was blonde and eating with a will. It was the young woman who was glaring. She had on robes, and Pisces identified her as a [Mage].

“Beats me. More competition? I don’t recognize them.”

Colth squinted, and Ceria got up.

“Let me see if I can tweak the Conquerors’ noses. I’m gonna play nice. Anyone want to say hi?”

Colth, Yvlon, and Pisces got up at once. They walked towards them as Ceria bounded over.

“Another Gold-rank team! Hello! I’m Captain Ceria of the Horns of Hammerad, and you are?”

The other adventurers got up—except the young woman, who folded her arms and glared. The one with blonde hair held out a hand, and Pisces noted he had a [Warrior]’s build. Muscled, in short. Though he had on far lighter armor than Pisces would have thought. A light shirt and pants, showing bare legs and arms instead of Colth’s all-leather gear.

“Oh, er, hello. We’re the Wildcards. A Gold-rank team, like yours. We just got made Gold-ranks, actually. We were invited to the capital, and it’s our first time in the exalted Court of Silks. I’m Leo, and this is Kusal. And Lareceina—Lareceina, say hello.”

He nudged the scowling [Mage], but she refused to even get up when Ceria shook her teammates’ hands.

“I’m not shaking hands with a murderer. I will greet the rest of you. Colthei the Supporter, Yvlon Byres, the Silver Killer, Pisces the Bane.”

She nodded at them, and two of the Horns flushed at their silly names. Leo nudged Lareceina.

“Come on, Lareceina—they’re famous. From Izril?”

“And who’d I murder?”

Ceria wanted to know. Lareceina’s eyes flashed.

“The Champion of Monarchs? And the Master of the Coliseum! I’m surprised you all haven’t been assassinated yet. We can’t be too friendly with them, Leonardo. They’re part of the Queen’s faction, and she’s a cold-blooded killer.”

“Hey. I prefer ‘adventurer’. It’s a catchall term.”

Ceria’s voice was mild and untroubled in the face of the hostility. Pisces cleared his throat.

“We appear to have gotten off on the wrong foot. We just wished to greet fellow Gold-rankers. We haven’t met any in Chandrar before.”

Leo and Kusal were flustered, and Leo nudged Lareceina with his elbow.

“Absolutely. We don’t want to start anything. Lareceina, chill.”

“Well, we just wanted to say hi, but if your teammate doesn’t want to talk, maybe after she’s calmed down? I only murdered the guy yesterday. And he was gonna come for us.”

Ceria decided to disengage and motioned her team back. The Wildcards sat, but Lareceina called out.

“Watch your backs. No, that’s not a threat from me, Kusal. You cannot just go around murdering—”

They started arguing, and Pisces shook his head.

“Oh delightful Captain of mine, does it ever occur to you that we don’t have many friends among other adventurers?”

“We don’t know many teams, Pisces. But yeah…and the ones we do know are dead or on another continent. Fine. I take responsibility for that one. See anyone else who won’t jump down our throats?”

Ceria was casting around for another team they could at least say hi to. Pisces thought he saw other Gold-rankers, but it might have been they were bodyguards or just…independent. They were making their way back to their table when Colth’s head turned.

“Conquerors coming up. Yvlon—”

He flanked her as Pisces took her other side. The Silver Killer protested.

“I’m not going to murder them. They can’t be as annoying as Perric. Ceria, show them Perric’s crown.”

“Oh, good idea!”

Then Pisces and Colth were grabbing at Ceria as Raava stalked forwards with a crowd clearly hoping for more drama. He grabbed for Ceria, sneezed—and then whirled. So did Colth. Yvlon stopped walking towards Raava with her hand outstretched. She and Ceria turned and stared right with the rest of their team.

Pisces’ nose seemed to be acting as a detector of levels or things he found important. Which he wasn’t sure he liked. But unlike Beton—or the Mage of Falling Skies, who’d hidden his presence—this time, Pisces felt like something was physically attracting his attention.

Like gravity magic. When his eyes alighted on the figure who had just entered the Court of Silks, it felt like an explosion going off on his head. It was like a song.

“Who’s—that?”

Ceria rubbed her eyes and laughed, but her eyes flicked towards Pisces, Colth, and Yvlon, and the [Silversteel Armsmistress] began walking.

“She’s strong.”

“I think—I know her too. So the rumors were true. Heads up. That’s a monster, no matter how she looks.”

The Conquerors of Rameid saw the Horns instantly pivot and walk past them. And correspondingly—the Heromakers of Hraace leaned out of their booth and leapt up. Which made Elena glance up, and the attention that focused on the newcomer reflected off her. Interested people turned and grew disappointed instantly.

The smarter ones, like Prince Zenol, knew better than to judge by appearances. And when he peered around, Barelle the Bard smiled, just once, opened a little book, and produced a quill.

A strange adventurer had come to the Court of Silks, even by their standards. Because she didn’t look right.

It was like a midwife or mother had put on somewhat-damaged chainmail over enchanted leather armor and paid for the biggest club she could carry. It was nearly as tall as she was, and she rested it on the ground as she surveyed the room. That was the contradiction.

Everything in Pisces said she was high-level and dangerous. But she appeared almost homely. Her clothes? Cotton, he thought, and she could have been a Human mother in Liscor but for her equipment.

“Who is that?”

Colth didn’t need to answer. The [Herald], who announced people to the Court of Silks, was surprised by the sudden hush in the usually raucous room that ignored him. He cleared his throat, then spoke.

“Presenting, the Gold-rank adventurer! The only woman to attain Gold-rank the moment she became an adventurer in three decades since Mars the Illusionist herself—the daughter of Chandrar’s greatest [Warrior]! Itkisa!”

Torreb’s daughter? As in Torreb the Undefeated? Ceria’s eyes slid to Colth.

“Isn’t he dead? At Pomle?”

“That’s right. His daughter. I heard a rumor she was strong. Of all his offspring, though, she never adventured. Never made a name for herself, and he has sons who’ve become Gold-rankers and [Generals]. But she—”

“She’s Level 40, isn’t she?”

Pisces saw the woman’s head turning, and Itkisa paused to bow to the throne. Then she nodded at Barelle and got a nod back. She was poised, despite the disappointed murmurs. A lot of the Court of Silks just saw her appearance, but Pisces remembered how blown away everyone, even Yvlon, had been at the celebrations.

The Court of Silks might not have been celebrating, but all this attention struck Itkisa, and she just stood there. When someone offered her a drink, she waved it away. Ceria squinted at the woman, confused.

“Her gear…it sucks. That’s a lot of damaged equipment. I don’t think that club has anything beyond a basic protection spell on it. Wasn’t Torreb rich?”

Colth scratched at his chin.

“He had a lot of offspring. She might not have gotten much. Where’s his famous club?”

Delitandra leaned over, eyes alight with interest as she also studied Itkisa.

“Vanished, the rumor goes. Along with his body. She was there when he died. They said Torreb died rather than fight the Strongest of Pomle. Well, well.”

The Horns of Hammerad saw Itkisa step forwards, after a moment, and greet Alchemist Therel, who had found her with a smile and, Pisces noted with jealousy, a free potion. She smiled at him and seemed to know him. Following his example, people who had known Torreb chose to greet the woman.

“So that’s the competition. Think someone called her up to make a point?”

Ceria glanced around airily, then chose to go back to her seat. Yvlon hesitated.

“Aren’t you going to greet her?”

“Nah. I think she doesn’t like us. She seems like she’s spoiling for a fight.”

She does? Pisces eyed the calm woman who’d only glanced their way once, but Colth grunted.

“She is, isn’t she? Maybe she thinks she’ll make a name for herself if she punches Yvlon. I’d do it if I wanted attention.”

“Colth, some may call me the Silver Killer, but the truth is I’m hardly so famous—”

Laughter. The Horns sat back down as Elena listened to an explanation of who Itkisa was.

“Wow, so she’s got to be one of the older adventurers.”

“You get some like Typhenous, but it’s true she’s past the age most would retire.”

“What a queen. I respect that.”

Elena said the oddest things, but Pisces just sat back. Indeed, the [Herald] was calling out all the teams in the room now. Reminding the Court of Silks how many adventuring teams there were in case someone wanted their services.

“—the Conquerors of Rameid, known for taking on the dungeon of Rameid, the Carpetriders of Thistob, mourning two of their own lost in a terrible crash, the Singing Stingers of Scaied, and, an achievement among any adventurers, a team who has earned the recognition of Rhir! Hell’s Wardens!”

Raava and her team stopped waving around and developed a scowl. Ceria beamed at Raava, and Pisces blushed and groaned.

“Does it really make that much of a difference?”

“Adult Crelers are Adult Crelers, Pisces. Even Gold-rankers hesitate when they appear, and we’ve all killed one. It’s how you know a real adventurer, even among Golds.”

Colthei’s voice was a bit too carrying and loud, and he definitely did that on purpose. Pisces peered around. Ceria and Colth were not above needling the Conquerors, and Yvlon just did it accidentally.

“I’m sure the other Gold-rank teams could do the same, Colth. Most of them.”

They rose to their feet as people applauded the famous title and deed. Pisces saw Ceria waving, blowing kisses, and then a confused sound. The clapping slowed—then there was laughter, cheering, and Pisces blinked. Because a second team had gotten to their feet and seemed as surprised as him. Even the [Queen] appeared shocked as she peered from behind her veil.

The Horns of the Hammerad were standing—and so were Wildcard. The [Herald] continued shouting.

“Two teams have achieved this great title! The Horns of Hammerad, Gold-rank adventurers and a Named-rank adventurer who hail from distant Izril, and Wildcard, a team newly elevated to Gold-rank for their slaying of an adult Creler! They also mourn their late comrade Adventurer Justine, fallen in battle against the scourge of Rhir! Hell’s Wardens!”

Pisces stared at the trio, who gave his team a second look. They sat, and Pisces nodded at the trio. They’d lost a teammate? After a moment, they nodded back, and Colth cracked his fingers.

“Not bad. At least one team has guts. So—which teams are going to try and get in our way for this big quest?”

Pisces sighed and remembered Beton’s warning.

The tangle of politics had begun. In his adventures, no less.

——

Queen Yisame always enjoyed seeing the Horns in her palace. She just wished she could be with them, not on her throne, listening in via its powerful spells.

Then again, she might be so tongue-tied as to not say anything. The position of the reader, the observer, the fan of the Horns was to let them act as they willed and just be part of the audience.

That was what she told herself as she held court, paying some interest to the machinations going on around her, but listening into the Horns, thinking up story beats for her next literary work. She’d been published four times so far, and her credibility as a [Writer] was rising. Heartslayi, damn her, was still more popular, but there was a lot of appeal to Sandquen’s ‘realistic storytelling of the Horns of Hammerad’. That was a review she’d framed in her secret rooms.

Of course, Etrikah would have lectured her about balancing things, but Yisame was happy. She was allowed to be happy, and so what if the Horns caused trouble?

They’d arguably helped her more than not by killing one of her rivals and backing Zenol. Adventurers were a different kind of game in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. By backing the Horns, Yisame benefited when they did well, and she suffered a bit less for their foibles; everyone knew adventurers were crazy.

That didn’t mean all was perfect, though. What the Horns didn’t realize was that there was a substantive group in the Court of Silks who were unhappy today, as they had been yesterday and all week.

That would be the, ah, ah, members of the court who had a personal attendant or bodyguard who had been instructed to refrain from entering the Court of Silks with their usual entourage. Or the palace.

[Slaves]. Yisame had personally told her Chamberlain of the Palace to move them away from any conceivable wing that the Horns—especially Pisces—might venture into. Similarly, she had made it clear through lesser channels what was not acceptable in the Court of Silks at this moment.

It wasn’t a royal proclamation. That was far too obvious for this. She just instructed the Voice, who said it in the hearing of servants, who reported it to their masters, and word spread in subtle ways such that few, if any, in the Court of Silks turned up with a personal [Slave].

Naturally, they weren’t happy about that, but Pisces’ reputation as the Bane of Roshal helped. No one wanted to risk an accident. As for the rest? Yisame wanted him to be comfortable, so what were a few favors to her team?

They had done so well at the Coliseum. An adventure worthy of them. She couldn’t wait to see how the Tomb went. True, it was more political than their regular adventures, but it would be a useful boon for them to act, and the other teams…

Yisame actually had Itkisa, Torreb’s daughter, approach her and introduce herself. She said nothing of course; her Voice greeted the woman distantly, as befit a mere Gold-rank adventurer. Yisame tried to see some of the legend of Torreb in Itkisa, but the woman was distressingly plain, and she didn’t have Torreb’s famous club. Ah, well…it was hard for anyone to match the Horns save maybe a Named-rank team.

She did get a thrill when they approached her throne and Ceria accepted her quest on behalf of them. Yisame tried not to show Yvlon any signs of favor, but it was hard—she smiled, wondering if they were enjoying themselves here, in the heart of Nerrhavia Fallen’s luxuries. She hadn’t heard of them availing themselves of any of the more exotic luxuries one could ask for, but perhaps they just had no interest in that.

The Adamantium Bathhouse did get tiring after you’d seen it a few times, and she didn’t care for the menagerie much herself, even with the new magical beasts. Going to the library—there was an adventuring team after her heart. Far better than the Fall of Nerrhavia’s, that eyesore of a hallway a hundred thousand paces long.

——

The pronouncement of Queen Yisame telling the Horns to take on a quest and the rest of the palace was a bit more tiresome after that, and without great note to Pisces. He could have too much of fame and attention, so the Adventurer’s Guild was the only highlight to him.

Tyrant’s Rest had a proper Adventurer’s Guild on par with Invrisil’s. Bigger, Pisces dared say, though he had never seen First Landing’s.

It was massive, and so many teams were inside who wanted to talk to the Horns he promptly cast [Invisibility]. Unfortunately, that had [Mages] coming up to him.

The worst part was that many were friendly, if wary.

“Bane, a word? I don’t own [Slaves]—”

What a curious way to greet him. But Pisces realized the teams were different from Invrisil’s in one huge way: none of them cared he was a [Necromancer]. Unlike the memorable Captain Todi and their brief stint in Invrisil, he ended up shaking hands with several [Mages].

“You’re an [Illusionist]? Truly?”

A Stitch-girl who wore a [Fool]’s outfit juggled knives which were all fake.

“That’s right. My entire method is baiting monsters into traps while my team skewers them. I can’t imagine fighting and casting. How do you manage it?”

“Er…practice?”

“Truly? Most battle-casters can’t use a weapon. They have to be [Spellblades]!”

Pisces hesitated. When you mentioned it…he shrugged.

“I was raised as a child to keep focus while dueling. I had to practice to use magic and the sword.”

His father had certainly beaten it into him, and Feren, the highest-level [Necromancer] Pisces had known, had taught him to cast and fight. Another [Mage] who had graduated from the Academy of a Hundred Thousand Tomes sighed.

“Interesting. I do some fighting, but only after I use my mana. [Summoner]. I’d love to pit my spirits against your undead. There are plenty of [Summoners] in Chandrar; I know some [Necromancers], but it fell out of style after Az’kerash. Plus, cloth is harder to animate than other bodies.”

Fell out of style. Pisces swallowed his disbelief.

“I might not have time for that depending on how long we’re here—but why summoning?”

The [Summoner]’s name was Asmal. He showed Pisces a set of amber crystal preserving pieces. A bit of a sword, a tooth—Pisces had seen Revi’s gear, and he was familiar with it.

“Naturally, naturally. Summoning relies on pieces of what we want to revive. We need the whole corpse, though, then we take a piece and bind it. It works less well on continents where things rot or mold. But in Chandrar, one can die and become dessicated. And Stitch-folk leave lifethread behind, which is a catalyst.”

“Ah. Quite understandable. What do you prefer? I, er, favor Skeleton Champions these days, and a warbear. We have a Frostmarrow Behemoth, but the mana cost is intensive—”

Asmal had a fascinating array of monsters and even an ‘ancestral spirit’, who used a sword and shield. But he confessed it wasn’t much.

“Two Giant Scorpions and a Silver-ranker fighter that can’t hold off Gold-rank threats. If the Sandworm fails, I’m in trouble. I’d sell my right arm for a good summon.”

He flexed his arm, which was a dusky, even purplish hue. This limb was apparently tuned for fighting; it was made of a strange cloth that turned translucent in the sunlight! Indoors, it was only partially visible. Pisces imagined it’d be hard to see a blow coming, though you could see what Asmal held.

“Lovely cloth. Er, I’ve never thought of Stitch-folk changing their cloth like that. I know a [Summoner], Revi, who has a giant Shield Spider.”

Asmal’s eyes lit up with envy.

“How big? What a catch! If she got the body right away…summons degrade over time. Which is why even a Named-rank’s body might only turn into a Gold-rank’s spirit. But you can summon them forever as long as your crystal isn’t damaged, which is the benefit. Yes, this arm was an investment. Nightmare wool. I had the thought to make my entire body out of it; I’d have to go naked or enchant my clothing to be invisible, but I spent a fortune on this arm!”

He heaved a huge sigh.

“I was investing for another limb, but then Tiqr fell. It comes from there. No more to be had. That’s the problem with adventuring, especially abroad. You need specialized limbs and cloth. Your friend probably doesn’t want to risk having a limb that she can’t repair or maintain.”

“Revi is sensible. So the war with Tiqr has led to shortages?”

Grimaces from the Stitch-folk adventurers around him.

“Too many damn wars. We’re not soldiers, and some of the fools who went to fight Tiqr at the start never came back. Fighting Grand Oliphants is madness. Now we’re wanted for the wars in the north—fat chance against the King of Destruction! Same for Pomle and their [Martial Artists], Illivere’s Golems, or Tiqr. As for the eastern wars…”

“What eastern wars?”

Pisces had utterly forgotten how many conflicts Nerrhavia’s Fallen was invested in. One of the Silver-rankers scoffed.

“Some incident at the Meeting of Tribes. An [Ambassador] with a camel’s asshair for brains slew another. Now the only direction we’re not at war with is the south, and that’s just because there’s nothing there to fight but the sea!”

Everyone laughed. When Pisces asked if anyone was concerned about the number of wars, he got very neutral shrugs.

“We have more armies than sand, Bane. They’ll push the borders, win wars—then give up after enough of our armies strike them. The only true foe is the King of Destruction and—”

The [Summoner] hesitated.

“—He will be defeated like any other foe, of course.”

Well, that was politics. Ceria had to march in to drag Pisces out of the only fun conversation he’d ever had with teams he didn’t know to show him the board.

“Pisces, look at this! Why’d we have to be adventurers before this, huh?”

He regarded the board on the Adventurer’s Guild, and his jaw dropped. Pisces was immediately upset. Mostly because…being an adventurer had never looked more fun. Because, upon the board, each one glowing, the text literally shining different colors?

Were <Quests>.

<Rare Quest — Slay a Raging Manticore!>

<Basic Quest — From Githe the [Butcher]: A Prime Cut of Meat!>

<Rare Quest — Undead Horde! Bounties for Skulls! (Do not turn in literal skulls).>

<Rare Quest — Kidnapped: Hithcombe! Rescue him from the [Bandits]!>

<Basic Quest — Escort Duty to the Border!>

The rest of the world may have forgotten <Quests> or absorbed them into the cultural zeitgeist, but adventurers?

Adventurers were always doing this job, only now, there was a framework to reward people. Not just reward; the random items and extra experience from <Quests> was a lure. A siren’s song, and Pisces instantly regretted not taking on some casual quests.

Colth dragged him back to reality, though.

“According to the local adventurers, most <Quests> are just ordinary with a few surprises. You don’t get much from a rare quest, other than a nifty trinket or low-grade artifact if you’re lucky. But it also depends on the poster, apparently.”

Yvlon was standing alone; no one wanted to be near the Silver Killer, but her head turned from studying the board.

“Really? How so, Colth?”

His eyes twinkled with great interest.

“Why, a good <Quest> poster has Skills, Yvlon! Larra was complaining about not levelling or having any since she splits her Skills between magic and innkeeping. You can get extra rewards if you have a high-level [Guildmaster] or [Innkeeper]. That’s why Queen Yisame had the quest posted here instead of doing it herself. See?”

Pride of place on the board was a huge, recently-posted quest, and Pisces stared up at it. The other teams were blatantly envious, because it was clearly marked for the Horns. And this one made Pisces’ heart beat.

<Heroic Quest — Secure the Tomb of Yad’thuv!>

Limits: The Horns of Hammerad.

By order of Her Majesty, Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, hear and obey! The Tomb of Yad’thuv has been uncovered, an ancient resting-place of Stitch-folk. This hallowed ground is, no doubt, filled with restless undead, guardian spirits, and traps.

Enter, but do not slay the guardians carelessly; secure the Lifethread of each fallen warrior and ensure the tombs are kept safe. For the ancient warriors of old may become great warriors in service to Nerrhavia Fallen’s [Summoners].

Quest Reward: The favor of Queen Yisame, 12,000 gold pieces, experience in <Adventuring> classes, one lesser artifact of the vaults in Tyrant’s Rest.

Capital’s Reward (Bonus): An item of the Tomb of Yad’thuv.

Ceria was the first to finish reading and exclaimed.

“Dead gods! That last part—is that from Yisame?”

A woman leaned over the counter and spoke.

“It is none other than my Skill, Horns of Hammerad. I am Zamielle, [Royal Guildmistress], and my Skill allows me to append greater rewards on suitable quests. By the will of Her Majesty, I have done so. It is a rich reward, is it not?”

An artifact from the vaults and an item of old? Pisces licked his lips and noticed the other teams glancing at him. This was definitely favoritism. But Colth was just rubbing his hands.

“This is a good quest. Not only is it good, old-fashioned dungeon-diving, but we have lots of experience.”

“We do?”

The Horns had actually done Liscor’s dungeon and Albez, and Colth pointed out that some teams had no experience with that, like the Silver Swords. Moreover, as Ceria called for one of Wistram’s Magical Carriages to begin the journey now, he gave more reasons this quest had been posted.

“Summoned spirits are powerful. Even if they degrade over time, the odds are a tomb like that held Named-ranks. Which turn into Gold-rank spirits in life. If we’re lucky, they were already preserved before their death.”

“What? So they processed their dead but sealed them up?”

Ceria frowned, and Colth nodded as the carriage got moving. Yvlon waved at several Bronze-ranks who’d painted their arms silver then almost slammed the door shut—she had fans. The carriage slowed because plenty of people had gathered outside to mob the Horns, but they got moving as guards cleared the streets. The magical carriage effortlessly navigated traffic and then left the city, moving faster and faster. Inside, the seats were comfortable, the air cooled.

The Horns were riding off to adventure, albeit not on their chariot but in comfort. Pisces felt a bit like Deniusth and the Named-ranks. The chariot was a lot of fun, if bumpy, but this was faster. Colth kept explaining to the others.

“Yes, Stitch-folk would have known someone wanted the remains. But you seal a tomb up like that as, well, insurance. Especially if you don’t want current [Summoners] running around and getting too powerful. It’s also emotional. Imagine someone using your dead friends or heroes.”

Pisces sombered. There was a core of necromancy to summoning. He nodded, and Yvlon got it.

“Ah, and because it was just found, everyone wants it. So Yisame has us grabbing it. What’re the odds another team was hired to also grab the stuff?”

Colth’s eyes glinted.

“Almost 100%. But they would never admit to wanting to steal what belongs to the crown. Still, that means we’ll have Gold-rank teams running in there unofficially. We’ll have the high ground there, but they’ll be paid to get what we’re after.”

“Even if accidents happen. Great. Adventurer on adventurer violence.”

Pisces finished, but he was the only one who seemed terribly unhappy. Colth was just calculating, and Yvlon grunted.

“If they’re a good team, they won’t take the contract or we can talk them down. I don’t like it, but it also lets us go travelling. We might visit the Mad Ones. According to the map, we’re headed eastwards.”

Where Bearig and at least some of my friends are. It was a big nation, but Pisces’ heart leapt. Colth nodded, eyes flicking to Pisces.

“We’ll take a long trip, even if the dungeon’s simple. Let’s focus on the dungeon first, ey, Pisces?”

“Of course. Undead…it’s always undead, isn’t it? I could probably slay most of them by snapping their necks. Unless they’re Skeleton Lords.”

Ceria flexed her skeletal hand, grinning.

“And the circlet’s good for anti-trap duty. The real danger’s other teams. How d’you want to tackle them? Colth? You’re the expert. Darn, I wish I had some of those spellbooks from the academy! Well, maybe I can learn a spell or two on the ride. It’ll take time, even in this carriage.”

Pisces and Yvlon exchanged looks for a second, but he was relieved; they were away from the academy, on an adventure, and closer to his own goals. He settled back as Colth began to plan.

——

It took thirty-eight minutes for Colth to come up with a plan and everyone to agree. Which left, uh…two days for transit.

It turned out the tomb was far away, and fast as magical carriages were, Nerrhavia’s Fallen was vast. So the travel was boring.

Here was the thing: the chariot was more fun because even if bugs sometimes hit you in the face and it bumped, you felt in the world. From behind the magical glass of the carriage? Sounds were muted, and it was too loud if you rolled down the windows because of the speed they were going.

Nor could the Horns slow; Colth was pretty sure any teams who’d gone from the capital would have taken this very conveyance, which meant they had to go full speed. After all, another team looting the tomb wouldn’t be instantaneous, but half a day’s march would be disastrous.

Thusly, Pisces got to see Nerrhavia’s Fallen’s roads, and that was a dry, dusty sight. In places, they were beautiful roads kept by Djinni; in others, literal dirt and sand with tracks. He pointed out where the roads the King of Destruction had built across Chandrar via Drevish met roads that the Immortal Tyrant had laid until Ceria hit him with a comment.

“Pisces, all your roads appear the same to me.”

Whereupon he sulked and read the book he’d checked out until Ceria started whistling. Colth produced some cards, but he bet like a literal Demon; he was used to the Haven, who were cardsharks. Only Ceria could keep up with him.

What did one do to cut the boredom? The same thing everyone else did, these days.

They watched television.

“Next. Next. Next.”

“Stop flipping through channels, Springwalker. That one looked—”

“It’s Chandrarian propaganda. See the logo on the side? Wonders of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Oh wait, we’re on it. It’s me stealing books! Okay, bored. Next.”

…Even finding a good channel was hard. Pisces put away his book because he felt mildly nauseous. He was, in fact, carriage-sick while trying to read. Nor did the Horns want to dwell on their popularity in Nerrhavia’s Fallen.

Colth was squinting at a complimentary booklet in the carriage.

“Eugh, it’s like someone ate on top of this. Disgusting. Hold on, let me file a complaint.”

There was a magical survey form, and he began writing on that. Pisces sighed.

“Let’s just watch something. Channel 2!”

“Drassi’s not on it all the time, Pisces. Plus, it’s boring today.”

“⅕ stars. There. Sent. It says here they have ‘on demand movies’. Movies. What kind of word is that?”

“Earther term.”

Yvlon and Pisces chorused. Colth scowled.

“You can’t say that about everything.”

“You can if it’s from Wistram. I’ve seen them at the inn. Erin’s got them. What are Wistram movies?”

“Recordings of famous events. Oho. The Players of Celum! Darn, no Elisial. Just the classics they did in Liscor. There’s tours of kingdoms—all propaganda, I bet. And—oh, the Ksmvr of Chandrar documentary.”

“Let’s watch that!”

Ceria brightened up at once. Yvlon shifted.

“I’ve already seen it.”

“You have? When?”

“The moment I got back to Izril and he told us what happened. You didn’t?”

“I heard it firsthand from Ksmvr.”

“He downplays everything, Pisces. It’s good.”

“Well, let’s watch it again—”

“I’ve seen it six times, Ceria. Isn’t there anything else?”

Pisces tapped his fingers together as Ceria threw up her hands.

“What about a historical documentary, perchance? Some retelling of the Creler Wars or, more interestingly, a city or nation?”

“Pass.”

Colth was interested, but the two female teammates overruled Pisces. Colth patted him on the shoulder.

“Okay, wait. According to this, there’s a chatroom that Wistram has. You can talk to other people. There’s even one dedicated to finding newsworthy events. I think I heard there was some fellow in First Landing who had a class dedicated to watching the television.”

“And they call me lazy—aha! Here it is!”

Ceria hunted around and hit something on the side of the scrying orb installed into the center of the carriage. A blue screen with scrolling white text appeared, and Pisces blinked at an advanced [Message] spell.

They never taught us that at Wistram. Ceria began scrolling through the chatrooms.

“Huh, this could be fun to mess with. I wonder if we can get anyone to believe it’s us. Wait…#television-1. Looks like there are…1,903 people inside. Whoa.”

“Anything worth watching?”

She was rapidly scrolling up and down, eyes flickering.

“Heh, is your super-viewer named ‘Molen’, Colth? Everyone’s deferring to him. Lord of the Couch, they’re calling him. Pretty funny. I’m definitely going to mess around with this place.”

“Rings a bell. There’s a Lord Molen Terland.”

Colth had an eidetic memory for people and places like that. Ceria hmmed.

“He’s talking about us! Classic Horns? Do we have a reputation? Am I predictable? Weird, he’s telling everyone to tune into one of the Terandrian channels. The one from Ailendamus? He’s not being complimentary, but he says it’s a ‘must-watch’ for Horns fans. Hold on, let me see if it’s on the scrying orb.”

She began changing channels as Yvlon squinted at the messages and seemed appalled.

“Someone wants to lick my metal foot?”

She edged back from the message box, and Colth chuckled.

“Ah, fans. You get used to it. You wouldn’t believe what kind of offers Mihaela got around her feet. A rather common fetish.”

“Colth, do you ever think we don’t need to know things?”

Pisces folded his fingers together, and the [Supporter] gave him a huge smile.

“I share the curse of knowledge, Pisces. I could hit you with something truly painful to hear.”

His smile dared Pisces to take him up on it. The [Necromancer] thought and carefully sat back.

“…No.”

A flashing [Message] lit up the text box as Yvlon stared in horror at the words, and she jerked. Then read more.

“Wait a second. This is a mass alert. Jaw of Zeikhal sighted? A juvenile one—”

Colth sat upright.

“That’s like an Adult Creler or natural disaster. They must be warning everyone to take cover. Near us?”

“No, it’s a ways away, but close enough…we’ll go well clear of it. They’re calling all adventuring teams. Do we go?”

Yvlon glanced around as if that were the foregone conclusion, and Pisces was nodding, but Colth threw up a hand.

“Wait. If we do that, the other teams will loot the tomb. There are plenty of teams in Chandrar.”

“But it’s a Named-rank monster—”

“Juvenile, Yvlon. Nerrhavia’s Fallen has its armies. It might even be a trick. I’d do that—well, I’d call it an Adult Creler. Either way, we’re on a mission from the crown.”

Yvlon might have protested, but she saw Ceria shaking her head, and Pisces admitted Colth had a point. He sat back, and Colth smiled brightly before noticing the other two’s discontent. He hesitated—and then Ceria crowed.

“Got it! Let’s see what—oh shit.”

The scrying orb finally stopped on a new television channel called ‘The Glorious Report’, which was clearly Ailendamus; Pisces saw the familiar sigil in the corner with the lancearrows and ‘his’ kingdom’s crest.

Well, he was long gone from Ailendamus, and he had never thought of himself as a proud citizen beyond being born there. His father had wandered from place to place, and Ailendamus held nothing but regrets for Pisces. The only person who had survived his childhood and that blaze was Ama and, apparently, Feren.

Still, he wondered what was so important about his team on this channel? Pisces saw someone, clearly a reporter of some kind from Ailendamus, doing one of those interviews where the person being interviewed was in a smaller box.

Screen-in-screen. The [News Anchor] was smiling, and a picture of Pisces was present, hair all a-tangle, leaping into the Coliseum of Monarchs. Pisces turned beet red as Ceria began to hammer on the scrying orb. Him? They were broadcasting his face?

Of course, his name was out there because of the bounty that Montressa had put on his head. They had records. Pisces was about to tell Ceria to turn the orb off—he didn’t need to hear the Kingdom of Glass and Glory claiming him—when there was a voice.

“Disgraceful.”

The one word jerked Pisces upright. It was familiar. Pisces couldn’t have forgotten that voice, though he had not heard it for…

It was acerbic. Even grating. There was no sneer in it; it was precise in that each word was carefully enunciated, like the edge of a blade. Everything about that man was like that. But despite that, there was the sense that the speaker regarded everything as lacking. Including himself.

The excited [News Anchor] hesitated.

“Excuse me? This would be the, ah, aforementioned [Necromancer] and duelist who is believed to be a Silver-bell duelist, Pisces Jealnet. Of Ailendamus, though the Kingdom of Glass and Glory does not recognize his class, naturally. Yet his considerable abilities and fame—you disapprove, sir? Of your son?”

Then the image of Pisces was replaced by a man’s face, and Pisces’ hand leapt to his side. Because there he was.

Padurn Jealnet looked like Pisces, though the [Necromancer] was loath to admit it. But to his teammates, who had frozen, it was obvious.

His hair was a similar shade of brown, though a touch darker, and unlike Pisces’ untidy mop, Padurn’s hair was combed straight. And he was, disconcertingly, thicker than Pisces, if still fairly lithe. A [Duelist]’s fighting trim. He wore a leather guard on his non-dominant arm, and he stood with a simple rapier in hand. A silver bell hung from it, and his face was…stern.

Unsmiling. Creased from the scowls which were too common. Pisces knew that Padurn’s hands would be callused from holding the rapier. His eyes were dark brown and would only light up when he was angry or, so rarely, happy.

His father. The man was unchanged. After all this time—

“Pisces? Turn the scrying orb off, Ceria.”

Colth reminded Pisces he had stopped breathing. The [Necromancer] let out his breath in a rush, but stopped Ceria.

“No. I have to see…”

Padurn Jealnet interrupted Pisces, as ever, despite being a world apart. He addressed the [News Anchor] with a half-bow, precise as a razor. The Fencer’s Bow. He had names for every move. You inclined yourself to a 68° angle. Keeping your weight on your toes to move out of the bow at any moment—

Never show any openings, boy, even in courtesy.

That voice. It was all coming back to Pisces. A blow across the shoulders from the training stick. That expression of uncomprehending disappointment.

Flesh burning. Smoke in his lungs.

“Naturally, I disavow his class, Anchor Jormen. I consider my son’s actions a personal disgrace. Were it in my power, I would personally drag him back to face judgement.”

The man had a little box floating under him for identification.

Padurn Jealnet, Silver-bell [Duelist]. Ailendamus.

“I, ah, but he is your son and a Gold-rank adventurer considered to be on the cusp of Named-rank. The most famous [Necromancer] living, sir. And an acclaimed fencer in his own right. This is Padurn Jealnet, father of Pisces Jealnet, to any new viewers…”

The poor [News Anchor] hadn’t expected this. The number of the Horns of Hammerad’s parents that you could interview were pretty small. Ksmvr of Chandrar had no parents or it was the Free Queen—unacceptable. Ceria Springwalker’s parents? Deceased. Colth the Supporter, mysteriously, had no records on family, and it was presumed they were dead. As for Yvlon Byres, the man kept advertising Byres silversteel—so naturally, the most mysterious of the Horns, Pisces, was a shoe-in, right?

Unfortunately, no one had actually thought to consider Padurn’s character. He was simultaneously uncharismatic, but captivatingly grating. He shifted, posture immaculate, and shook his head.

“My son ran away from his home years ago to join the Academy of Mages. They, clearly, did not know about his previous misdeeds. I had already disowned him and disavowed any knowledge of his deeds. Clearly, he has learned nothing in the time since.”

“…But he is a Gold-rank adventurer, Duelist Jealnet?”

“Fencer.”

“Pardon?”

Padurn gestured to his rapier, obviously unaware of the title hovering below him.

“I consider myself a fencer. A duelist is a challenger, roaming and pursuing mastery of the blade through combat. A fencer practices to refine their techniques. I have chosen a sedentary life, although my current occupation allows me for more travel. Therefore, I am a fencer.”

“You pedantic bastard. Nitpicking as ever.”

Pisces muttered under his breath. Yvlon glanced at him, opened her mouth, and shut it. The [News Anchor] tried again.

“Er, [Back on Topic], if you please, Fencer. I do apologize. Your son demonstrated incredible talent in the Coliseum of Monarchs. And we have numerous examples of his swordplay. The Village of the Dead, his raid on a [Slaver] caravan—”

Padurn shifted and grew more pained, as if the sight of Pisces in any kind of heroic moment went against all he knew to be true. He replied swiftly. That was the thing about him. You might think you could flummox the idiot with his hardheaded, stubborn ways, but he was fast verbally, on his feet and with the damn rapier.

“I have observed all these recordings. My comment stands: he has not improved since I taught him. If anything, regressed. His form is off. In the first instance, he shifts from foot to foot on the sands, unable to balance any cut. Here—”

He pointed as Pisces wobbled in the image of him fighting two [Slaver Guards] at once. The image froze as the [News Anchor] pointed, and Padurn gestured.

“His arms and body are completely out of sync. He has no follow-through on his cut, which is what follows.”

Sure enough, Pisces slashed lightly across a face, and there was a spray of blood. Padurn turned his head.

“He relies on that spell, [Flash Step], without any nuance and magic to overcome his numerous shortcomings. I did not teach him that, nor do I hold his swordsmanship on any pedestal.”

Pisces was grinding his teeth. The worst part about Padurn was that he was correct. Those were bad cuts. Though the [News Anchor] was clearly on Pisces’ side and coughed.

“It was a rather hectic battle, Fencer Padurn.”

“I’m sure that is what he would say as his excuse. A true duelist—and he has met at least two, the Maestro in the Trial of Blades and the King of Duels—shows no weakness.”

“So…you have nothing to say about your son, sir? Is he not deserving of the silver bell he carries?”

The slightly waspish tone of the [News Anchor] did get through to Padurn. Once more, he shifted and grew uncomfortable. His hand touched his rapier’s hilt.

“I did not state that. Pisces Jealnet bested a silver-bell duelist in combat, albeit by ambush and with magic. However it was done, the precedent stands. A silver bell is a mark of competency. It is not the golden bell, which itself is controversial. He is far from worthy of a true fencer’s regard.”

“Ah, the silver bell. We were curious about it; he appears to carry a silverish bell, but not a standard one. But can you certify that Adventurer Pisces deserves the bell, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Did you witness the duel between him and a Silver-bell duelist? The Fencer’s Guild of Terandria cannot ratify it.”

More discomfort. Pisces did smile then, darkly. Padurn paused.

“I did. The individual he bested was myself, before his flight from Terandria.”

“He bested you? Before he went to Wistram?”

The [News Anchor], uncomfortable or not, realized he had a story here. Padurn shifted once more.

“He did. I was unprepared for his use of magic, and it was an ambush; I have no excuse. It does not change my analysis, as a pure fencer. Neither he, nor I, have reached any adequate level of bladesmanship.”

His eyes were boring into Pisces, and the young man wanted to jump into the scrying orb and take Padurn on. Though he had never dared without that ambush. And he’d only done it with rage and luck—

The broadcast continued as the Horns watched. Padurn Jealnet was a [Fencer]. Not the best. Far from the best given he had no golden bell and had always aspired to it. But he was a silver-belled duelist and, Pisces scowled as they saw him preparing to do demonstrations—

He hadn’t lost his edge. He hadn’t changed as much over the years, but when he drew that rapier, Pisces still knew he was behind the man.

Not with magic. With magic, Pisces could bet on himself. With artifacts—but with that mastery of the sword? If it was nostalgic to him, a bitter quill, it was illuminating to everyone else.

——

The Arbiter Queen, Jecaina, had nearly spat out her breakfast when she’d seen Padurn on the scrying orb. When he’d started to insult Pisces, she’d hoped the [Necromancer] couldn’t see this, and her ire had risen.

She was worried about Khelt and Fetohep, who wasn’t responding to her requests to talk, and her father was preparing to raid Medain again. The television was, then, an unhappy but welcome distraction.

The problem with hating Padurn was…she watched as another [Duelist] with a silver bell demonstrated Padurn’s training and techniques. She observed a graceful lunge at Padurn’s chest and how he backstepped, showcasing a classic guard against the dangerous move unique to rapiers.

“Damnit. He’s better than I am.”

“Who is?”

Raelt of Jecrass wandered into the dining room, eating a banana from the royal gardens. He took one look at the scrying orb and, without missing a beat, grunted.

“Silver-bell? He’s good. Better than you, yes.”

She glared at him, and Raelt hesitated.

“Er…who is he? Very interesting. It’s like watching a Training Golem fight. Dead gods, he looks as strict as can be. I can’t imagine he’s much fun to talk to. I wonder if I ever met him as a lad? Funny, he looks like Pisces.”

It said something that the King of Duels could read that much in the form of Padurn Jealnet. It also said something that he had focused entirely on the swordplay and not the name hovering under Padurn on the broadcast. Jecaina pointed, and Raelt swallowed.

“Oh. Huh. He and Pisces don’t fight the same at all.”

It was true. Padurn was demonstrating a relatively perfect display of fencing, albeit so hidebound and standard it would bore Jecaina to tears. But Pisces had been far more adaptive. You could see the basis of Padurn in Pisces’ form; he favored a fast-moving footwork that gave him a lot of range and only closed in for decisive blows. Pisces had taken that further with [Flash Step], staying mobile, but diverged in other ways.

Like someone who hated to fight like the man who’d taught him. The problem was—Raelt muttered.

“He’s better than Pisces too. At least in pure form.”

Jecaina threw an unpeeled orange at him, and Raelt seemed hurt.

“The blade doesn’t lie, Jecaina.”

“No, but you can be slightly nicer to the adventurer we like!”

“I swear I’ve met him before. Maybe we fought. You fight a lot of silver-bells who want to level. Hmm. Ah, well, he’s levelled since then, clearly. Watch this next bit.”

Padurn was standing sidelong, as fencers did, presenting the narrowest angle for his opponent to attack. He stared away from the other duelist, who circled him—then lunged, stabbing. Padurn’s hand blurred and swatted down the stab.

Instantly, the other [Duelist] backed up and hesitated. Then they came at Padurn, fast. [Flurry of Strikes], Jecaina guessed. Six blows in quick succession.

One, two, three, four—

Padurn knocked all four blows down with economical moves. Then Jecaina cursed and saw the other [Duelist] falter. Because Padurn?

He’d closed his eyes.

——

That was…new. Pisces had never seen that trick before, and it gave him a nasty feeling down his spine. When Padurn turned, he just confirmed it.

“My Skill is called [Automatic Parry]. Any mundane strike or blow within my ability to deflect will be.”

“That sounds quite—powerful, sir.”

“It is average for a Silver-belled duelist. It has most use when my attention wavers or I am taken from odd angles, which I should not be. It is a Skill no true [Fencer] needs. Clearly, I was awarded it after my disgraceful duel with my son.”

Padurn’s inability to take a compliment was a superpower. He went on commenting, having demonstrated his actual talents.

“What separates Pisces, myself, and any true duelist from that of one who holds a golden bell is simple: technique. He covers up his numerous shortcomings with magic. It cannot replace the fact that he has no ability to wound a foe of suitable talent or parry a sufficiently Skill-based strike.”

He didn’t know about [Joveln’s Parry]. But Pisces still glowered because once again—the [News Anchor] coughed.

“Without magic, you mean.”

“If he truly had any talent with the blade, he would not need magic.”

“But you yourself are no gold-bell duelist, sir?”

“My comments to him apply to myself, of course. Were he to assail the King of Duels with sword alone, he would never leave a scratch. The same for myself. Nor can he block a cut. If the Adventurer’s Guild certifies him as a Named-rank adventurer, I can only conclude it is a grave oversight and an insult to any true master of the blade. The next step, the next stage of mastery is not something a mere copycat can equal. It would be apparent if he were that.”

Padurn was clearly about to expound on every way in which Pisces had failed to learn anything when the scrying orb turned off. Pisces jerked.

“Hey!”

“Okay, what about Ksmvr of Chandrar?”

Ceria turned the orb to the movies as Yvlon nodded. Colth patted Pisces on the shoulder.

“Parents. Your swordsmanship is just fine, Pisces.”

“I am not worried about—change it back, Ceria. That man. He’s clearly sold out his principles. What happened to ‘eschewing fame for the art of the blade’? He’s barely improved. So what if my form isn’t perfect? You can’t perform any magical blade arts after a decade of study!”

Pisces was stabbing a finger at the scrying orb as his team tried to calm him down. His blood was boiling. Especially when he read in the chatroom that Padurn Jealnet had been invited to the royal capital as a sword trainer. Pisces threw his hands up.

“He’ll ruin everyone for the blade! That’s because I’m the famous one! He’s got no originality! He’s a snivelling yes-man who thinks the law is the law because someone wrote it down with a shiny quill! That pathetic, self-serving, unoriginal—”

He caught himself, staring at Padurn, and for a moment, the Trial of Shields flashed before Pisces’ eyes. He had won that due to his magic, inspiration, a feat he could not replicate.

Could Padurn have beaten the hologram Drake with a sword? Pisces doubted it. But he took no satisfaction there. He glanced down at the bell on his sword and whispered.

“We’re both unworthy.”

And he was a [Duelist], now. Just like his father. Pisces glowered at the scrying orb.

The next step. He wished he knew what that idiot meant. Yvlon patted Pisces on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Pisces. I have my own problems with my father. And my mother, in some ways. Just differently. Being raised by a single man like that—no wonder you ran from home.”

He blinked at her. Untensed slightly.

“Single? Padurn’s not a widower. My mother, Enica, is alive, unless anything’s changed.”

She hesitated as Ceria blinked.

“Oh? How bad is she?”

“She’s fine. What she sees in him, I’ll never know.”

Pisces sat back, sighing. He glanced around.

“What? She’s not the problem. He is.”

——

Enica Jealnet was no Padurn, that was true. But Pisces’ memory, which was over a decade out of date by now, wasn’t perfect.

Then again, he had only known his mother as a son, a child.

The Court of Masks had different opinions on the Jealnet family, all five of them. Which would have astounded Pisces on multiple levels. Firstly, that the distant and powerful center of the realm had any knowledge of him when he had grown up in obscurity, raised in a provincial lord’s employment.

Secondly…five?

Well, his siblings were eight and two, respectively. Pisces had no knowledge of them, having never returned or made contact with his family, and wasn’t that interesting?

He was interesting, and sort of a puzzle for the likes of Baron Regalius, Lady Demizine, or the other high-ranking nobles who spent their time advancing the cause of the realm, gossiping about Duke Rhisveri, and arguing in the Court of Masks.

Because, well…Pisces Jealnet was one of the most famous adventurers in the world right now. That wasn’t a subject for debate; a [Regional Bard] had conducted a survey, and Minister Sophridel had confirmed that in terms of name-recognition, he beat half of the world’s Named-rank adventurers.

Obviously, having a famous adventurer who came from your country was a boon. Ailendamus had long wanted for a big representative, and the reason they didn’t have one was a bit of that old ironic hindsight; when they’d conducted a review, it had transpired that all their talent that normally went into the adventurers who made it big…had been recruited as promising [Knights], [Mages], and so on.

You could do too well in mobilizing your young population. Thusly, Ailendamus would have loved their own adventurer to make figurines out of and to advertise their nation. Pisces would have been looking at a substantial deal to represent the Kingdom of Glass and Glory already except for the, uh, [Necromancer] thing.

That was why Padurn Jealnet had been on television. It wasn’t hostile! Not quite. It was Ailendamus feeling their way around him as an issue.

Embracing a [Necromancer] was unthinkable in a post-Az’kerash world, but he had been dead for a decade. And adventurers were their own breed…but it still would have been a hard sell.

On the other hand, Pisces Jealnet wasn’t the wretched sort of fellow you sometimes got in high-level adventurers. He was, by all accounts the Court of Masks could find of him, rather brave. Selfless in battle.

…But he was a [Necromancer].

“Damn! But for his class and we’d be printing stories in Tales of Adventure and Woe already! We don’t have anyone half as appealing in our Gold-rankers.”

Regalius was groaning as he eyed Enica and the rather surly Padurn Jealnet, who were quite overwhelmed by their visit to the Court of Masks. Well, Enica was. She seemed to be a pleasant woman, minding her children, who were tongue-tied, bowing despite being assured they should not.

Interesting…Regalius knew a bit of swordplay himself, and so he’d watched Padurn’s broadcast with several winces. The man had no charisma, but Regalius could recognize how good he was with a sword.

Even so, he muttered to Lady Demizine out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not recommending him to teach anyone in the palace, though. And I will defend that to His Majesty myself!”

General Bathnir, the retired, white-haired man who also associated with Regalius’ group, grunted in agreement.

“There are trainers who inspire and those who crush motivation, and that man is the latter. The one thing I find good about him is that he’s grating on anyone he talks to. Equal opportunity condescension.”

The [Baron] swallowed his wine with a grimace.

“Dead gods, is that the best we can say of him? Someone else, say something nice!”

“His wife is quite pleasant.”

Yietha murmured, and Regalius eyed Enica again. It was true; Enica Jealnet was not what you might think of her. She was no shrinking violet like he had assumed the surly Padurn might marry. She was actually…fairly athletic. She was long-legged, fit enough to have strode about the palace all day with two kids, and seemed ready to run a footrace.

Regalius suspected that anyone whom Padurn Jealnet married had to at least keep up with the man’s personal training journey. She even used a fencing foil quite well, though she had no silver bell. She was sociable, kinder than her husband, and yet Regalius shook his head.

“She is pleasant, Yietha. I just…did anyone notice she never brought up her son, unprompted, once? She never asked me how he was doing or for more tales of him. There is a rift deeper than the Kraken’s Trench between father and son, but the mother has her husband’s side. And from meeting and listening to that man for five minutes—I am somewhat inclined to wonder if Pisces Jealnet’s crimes as listed are accurate.”

The other nobles turned to Regalius. Strong words. Shocking words that called into question the judicial system and the authority of the local [Lord]—but no one took him to task instantly. General Bathnir put aside his wineglass, frowning.

“I think House Shoel has opened an investigation, Baron Regalius. I reviewed the case myself. On its face, the situation was simple. [Necromancers] were found in a cabal. Their sentence was perhaps overzealous, but they had raised numerous undead.”

“Some were children.”

Lady Demizine’s comment. Regalius found the wine had soured, and he nodded.

“Let’s wait for Shoel’s report. But if the question is whether or not to embrace our notable adventurer…he is a [Necromancer]. He is a criminal. But his father does not exactly add to his indictments. Preliminary surveys are in from Minister Sophridel, and it appears our nation is not exactly against Adventurer Pisces. Fencer Padurn’s broadcast may have actually added to his popularity.”

“How surprising. Do we allow the man a segment to demonstrate his abilities? We did bring him all this way out here.”

Everyone turned to Regalius, who had a lot of authority in the areas of entertainment under Minister Sophridel. Regalius smiled as he watched the Jealnet family.

“Of course. It may be Padurn wins over the courts or public. But if he fails, perhaps that’s an argument to embrace Adventurer Pisces after all.”

“Regalius, Regalius, the scandal—”

“Is it a scandal, Lord Cobilet? How many monarchs or nobles know of Pisces Jealnet? If we have one [Prince] who’s not from Ailendamus express support for him in a public comment…”

Regalius was thinking out loud. Then he thought of Noelictus and stopped. His brother had made war against the Kingdom of Shade, which harbored undead in its borders, for over a decade. It still…Regalius let the other talk for a moment, staring into his winecup.

Nevertheless. Digneral, his brother, had never searched for popularity or the benefits of being liked. Perhaps he should have. All Regalius knew was that there was another angle to embracing Pisces’ reputation. Whether or not anyone here said it…Pisces the Scourge had been made slave of Roshal. Embracing him would put their kingdom against Roshal, if only in some small way.

But upon small things did national policy sometimes turn. And Regalius? He took a longer drink from his goblet and thought Padurn uncharming His Majesty and everyone else might not be the worst thing. It was just a small play from a man who had some opinions on [Slaves]. He only wondered if his peers shared his opinion.

That was all, though, for the Court of Masks. Pisces was just one issue; far less consequential than the funny old Duke, who was becoming more of a character every day, or the war or—

But they did watch when his team got up to their shenanigans. The results of a single Gold-rank team’s actions reached across the world. The only question was: what would they do next?

——

The Tomb of Yad’thuv was no crypt buried in the side of a hill. That was only Pisces, Ceria, and Yvlon’s memory that played tricks on them.

This one was a hole in the ground. Sand formed the dunes that provoked the memory, and they had no grass covering them; this empty ground had been uncovered by a chance gust of wind. But for that and you would never know the tomb lay here.

Arid, inhospitable land all around, the uninviting façade of a series of low-hanging cliffs, and ground so hard as to be rocky, despite technically being made up of sand.

The only vegetation here were cacti. This area lay inland of the coast, so Pisces thought no one could have lived in this region. However, they had passed at least one small community of Hemp-folk who lived by raising small herds and growing Yellats and cacti.

They were, then, surprisingly beautiful when you passed a cultivated cactus and saw it adorned with flowers that alchemists prized, blooming towards the sky, as Hemp-folk cut the blooms and gave the cacti little cups of water.

Flowers amidst the wilderness, and at the tomb? What always popped up: lookie-loos, people hoping to sell tools to adventurers, thieves, and lower-ranked teams. And the people who lived here. Again, Hemp-folk who stood well back from the actual tomb.

Possibly because the adventurers hired to clear it were already there.

“Shit, they’re already here! They must have taken off last night or at dawn!”

Despite Colth using Skills to boost their carriage, Pisces saw no less than four other Wistram Carriages at a standstill, and his heart leapt.

Other Gold-ranker teams really had been hired to undercut Yisame’s authority. This truly wasn’t Izril. Because they were also fighting.

Even as their carriage sped forwards, Ceria enlarged an image of the tomb’s entrance. Pisces saw at least eight people battling; there was the flash of a [Fireball]—a Garuda leapt out of the explosion, trailing smoke. They hurled something down, and a dual-colored flash of green and blue engulfed a team. But when it cleared, their barrier spells had kept the group protected. The Garuda linked up with five more fliers, and they dove straight into the exposed stairway.

“[Sycophantic Identification]. That team—those are the Jade Garudas. Fuck. That’s Named-rank. I’m counting the Singing Stingers of Scaiid on the ground—and the Roving Spearmasters, there! Gold-ranks! And another carriage is coming in. That means one more team’s lurking around, at least. Two, if the Garudas flew instead of rode.”

“Three Gold-rank teams and a Named-rank one? How valuable is this damn tomb?”

Yvlon’s voice was incredulous. Ceria grinned.

“More like—how much do they want to humiliate us and, by proxy, Yisame? Named-rankers are not within your plan, Colth. Retreat or circle?”

“They’re in the tombs, and they’re fliers. If we drop on them inside, I’ll give it to us. The moment they get out, they can just teleport or fly off. We can’t let an adventurer escape with the summoning materials. We need to secure the entrance. Your ice walls can probably hold even a Gold-rank team, right, Ceria?”

“If I reinforce them? For a while, yeah, unless they’ve got a Yvlon or a powerful Skill. But then, all the other teams are on our ass.”

Colth was thinking out loud.

“Then we wall the front. Get in, wall, take on any teams inside, and get out. Our advantage is being sanctioned. Scrying spells are already being deployed on this tomb. No adventuring team wants to make an enemy of the crown. Once Yisame’s people start shouting at them, they have a narrow window to pretend they didn’t hear. We just need to cut off their window of opportunity. I think the plan’s a go. Advance on that tomb and wall up. Pisces, you and I will deploy temporary spells, but Ceria has to use her magic.”

Specialization. At this point in time, Pisces’ [Bone Wall] spells were incomparable to Ceria’s ice magic. They had finally begun to diversify in abilities such that he couldn’t keep up with her. He nodded, but his heart was pounding.

“Colth, they’re going for the kill. Look—”

The Roving Spearmasters were fighting the Singing Stingers of Scaiid, and there were just three Stitch-folk with spears. But from the way the team of eight, the Stingers, kept back, each of the [Spearmasters] was like Relc. One opened up with a lunging stab that took one of the Stingers through the chest. The spearmaster hoisted the screaming Gold-ranker adventurer up into the air and flicked them off the spear.

Blood. The Stingers replied with a volley of spells and arrows that blew the ground apart; the [Spearmaster] was lying flat on their back when the air cleared. But some of the magic arced up, rebounding from the offensive, and landed near the civilians.

A bolt of green; it left six figures lying on the ground. They began to wriggle around, and Pisces saw more people fleeing backwards, towards the Hemp-folk who had stayed well clear.

Colth grimaced.

“Sloppy idiots—they’re not going as lethal as they can be, but only because they’re largely Stitch-folk. It’s a fight to the death if we start killing them.”

“And we’re doing this?”

Once again—Pisces felt like he was the person standing still while everyone else was preparing to move. Yvlon was flexing her hands, glancing around for a target. Ceria’s eyes were narrowed as she chanted spells. Colth turned to Pisces.

“We can’t fail the crown, Pisces. Like Yvlon said, if they were entirely upstanding teams, they wouldn’t be here. Don’t kill them; it’s not like the coliseum, Ceria.”

“Hey, I’m amoral, not stupid, Colth. Ready? Pisces?”

They looked at him, and he reached for his rapier. He didn’t want to do this. Can’t we just talk? They were looting a tomb of Stitch-folk. It felt different from Liscor’s crypts for some reason. Pisces frowned. What was telling him that? Instinct?

His class?

The [Necromancer of Reclaimed Grandeur] felt at the back of his neck, then saw his team waiting on him.

“I’m with you, of course. Always.”

Yvlon smiled at him. Then her eyes swung to the battle, and he thought he heard her heartbeat pick up. Did the adventurers down there hear it?

Or was it just their [Dangersenses]? Then he saw a second carriage appear on their right, and Colth swore.

“Gold-rank team! It’s the Conquerors—”

The Conquerors of Rameid rammed the Horns’ carriage with their own, and then Pisces was fighting. No longer thinking. He wished that was less of a relief.

——

The Conquerors had spotted the Horns and been dogging them the moment they left Tyrant’s Rest. Now, Raava swung the carriage into their team with a shout.

“Horns! Now we sett—”

Their carriage bounced off the Horn’s magical carriage from Wistram, and an alert began to sound.

“Collision detected. Slowing to ascertain damages and contacting your Wistram representative. Please hold.”

“No! Damned thing—what was that?”

The Ultimate Supporter’s green hair poked out of the side of his carriage. He flashed them a smile with no actual mirth in it.

[Veteran’s Ramguard]. Their carriage kept moving. The Conquerors kicked at the magical control box and tried to open the doors—which had just locked.

“For your safety, please do not exit the vehicle. Please hold—this is Magus Rievan. Let me just see what the problem is, esteemed g—what the hell?”

The [Mage] whose face had appeared on the scrying orb did a double-take as Lorllemdrom shouted at him.

“Open the carriage or get us moving!”

“Is this a dungeon? Hold on, you can’t use our carriages to ram—it’s against our code of conduct!”

The [Mage] was staring around. Iptiv kicked the doors.

“Get us out of here! Get us—”

“Watch out!”

Orsenor shouted, and Raava stopped trying to bail out one of the windows. She’d broken the magical glass with her pickaxe only to see someone leaning out of the other carriage.

Ceria Springwalker. The Ice Squirrel beamed.

“Hey, Raava! I owe you some of these! [Ice Lances]!”

“Dead gods!”

The first lance of ice slammed into the carriage, and alarms started blaring. Magus Rievan panicked, waving his arms.

“Stop! Stop attacking the carriage! This is Wistram Academy’s property—”

“Get out the other side! Hurry!”

One of the Conquerors slashed through the magical doors, and they leapt out, but used the carriage as cover; Ceria was bombarding it with more spells. Raava was poking her head out from the right side.

“We have to break clear and get into the tomb! Orsenor, give me a [Dustcloud Bomb]—”

“More magic!”

Lorllemdrom, their [Mage], warned the Conquerors and they took cover. However—the second spell wasn’t a direct attack. Instead, Raava yelped and then stared down at her armor. There was frost on it.

“She’s lowering the temperature! Get clear!”

“She’ll snipe us—”

Iptiv tried to dash free and nearly ate an arrow. Colthei the Supporter had a bead on them, and he was keeping them pinned. But that meant the Ice Squirrel was still casting.

[Snap Freeze]. As the Conquerors felt the numbing cold eating at them, there was wind. And snow. Then—

[Whiteout Blizzard]. They were immersed in freezing winds, shouting. Raava leapt out of cover, and an [Icy Lance] slammed into her. But for her magical chestplate and she would have been killed; her team dragged her behind the carriage.

——

“Conquerors locked down!”

Ceria grinned as she saw the four heat signatures of the Conquerors staying put. Then she switched targets.

They were right on top of the two Gold-ranker teams, the Singing Stingers of Scaiid and the Roving Spearmasters. Both teams saw theirs coming, of course, and pivoted.

“The Horns! Damn the other teams—we need to be done before the palace blacklists us!”

That was the leader of the Stingers, who were advancing, seven-strong. The two Spearmasters called out.

“Truce?”

“You took out Marid! Never!”

That was all they got before the Wistram Carriage nearly ran over one of the Spearmasters. The Stitch-man leapt aside, and there was a voice from the inside.

“Pedestrian collision detected. Informing a representative of—”

The carriage didn’t slow, but did a U-turn and tried to run the [Spearmaster] over again. He stabbed desperately, but his enchanted spear didn’t penetrate the reinforced magical sides of the carriage. Then there was a voice.

“This is Magus Rievan, please h—are you running that man over? Stop! How are you controlling—”

Colth, again. [Commandeer Vehicle]. [Bandit] Skills. He swung the carriage around, spraying dirt, then someone launched from the side.

The Stingers were making for the tomb as the two Spearmasters dodged the carriage. Then they saw someone hit the ground and come running at them. Their [Captain] turned.

“Threadmakers. The Silver Killer! Drop her!”

They spun as the Silver Killer of Izril ran at them. She was—fast. The Stingers still managed two volleys.

Two [Lightning Bolts], an enchanted arrow, and a throwing disc—all hit her dead on. She burst out of the first volley, and they saw her skin was grey.

[Aspect of Iron]. She ignored the damage, and she was grinning—

“Hold her at the barriers! Ready—”

An arrow hit her in the cheek. Glanced off. One of the [Swordsmen] in the Stingers put a hand on their blade.

Wait—

She hit their barrier spells, and the barriers went out. The Stingers weren’t expecting that. They saw Yvlon Byres go through the barriers, and only the [Warriors] had a moment to react.

“[Quadruple Slash]—”

The [Swordsman] hit her. Three times; she blocked one of his slashes with an arm. But despite his enchanted mithril sword—all his blows bounced off something. Her skin. The prismatic barrier of their [Mage]’s magic was on her skin—

She shoulder-charged into him, and a fist met his sword. It compressed his sword back against his chest, and the [Swordsman] twisted—bounced off two of his teammates. He was trying to get up when her metal arms just—exploded into spikes.

——

The two Roving Spearmasters saw the entire team of the Stingers vanish in a giant porcupine of silver metal. Instantly, they spread out. One of them kept dodging the magical carriage, which was trying to run him over.

Colth was in the driver’s seat, and Ceria leapt off the carriage next, skating on a ramp of ice. She was covering her friend; the Stingers were trying to fight Yvlon as she punched through them at close-range. When they backed up, Ceria blasted them from behind.

“Disgraceful.”

The Captain of the Roving Spearmasters planted his spear on the ground. Three Gold-rank teams against one? He prepared a Skill. [Inferno Javelin]. Aiming at the Ice Squirrel. Barriers or not…

He had a half-second to notice the sand moving slightly before the invisible blade slashed at his chest. Nevertheless, the Captain parried Pisces the Bane’s cut. He cursed, whirling his spear around in a [Deflection Pattern].

Four strikes—one got through and cut across his chainmail armor, but that was all. The [Spearmaster] returned with two jabs. He saw the sand moving.

“Your teammate is down. The other one is fighting Colth, a Named-ranker. I would retreat, Captain.”

“We are [Spearmasters]. Face me openly, duelist. Let us see which is better. Silver bell or [Spearmaster].”

The Stitch-man motioned, and to his surprise and gratification, Pisces did appear. The [Necromancer] hesitated, and he raised his rapier. But that strange bell he carried—Captain Rashoy glanced at it.

That’s not silver, like the television said. He lowered his stance, preparing to sweep in. But the [Necromancer] just lifted his rapier.

“I regret to say, Captain, I have no time for a duel. Forgive me. Then retreat. My teammates are all more dangerous than me.”

What did that mean? The [Captain] was running forwards for a [Low Sweep] Skill followed by a Spear Art. But he aborted the charge—pivoted—

The arrow hit him, and only his helmet saved him. Even so, his head rang—but the man was blocking something else. A heavy swing—he stumbled. Then had to leap back away from—

He leapt back into a blade, which slashed across his chainmail. Then he felt bony hands on him. But he saw nothing. Just twisting sand—

The [Invisibility] spell broke, and six Skeleton Champions appeared. They’d gotten the drop on him! The [Archer] took aim as Pisces saluted the man.

“Apologies. I am a [Necromancer] more than a [Duelist].”

Then he [Flash Stepped] away. The [Captain] swung his spear through one of the Skeleton Champions’ heads, but the rest came at him.

[Undead: Bonerattler Charge]. He ate his first real wound as the one with the greatsword drove the blade into him and nearly broke a rib.

“Calpit!”

He shouted for his teammate—and didn’t see the other [Spearmaster]. The final member of his team had tried to take the driver of the magical carriage out.

Colthei the Supporter drove past Captain Rashoy. He had a bloody blade in hand. He leapt off the carriage, and it skidded to a stop. Someone was being dragged behind it. Rashoy saw his teammate—Calpit was missing an arm and still struggling to free himself from the rope that the [Supporter] had used to drag him across the ground.

“Fall back! Grab Miha!”

He swung at the Skeleton Champions, who were pulling back, five strong, towards the tomb. Rashoy deflected an arrow and heard a scream of fury.

The Conquerors of Rameid emerged, frostbitten and furious, and the Stingers were scrambling away from the Silver Killer, five standing. A flying carpet descended, and three teams of Silver and Gold-rankers leapt down, shouting.

But the Horns had reached the tomb’s entrance. Rashoy saw the [Necromancer] turn back as the Ice Squirrel and Silver Killer joined his position. The [Supporter] was using the entrance as cover, firing arrows at the other teams. For a second, Rashoy locked eyes with Pisces the Bane.

He’s no slaughterer of men like the rumors say. He even appeared guilty. Rashoy lifted his spear. The [Necromancer] could have done far worse during that surprise attack. Then Rashoy fell back, running to get his fallen teammate.

Rashoy was a Level 35 [Spearmaster of Sand’s Flare]. After today, Rashoy hoped it was Level 36; that would be the one consolation prize from this disaster of an attempt. He consoled himself with two things.

Firstly, his team had only gotten cut up but not wounded beyond some good cloth and stitching. Second? He peered over his shoulder.

“Gold-rankers. Hah.”

“Damned Adventurer’s Guild.”

Calpit agreed, hunting around his for his arm. They were all over Level 40 or Rashoy would eat his damn spear.

The other teams were bearing down on the tomb’s entrance as the Horns regrouped. There was a pause; one of the Conquerors fired a glowing arrow, and it exploded as a Skeleton Champion threw itself in the way of the projectile. Then…

The Frostmarrow Behemoth roared its way skywards. Ice and ivory funneling upwards from the two [Mages] who held hands, a glowing blue flame in the eyes of the largest—and first—bear that Rashoy had ever seen. It turned, and the Conquerors of Rameid slowed and began backpedalling.

The Frostmarrow Behemoth charged, roaring like an earthquake given voice. Then the Horns of Hammerad vanished inside. The Roving Spearmasters retreated towards their carriage, shaking their heads.

“Let the Jade Garudas try them. Or those other two teams. Let’s get out of here and find a [Mage].”

“To do what?”

“See if they’ll pay us to do an interview.”

——

The Horns made it to the Tomb of Yad’thuv by virtue of superior gear and strategy, mostly. Colth had reasoned that since no one knew how Yvlon’s ring worked, any team using conventional barrier spells would be easy pickings.

Moreover, Pisces and Ceria were experts at locking down the enemy—even if the two of them didn’t actually do that as much, their classes were perfect for delaying actions. Colth had been most worried about Pisces getting hurt or Ceria growing overconfident, but her takedown of the Conquerors with his help? Textbook.

Even the Haven’s crowd would admit she’s got Named-rank instincts there. Three spells to take the Conquerors out of the fight long enough for them to secure a position. The last trick had been the magical carriage, obviously.

Far too useful. Archmage Amerys had demonstrated how they worked, and having a vehicle that was a lesser version of Magnolia Reinhart’s carriage was hard for anyone to beat, even a Gold-rank team.

We’ll have to watch out for someone doing that to us. Though Colth had already speculated that if he deployed an obstacle, he might be able to flip one coming at them.

They made it to the tomb’s entrance, and Colth reviewed their state. No major wounds on anyone in the party. Yvlon had taken some hits, but she was using her second ring to heal herself. Magic expenditure was moderate with Ceria, but she was guzzling a mana potion.

Pisces had lost all but three Skeleton Champions, but had enough bones to remake two. [Ice Walls] were now deployed, and with Ceria’s [Glaciersheet Ice], they’d have plenty of time before a Gold-rank team broke through—once they dealt with the Frostmarrow Behemoth.

“Alright, let’s push. Ceria, how much mana are we working with? Can you cast [Summon Frost Elemental]?”

She flicked her eyes to him, still grinning with the adrenaline.

“Sure! How many do you need?”

“Can you do…four without needing a mana potion? And use the Crown of Medain?”

“If I draw on the circlet’s magic, sure. Just flood the corridors?”

He had his bow in his hands and was scanning down the tomb. Colth saw old murals and text on the walls, beautifully preserved. He wished he had time to read it; the creators of this tomb had clearly recorded the history of the place. Perhaps even the names and levels of the dead. But he focused.

“That’s right. We don’t have time to search for traps beyond quick checks. Send them forwards. If they vanish, let us know. And tell us when your ice walls come under attack.”

“Aye aye, Captain Colth. Everyone good?”

“That was crazy. We just rushed three Gold-rank teams.”

Pisces was wiping at his brows, but Yvlon only grunted.

“They were easier than I thought. I was worried when they tagged me with spells. The Stingers fell back without engaging me hard.”

Well, you probably outlevel all of them by ten levels, and you ran at them with Galas-muscle. And they saw your last fight. 

Colth didn’t say that, obviously. Better if the Horns continued behaving like underdogs. He just smiled as Ceria conjured four beings made of frozen ice. Tall, angular; the Frost Elementals strode forwards, shedding vapor, and Pisces pointed.

“Skeletons, advance and…engage? Don’t kill adventurers. Any defenders of the tombs—yes. Don’t kill anyone living.”

The Skeleton Champions let the Frost Elementals go forwards, then the creatures summoned by the Crown of Medain. Smaller, snarling jackals made of light, a green bird with huge claws—eleven Silver-ranker monsters.

Nothing fancy. All together, the summoned monsters would probably only delay a Gold-rank team, but it was a damn horde. Colth smiled wider.

This team of mine has so much utility. He loved it. Normally, you had to pay for this kind of firepower if you were with Eldertuin or Viecel, or you traded all your offensive capability for magic or being all-rounders like Larracel.

But with Yvlon and Pisces, Colth actually had a strong frontline too. Their only weakness was a lack of [Rogues], and he filled that gap.

“Okay, I suspect two teams are down here—one’s Named-rank. The Jade Garudas are respected, but fliers. They favor magical attacks with their speed. Hit-and-run tactics. I think they’re some kind of magical Garuda subspecies? They’re overconfident or desperate. They shouldn’t have entered the tomb, but waited to pick off anyone coming out. My guess is they think they can blitz the tomb and get out. They might be able to cut through Ceria’s [Ice Walls], so our goal is to negotiate or neutralize.”

“Think they’ll be willing to talk?”

The Horns strode down the corridors, which were actually well-lit. Little balls of [Light] had illuminated on sconces, revealing the old sandstone corridors and sarcophagi lining the walls. Colth glanced at them.

“Hard to say. I’ll get a read on their personalities and communicate it to you, Ceria. Remember: they’re a Named-rank team, so they’re sharp. But I’m a Named-ranker. If they recognize me they’ll think twice before assuming they can overpower us. Also, we can rely on Fetohep’s friendship.”

“What about Yisame? Ow. There goes one of my aspects. One left.”

Yvlon was scratching at a chunk taken out of her cheek. As her [Aspect of Iron] faded, it became a bloody gash; she grimaced. Colth sighed.

“It’s just politics with Yisame. Fetohep, though…he’s a petty [King], and a powerful one. I heard he reached out to them.”

“Colth…do you ever stop coming up with weird facts?”

“I just listen to gossip, Pisces. Now, note the light spells. Inbuilt from the tomb’s creation, not placed by the first team who got in. That means the magic is still good. I reckon the other teams dealt with traps or guardians. It also means our loot’s here. So no adventurers get past us without turning out their bags of holding. Well, I’ll check them anyways. They can hide loot anywhere.”

“Like up your butt. Yvlon style.”

“I swallowed my loot, Ceria.”

“It all comes out one way, Yvlon. You ever had to deal with that, Colth?”

He sighed.

“Too many times. It’s worse when it gets stuck.”

Pisces groaned.

“Colth…can we just be professional?”

“That’s as professional as Named-rankers get. Okay…silence spells. Keep chatter low.”

The Horns advanced. Colth saw the corridor of the honored dead sloped downwards, and his hope was that the tomb was just one long, long corridor. That’d make it a real easy killzone.

Sadly, it was not. Everyone had to be cute. Happily, though, when they reached the first intersection, someone had actually chiseled a map onto the tomb. Colth chuckled.

“I love helpful architects. Nice. Okay, three passages but just three wings. We have a chokepoint here. The northern wing is largest…I’d bet that’s where our treasure is, just based on general vibes.”

The writing on the walls was in the common tongue, telling Colth this wasn’t too old or made by unexpected groups. It was Pisces who hmmed and read as Ceria directed the summoned creatures to split. She sent the Ice Elementals forwards, the Medain minions right, and let the Skeleton Champions go left. The [Necromancer] eyed the writings.

“It says ‘Skein of Yad’thuv’ is the western wing. Whereas the right reads, ‘Threads of the Guiders’. But the northern tomb is simply, ‘Legacy of Thuv’s Reed-folk’. Fascinating. From this, I infer that the left corridor isn’t what we need. Stitch-folk might put just a lifethread in a pot.”

“Mass-graves, then. Low-level. ‘Threads of the Guiders’ means the ruling class? They might be valuable, but probably are lower-level. Treasure might go there.”

Ceria commented, and Colth concurred.

“Wall the left side and north? The north sounds like our destination, mind you. ‘Legacy’ indicates that they intended this place to be found, and their champions sound like a legacy.”

Pisces sniffed at everyone stealing his thunder, but nodded. Yvlon just raised a hand.

“Reed-folk? Why are they called that? This is a high-level tomb, right?”

“Maybe they were all made with reeds if this place had water during their time, Yvlon.”

“I know, but can you even make reeds into cloth? Is…is that comfortable?”

The question genuinely gave the Horns pause. Colth knew you could make cloth out of most plant or animal fibers, but he hesitated.

“You’re right, it sounds closer to Hemp-style cloth. But magical reeds? Or maybe that’s how their civilization evolved? Let’s speculate later.”

They were about to head down the right corridor when Pisces held up a hand.

“Contact! One of my Skeleton Champions went down; the rest are fighting.”

Colth nodded.

“I’ll go first with my armor’s advanced invisibility if I need to. Yvlon, don’t let them get at Ceria. If we need to, just [Ice Wall] and fall back, but try not to cut me off if they detect me?”

Pisces nodded and lifted a glowing finger. Yvlon strode forwards as Ceria covered her with a wand, and Colth kept low next to her, bow aimed. They heard fighting ahead of them.

“—dodge]! They’re damned fast!”

“Someone’s coming! I can sense their footfalls! Living! Hey, help us—”

“They’re the ones summoning the undead, jackal-brained asses! Hold! Hold, we wish to parlay!”

The most authoritative voice came from ahead, and Colth decided not to use his armor’s powers—yet. They’d need time to recharge. Instead, he peered down the sloping corridors and, as they descended, saw Pisces’ remaining two skeletal champions fighting a group of six.

Well, some of the six. It was a mix of species. Three were wounded, one quite badly burnt. The other three adventurers were…Gold-rankers? Colth didn’t recognize the team, but the wounded ones felt weaker.

Golds and some Silvers? Not unheard of, but it was stupid for this. He called down as he aimed at the leader, who was actually one of the Fox Beastkin.

“Horns of Hammerad! And you are?”

“Nerrhavia’s bones, it’s them. We are the Adventurers of Nerrhavia’s Fallen! Pull back these undead! We wish to negotiate!”

“What a name. I should have called myself Ceria, the Cold Half-Elf.”

Ceria muttered sotto voce at the others. Yvlon snorted, but Pisces was already calling the Skeleton Champions off. Colth would have preferred them to stay at melee range, but he just called down.

“You’re interfering in the business of Queen Yisame, Adventurers!”

“We took on a job, same as you. It’s not personal. Listen…you.”

“Colth, the Supporter.”

He sighed and the Fox Beastkin squinted.

“We don’t want to quarrel with the Bane or Silver Killer, alright? Nor are we carrying treasure; the other team already did for us. We would have left but for the teams above. Let us pass, and we’ll go. Agreed?”

Colth turned to Ceria, and she tapped the circlet.

“I don’t think they’re lying. Hey, Captain You! You guys come up one-by-one, and we’ll have Colth search you and then let you leave, agreed? There’s walls of ice up, so I’ll have to let you out.”

Muttering from below. The adventurers didn’t like that.

“Why one by one?”

“So you don’t try and pull a fast one. We’re not going to kill you. You can watch us, but that’s the deal.”

“Do you have any assurances?”

“Swear on a truth spell.”

“We don’t have any.”

Colth was pursing his lips, thinking of a solution, when Yvlon called out.

“I swear by my arms. Silver and steel be my witness, let my arms fall off if I lie. I’m from House Byres of Izril; upon my class, I promise. And Pisces will swear by his broken chains. Agreed?”

The Adventurers muttered to each other, but Colth raised his brows.

“Pretty good, Yvlon.”

“They like poetic stuff.”

Sure enough, the Adventurers called back.

“Agreed! Swear!”

Pisces and Yvlon gave their words, and the adventurers came up, though they actually had to help some of their wounded party members. They were badly hurt indeed; all of them had magical damage, and the worst off was a Garuda whose feathers were scorched to her skin.

“Damn, you don’t have healing potions?”

Colth actually had to stop checking them for loot and pull out a burn salve. The Garuda twitched when he applied it, but he thought it wasn’t critical. Just bad. The Captain, whose name was Fetriv, only grunted as he watched his team moving past the Horns.

“Not for that. The teams you want all went straight. We heard a second team fly past.”

“The Jade Garudas. So the first team got you? How many, and what did they do?”

Intelligence was key. Fetriv just scowled.

“We were here first! We set out while you were all napping—but they had summoned Stitch-folk we had to fight past. Damn them. It was all a test; the summoning crystals are waiting to be claimed—once you slay the guardians.”

Interesting. Colth was sorry to miss the actual dungeoning portion.

“Let me guess, the other team let you do all the hard work then came at you from behind?”

He was surprised when Fetriv shook his head.

“No! They must have had a Skill or cloaked themselves; the summoned warriors didn’t attack them! We tried to fight, but their [Mage] just hit us with…something. It wasn’t a [Fireball]. We had barriers up, but she detonated the spell, and the other two forced us to retreat down here. Then you all showed up.”

Hmm. Well, it was good enough. Colth nodded.

“You’re cleared—except for this.”

He reached down and plucked something from the wounded Garuda’s side. The Adventurers stirred, and one protested.

“H-hey—”

“You put whatever you grabbed in here.”

The bag of holding had soot all over it, but it wasn’t actually damaged; they’d just made it look like it was. Colth emptied it into his bag of holding.

“It probably wasn’t what was needed for your assignment, anyways. And we’re not going to sort it. Clear out, deal? The Jade Garudas are up ahead, and it’s going to be Named-rank fighting with that other team. Which one was it?”

For answer, Fetriv shrugged.

“One of the ones at the damn banquet. Fine! Open the walls and we’re quits. Thanks for not murdering us and reanimating us, Bane. Good thing we never bought a Slave Adventurer.”

He commented to his teammates, then saw Colth and Pisces staring at him. The team of mixed adventurers beat a hasty retreat, and Colth muttered.

“Ceria?”

“Opening a gap in my ice walls. They’ll squeeze through. I’ll re-wall the main corridor. Summons found nothing on the left side. Maybe keep them there in case a team’s in hiding? But I say let’s push the north.”

Good instincts, good leadership. Colth didn’t object, and the Horns saw the other team running as Ceria raised an [Ice Wall]. But she didn’t get it up entirely before she whirled.

“North—”

There was a muted squawk—then the scream of something hot hitting Ceria’s [Ice Walls] that had blocked the northern wing off. Colth saw white-hot light behind the wall and snapped.

“Yvlon, forwards! Let’s flank ‘em, left and right!”

Ceria dove to the left and raised an [Ice Wall] at chest height to crouch behind. Pisces copied her as Yvlon and the skeletons planted themselves in the ground. Colth saw something burn through Ceria’s ice walls, fast.

“Jade Garudas. Let’s get—”

A hole appeared, and he fired a [Lob Shot] through the gap as soon as the steam revealed one. Just an arrow with a Potion of Blast attached. That was a lovetap in Named-rank terms.

However—the Garuda who barrelled through the gap came out fast, in a horizontal dive, caught the arrow in one claw, and tossed it back at Colth. He aborted the [Remote Detonation] Skill, kicked the arrow down the corridor—

“We’re retreating. Stop or we fight.”

The Garuda had brilliant magical feathers—and a cracked beak and scorch marks all over his armor. Colth hesitated, and Ceria threw up a hand.

“Swear to it or I’ll wall your team off.”

“I swear. We’ve been bested. Damn these walls!”

Colth waited for the nod, and Ceria lowered the [Ice Walls]. Instantly, three more Garuda flew over and carried one of their teammates out.

No burn marks here. Colth eyed the fallen Garuda and asked the obvious.

“Who got you? And how?”

“Some new team. Lack of air, the damn Stitch-folk summons—and whatever the hell weapon their Captain is using! They’re set up down there. We can’t maneuver. We’re out.”

The Jade Garudas were clearly a cautious team, for all the risks they’d taken. Like any Named-rank who’d lived long enough, they’d seen something they didn’t like and bailed out. Colth checked them for loot, then turned to Ceria.

“They’re clear.”

“Opening this wall. What team? Stitch-folk?”

The Captain of the Jade Garudas had magical talons still radiating heat. He grimaced at them.

“I thought they were your friends. Humans. None of them look Chandrarian. I’d say ‘best of luck’, but I’d rather you all failed right now.”

He flapped through the second ice wall, and the Horns glanced at each other. So, one team had held down a weaker Gold-rank team and a Named-rank one? True, the Jade Garudas were out of their element, but that set alarms ringing in Colth’s head.

“Sounds like one team’s actually in position. I don’t know how they got the Stitch-folk on their side. Might be they can suborn summons? Or they just activated the crystals. Let’s move up.”

“Should we negotiate?”

Pisces was licking his lips. Ceria laughed softly.

“For what? Half the loot? They’ve got everything, and all they have to do is break out or beat down every team who comes in here. That’s going to be hard; I can tell someone’s hitting my ice walls at the entrance. Probably too scared to squeeze their way in. They’re trying fire magic, though, which is as good as pissing on it.”

“Let’s call it twenty minutes before anyone gets past both ice walls?”

Colth guessed, and Ceria shrugged.

“Double that if—no, wait, something’s taking chunks out. Must be Raava and her pickaxe, but I’ll solidify. Twenty, yeah.”

“Then send the Ice Elementals and Skeleton Champions forwards and advance. I think we use your [Ice Walls] and let you hang back; Yvlon charges, I go invisible, and Pisces sniffs.”

“Good plan.”

“I do what?”

“Go long-ranged, unless you can get past their defenses. You’re squishy; Yvlon and I aren’t. You only have 89 Health Points, Pisces. It says so right on your character sheet. I’ll show you when we get out of here.”

“Damn, that’s only a bit more than mine. Pisces does have the Stalker underarmor, but Colth’s right that we can’t take careless hits. Okay, team. One more group to spank. I’m pretty sure that’s Wildcard down there. Time to give them a real reason to hate us.”

The Horns advanced past the ice wall the Jade Garudas had melted through. Yvlon was smiling faintly, but saying nothing. Tensed. Pisces was pretending to sniff, but his rapier was drawn, and he was staring down, following his Skeleton Champions. Ceria just smiled, eyes flicking from Pisces to Colth to Yvlon…

The Ultimate Supporter was calm. Smiling—he sent a Skill on the summoned minions.

“[Summons: Enhanced Movement]. Any cont—”

Boom. The Horns felt it up ahead. Yvlon started running, and Ceria called out.

“That’s one Ice Elemental d—two. Damn, they’re not supposed to be that weak!”

“Pull them back! We’ll send them with the Champions!”

Ceria tried, but there was a second explosion. She called one up the hallway, and Colth saw it sloping downwards.

Nice, long tunnel…with scorch marks on the bottom. He held up a hand.

“Hold on, I sense—”

“Something on the ground. Walls. Magic. That must be trap spells.”

“Taking them out.”

Colth fired an arrow at one. He swore he hit whatever it was; some little object, he thought. The size of his thumb? Good magic. But the arrow did nothing, so he grunted.

“[Piercing Shot].”

The shockwave blasted up the corridor, and he blinked.

“That wasn’t fire, but air. What the hell was—”

The other magical signatures vanished abruptly as Ceria hit another with an [Ice Spike] and unleashed a torrent of electricity. She called out.

“Looks like the [Mage] has pulled back their mana. Not sure what that spell was. The Circlet’s never seen it before.”

Well, I don’t like that. But you could hide the effects of a spell with a Skill. Pisces just frowned.

“Weird mana. I almost thought I recognized—”

“Hey up there! We’ve got the treasure of Yad’thuv! It’s over! Let us out peacefully and we’ll share a bit of it; if not, you’ll have no chance! Deal?”

A voice from below, loud, male, and reasonably confident. The Horns stopped. Ceria muttered.

“Circlet recognizes that voice as the Wildcards. Hey, Leonardo, Kusal, Lareceina! There are a bunch of angry Gold-rank teams behind us, and we’re all on the same side! You’re interfering with [Queen] Yisame’s own quest! How about we settle this without violence? You give us the stuff, we don’t stab you. Deal?”

There was a faint curse from below. Colth was moving down slowly. The damn slope meant he couldn’t see the corridor below, but it seemed to straighten out. Which meant the Horns were descending a ramp while whomever was there had a straight view of them.

Killzone. He hated cracking one, but if he could see what they had…

“The [Queen] isn’t the only person who put a request up for the Tomb, Captain Ceria! We beat a Named-rank team just now, and the summons are on our side! They’re stronger than you want to tangle with, on my word! Let’s call it 75-25?”

“…Sure, we’ll take 75! Listen, you don’t want to be on the Palace’s bad side. Steal from the crown and get killed in your sleep. We’ve got a real Named-ranker on our side.”

Ceria shouted back. Colth squatted down.

<Colth to team. I think I see barricades. Steel. The kind you deploy from bags of holding. Glowing figures behind…but it’s just three of them.>

Not the worst killzone. In fact, only two of Wildcard seemed to be armed. Saying that, though, an arrow cracked off the stone, and Colth leapt up. Then there was a female voice.

“That was one of the summons. Don’t try to sneak down here. There are only four of you, Captain Ceria. The [Queen] is not the deserving party of the Tomb’s legacy.”

That must be Lareceina, the [Mage] who didn’t like Ceria. The half-Elf exhaled.

“Okay then, nothing personal. Colth?”

He walked back up.

“I’m not sure what they’ve got, but the Stitch-folk have bows and wands. Yvlon could rush them, but I don’t like risking that. If you [Ice Wall] and we dive behind it, then it’s a shooting war.”

“Send the Ice Elementals forwards and have Pisces summon more? Snipe them down until we can rush?”

“I don’t have a bow.”

Yvlon complained as Colth deliberated with Ceria. Pisces scratched at the back of his neck.

“All I have is [Shatterbolt] and [Deathbolt]. I don’t want to use either—”

“Break the left barricade with [Shatterbolt], Pisces. They’ll survive one [Deathbolt]. Just do summons. We can send one wave, and if we don’t like what we see, fall back, use mana potions, try again? Just don’t leave cover. I’ll use an [Arrowguard] Skill. Yvlon, I have a spare crossbow and some alchemical weapons.”

“See, this is what we need to buy alchemy for. For when Yvlon’s useless.”

Light voices from Ceria and Colth. Yvlon was crouched, and Pisces was motioning the Skeleton Champions forward, animating his Warbear. Then there was a shout from below.

“Horns—we really don’t want to hurt you. Back off. Last warning.”

The Horns of Hammerad didn’t answer. So, below, the team of three tensed. They were coming. That terrifying team. Who, in their right minds, wanted to fight the Horns of Hammerad?

——

It was like you could feel them. Auras or something. The coldest [Mage] in the world. A strange, quiet figure, filled with silent, respectful death. And the crawling thunder of a heart beating.

The Silver Killer.

They had seen her in the Coliseum of Monarchs, hadn’t they? And everyone had seen the other broadcasts. Ksmvr of Chandrar. Pisces the Bane…the Village of the Dead.

“Damn. We’re so dead. I wanted them to like us.”

“They’re not good people, Kusal.”

“They’ll kill us. Are we sure we’re doing this, Leo?”

The team of three were new to Gold-rank. They’d only gotten certified after the Adult Creler. Adventurer’s Guilds didn’t like what they didn’t understand, and the trio didn’t have regular classes. Their leader, Leonardo, was far from fearless. But he just stared up the corridor.

“I think we have to try. We’re adventurers. We promised our clients.”

Lareceina nodded, rubbing her fingers together. She was casting. Readying herself…and she knew at least one of the [Mages] above outclassed her. Wistram. She had never had formal training. But her only comment was—

“We have the moral high ground. We have to try.”

Kusal was their [Rogue], if not in class, then how he operated.

“They have the literal high ground. If the Silver Killer jumps us—I’ll try.”

Leonardo nodded.

“Watch out for the one called Colth. He’s supposed to be the real Named-ranker. I’ll do my thing. But we have to attack them first. Everyone ready?”

They nodded, and Leo paused. Then took a breath.

“…I wish Justine was here.”

With her, they would have been fearless. Well, more fearless. But their front line, their stalwart warrior—Wildcard stopped for a second. They would have traded all their levels from the Adult Creler for her.

“They’re casting. We have to go.”

Lareceina spoke and produced her magic. It looked like…a marble. It grew as she poured her mana into it. Fire, swirling around and condensing. Like a [Fireball], but different. Kusal nodded as Leo pulled out his secret weapon. Not the sword he carried, but the real tool he had made, the only thing he was good with. But before that—they stood together.

A group huddle. Leo swung an arm around Kusal’s shoulders, and the young man from Sri Lanka put his arms around Lareceina’s shoulders. She grimaced and held the ball of fire in her palm. She had more little marbles floating around her hand. They winked and glowed. Leo muttered.

“Here we go. [Combined Skill: Ready, Set, Serve].”

He walked backwards, and Lareceina turned. She lobbed the orb of fire at Kusal, and the [Rogue] fielded it with his gloved hands. Straight at Leo. The orb spun through the air—and he hit it.

He jumped up, and the tennis racket, a wooden frame and strings, hit the orb of fire. It compressed as he connected with it.

[Racket: Bounce Magic]. [Ricochet Strike]. [Ball: Acceleration]. 

The [Tennis Champion] hit the ball down, aiming it for the end of the corridor, and saw it flash across the ground. And bounce—

He heard a voice.

“Incom—”

Then the orb exploded. The backdraft of flames echoed down the corridor, and Leo landed. Lareceina had cast a spell so his ears didn’t ring, so he heard voices.

“—hell was that? Wall spells and—”

A second ball flicked towards him. Same height; Leo wondered if the Horns had spread out. So he hit the ball at the walls instead of the ground. Bounce it up in a zig-zag—

This time, it was made of lightning. The boom made dust fall from the ceiling. There was a shift. One of the summoned Stitch-folk warriors was gazing at him.

“Sorry.”

That was all Leo said. Then the third ‘tennis ball’ flicked into the air. He struck it again, sending it up the tunnel at a new angle. This was the plan they’d come up with when they’d been briefed on the tomb. Lareceina’s magic and their unique classes…

The Horns would have to come down. The third orb was made of something green, and it burst without a sound as he hit it and shot it up. So, Leo was waiting, racket raised, sweat coating the leather grip.

Come on. Come on—

——

Pisces had no idea what was happening. His ears were ringing, and only Yvlon had saved him from the third orb. It had exploded into a shower of leaves or something—so sharp and fast that they had cut his cheek open. But Yvlon had tackled him. Now, she threw him up the corridor.

“Get back! The walls—”

“They’re not working!”

[Ice Wall]. Ceria’s trick. It was raised, but the second orb had bounced over it. Colth was swearing.

“They’re ricocheting the magic at us! Wall the entire corridor!”

Ceria did—just in time for the fourth orb to hit it. Another bloom of flames, but this time, Pisces felt nothing. He got up shakily.

“What kind of attack was…?”

“I don’t recognize the magic! The circlet says it’s just…compressed elemental mana! It’s like being attacked by a [Barbarian] with a club!”

“Well, it’s working! If they can bounce that attack…Ceria, can you ensconce yourself in ice and fire out? No—one-way barrier spells! We have to get down there!”

Colth was pointing, Ceria cursing.

“I can do it, but it’s going to take a lot of m—”

The fifth orb hit the ice wall, and Pisces flinched. But Ceria’s magic was too strong, and the backblast of air visibly shifted the dust. He coughed.

“This is their long-ranged attack. If we close, we have to fight the summons. Too risky. Let’s fall back and—”

“If we do, the other teams will flank us, and then we’re dead.”

Colth interrupted Pisces, shaking his head. He turned to Ceria.

“Drop the walls there. I’ll counter. We throw alchemy, move in. Then barrier up and just push at them. Use two-thirds of your mana on it.”

“Got it. You’d better keep them suppressed. If w—”

The sixth orb hit the [Ice Wall], and Pisces, who had been backing up despite the [Ice Walls], remained on his feet.

No one else did. His head was ringing. He saw Ceria go stumbling past him and reached for her. But her ice wall…

Her ears had red coming out of them. He realized there was a ringing in his ears. Pisces saw Yvlon shaking her head and Colth mouthing oaths.

They had lobbed something up at the Horns, and Pisces thought he’d even recognized the magic.

Sound.

It went straight through a wall of ice. He squinted down, then turned his head. Clapped his hands over Yvlon’s face.

The light orb was blinding. Pisces blinked the spots out of his eyes, and his hearing returned.

“[—tore Hearing]! There goes one of my higher-level free Skills! We cannot hold this corridor! Ceria, barriers!”

“Tree rot in my—[Threefold Arcane Barrier]! [Moving Spell]! Go, go!”

The Horns charged down the corridor into two more orbs, which detonated on Ceria’s barriers. Pisces saw the team at last. A trio spread out down the corridor. And Stitch-folk. A lot more Stitch-folk, all glowing like Revi’s summons. Colth took one glance at them and began swearing.

“[Mass Appraisal]. Fuck, fuck, fuck—some of them are equivalent to Level 40s! [Explosive Vial]!”

“[Ice Lances]! Pisces!”

“Skeletons, arise and charge!”

He sent his undead forwards, and the corridor exploded into violence. Yvlon grimly shot a crossbow as the Stitch-folk returned fire. At least the orbs stopped coming; Wildcard took cover, and he heard shouts.

“They’re coming! Lareceina, get rid of the skeletons! I’ve got the spells!”

“Incoming alchemy! [Neutralize Object]!”

One of them leapt up, caught the vial, and it went out. It vanished, and Colth grunted.

“Bag of holding?”

He fired a shortbow.

“[Double Shot]. [Renock Arrow]. [Piercing Shot]. [Explosive Tip]. [Jolt Shot]—”

He hit at least one of the Stitch-folk as the skeletons and elementals thundered down the corridor. But they were only halfway there when Pisces glanced down. Those little things he’d seen earlier. The trapped…what?

Orbs? Small as marbles. They were on the walls. And he shouted.

“Fall back! Skeletons, fall—”

The first Skeleton Champion was running backwards when the orbs detonated. When Pisces got up, he only saw bones and pieces of magical ice melting. Ceria bared her teeth.

“Hey, kid. Let’s dance.”

She fired the first [Ice Lance] at Lareceina. The impact blew the [Mage] off her feet. She must have had a barrier spell, but Ceria’s magic was Tier 4. She fired a second one as Kusal dragged Lareceina back behind the steel barricades. Her second spell dented the steel barrier. Her third one was aimed at one of the Stitch-folk.

The Captain of Wildcard had a strange object in his hands. It was no weapon that Pisces had ever seen. It looked like a net, only someone had stretched the webbing taut over a wide oval. Leo swung it as the [Ice Lance] came at him.

Then he bounced the [Ice Lance] back straight at Ceria’s face. It flashed back faster than the [Cryomancer] had shot it.

The impact against the [Arcane Barrier] knocked down one of the shields. Pisces saw the second barrier wavering in the air and swore. He fired a [Deathbolt]—and the [Tennis Champion] swung his racket and shot it back at Pisces.

“What the hell is that? Spell reflection!”

Ceria scrambled up. She tried a volley of [Ice Spikes], and the frantic tennis racket didn’t manage to reflect any, but Leo parried eight in quick succession, sending the spikes breaking on the walls and ground. Colth stared.

“I’ve never seen that in my—”

“Earthers. They’re Earthers.”

Pisces breathed. He gazed at his team.

“We have to stop fighting—”

“They have the drop on us! Take out that [Mage] and we can snipe the summons! Combination attacks—now!”

Colth turned and roared at him. Pisces aimed at the young woman and hesitated again. [Deathbolt]? No—he fired a [Bone Dart] as he leaned out of cover and blinked.

Instead of one shard of bone, his spell split into three, each one of which curved and homed in on the young woman, who recoiled as two hit a glowing disc of green, her personal shields. She retreated instantly, hiding behind the steel barricades, and Colth swore at Pisces.

“What was that? I burned three Skills on—”

“I’m not [Deathbolting] her!”

Rather than argue, Colth took aim himself, then ducked. Pisces saw an arrow graze Colth’s helmet. It hit a wall and kept bouncing, leaving jagged pock marks as it blew pieces of stone out of the wall. That was an arrow?

Fired by the Stitch-folk. Yvlon swore as she raised her metal arms and made shields.

“The summons are pretty tough too—”

Even without Skills, they had some kind of power from when they’d been alive! Colth snap-fired an arrow, drew two hand crossbows, fired them, tossed four flasks—none of the alchemical items made it to the Stitch-folk. One literally charged into a Potion of Blast and emerged out the other side.

A glowing Stitch-man, Hemp, teeth locked together in a snarl. His teeth were pointed, and he had a wolf-like helmet. He stalked back into line as Colth kept swearing. Pisces wanted to go already, but Ceria put her hands up.

“That’s it. [Conjure Tidal Wave].”

Magic pulsed around her, and she threw a wave of water down the corridor. Alarmed shouts—Pisces stared at Ceria as she pumped more mana into that one spell then he thought he could—

“Kusal, absorb the water!”

“I can’t! It’s too much—”

They were scrambling back as Ceria cackled. Water was freezing behind the wave in a mimicry of how she’d taken out the [Slavers]. Pisces saw Wildcard’s [Mage] brace, aiming at the [Tidal Wave]—when it split.

A glowing sword cleaved the wave in half, which in turn split the torrent of water. That still would have done little to the rest of the water except for the explosion of steam that came rushing back towards the Horns. Pisces shielded his face and fired [Bone Darts] rapidly down the corridor as he raised a [Bone Wall]—when he could see again, there they were.

Glowing Stitch-folk. One was holding a staff, another a greatsword. Ceria stopped cackling.

“Oh come on. No wonder Yisame wants this lot.”

The [Mage] pointed at Ceria, and there was a flare of light. Yvlon threw herself up.

“Ceria! Watch—”

The half-Elf caught half of the fiery blast that Yvlon took across her armor. She cried out, landing, but rolled upright, searching for…

Ceria’s illusion vanished. She reappeared to the side, crouched behind her own wall of ice.

“Damn, Yvlon! You okay?”

“Underarmor caught it. That’s…”

“[Take Cover]!”

Colth shouted, and Pisces saw another bouncing orb of magic come their way. This time, Colth caught it and threw it back—but arrows joined the orb. One hit Pisces in the shoulder, and he slammed against the ground. The Stitch-folk summons were ricocheting their arrows too?

“Pisces!”

Colth checked him, but Pisces’ arm was one huge bruise; no blood. Stalker’s underarmor again. Even so, Pisces was rattled as he pressed himself against the wall. Ceria snarled.

“That’s it! Circlet, [Extreme Spell]. [Frostbolt Swarm]! [Whiteout Blizzard]!”

She leaned out from behind her barrier, aiming only her wand out as Pisces felt the mana surge again. She began firing blue flickers of light, like Frost Faeries, so cold they made Pisces’ skin hurt. Her other hand was holding a miniature cyclone of snow and ice to her chest.

Dualcasting? And what Skill was—

Two of the summons vanished instantly, freezing over then disappearing in flashes of light. Wildcard took cover as another summon went down, and Ceria aimed f—

A series of four explosions and a Tripvine Bag—three of them tied together—exploded against her [Ice Walls]. They sent Ceria sprawling forwards, and Pisces leapt up.

“Ceria!”

This time, he fired an elongated [Flame Swathe] and a [Deathbolt] straight through a summoned Stitch-folk’s chest. That kept them down, and Colth hacked away the vines to reveal—

Ceria only had a scraped face and bloody nose, but she was cursing as she ripped vines off her.

“My spell!”

She’d lost focus, and all the mana she’d poured into her overcharged spell was gone. Colth snapped at her.

“We need to know when you’re casting! You’re too much of a target when they sense—”

Pisces saw Ceria slap one hand against the broken [Ice Wall], and it grew, doubling in thickness. She snarled back at Colth.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it! Rebuilding the barriers. [Frozen Armor]. Some cover? I’m going to [Snap Freeze] them!”

Pisces was about to scream at her—they were from Earth! Erin’s people. But—he had never seen any Earthers who were actually adventurers or even warriors. Then his eyes flicked up.

“Watch out!”

The [Arcane Barrier] spell that Ceria was rebuilding went down as eight spells hit it in quick succession and blew the corridor to pieces. No, not spells…whatever Lareceina was throwing.

Just compressed mana. They weren’t as powerful as [Fireballs] or [Lightning Bolts], but he realized the young woman was just…flicking them at his team. With her thumbs. As if they were marbles.

Ingenious. How many did she have? She was like Saliss, but magic. Could he do that? The [Necromancer] had to abandon his [Bone Walls] and used [Flash Step] to dodge away. He was of the opinion they had to fall back, but Yvlon just stepped out from behind one of Ceria’s [Ice Walls]. She’d gone silent as the ranged firefight had progressed. Now she eyed the glowing Stitch-folk entrenched with Wildcard.

“They’re summoned beings, right, Colth?”

“Right—”

“Then I’m their dance partner. [Aspect of Silver]. Cover me.”

“No, don’t—damnit!”

Yvlon’s skin morphed to silver, and she charged out of cover and straight at the Wildcards. She never made a sound—just ran at them as arrows bounced off her skin. Two orbs flicked at her and exploded—

The magic did nothing to Yvlon’s silver body. Ceria was shouting.

“Horns of Hammerad—let’s get them!”

Pisces hesitated. He cast [Invisibility], unable to follow Yvlon’s insane charge. Colth was trying to cover him with his bow. Then he saw Yvlon grinning.

——

The Silver Killer was coming. She ran through Lareceina’s magic without even flinching. Leo pivoted, but he was terrified.

The Stitch-folk summons charged, and Yvlon hit one—they planted a glowing sword in her throat, or tried to. The magical blade shattered, and she punched through their chest.

Stuck clawed fingers in another and ripped them apart. Her arms exploded into spikes as Wildcard retreated, shouting.

“Don’t let her get near you!”

She was like the Terminator! Her arms scythed through magic and the summoned warriors, and Leo was ordering the rest back—he saw a metal face appear out of the fading magic.

She was grinning. Teeth bared. She charged straight at him, and her arms had turned into sword-blades. All he had was a tennis racket. Leo braced—and Kusal leapt out from behind the ruined barricades.

Sneak attack. The Silver Killer twisted. She even blinked at the strange object that Kusal held. A little, black rectangular box—well, two of them. Duct-taped together.

“[Gadget: Overload].”

The [Rogue of Tricks] ducked one of Yvlon’s arms as she twisted. Then he hit her with the stun guns. The Silver Killer jerked, freezing in place as he unloaded enough electricity from the self-defense weapons from Earth to knock down a Manticore.

Smoke rose from her skin as she twitched—then swung. Muzzily, but Kusal leapt back, eyes wide.

“Oh my—”

The Silver Killer kept swinging at him, then twisted around. She’d stopped charging Leo, which meant it was his turn. The [Tennis Champion] spoke.

“[Grand Slam].”

For a second, his racket felt like it was that of a Giant’s. He hit her with it and sent her flying down the corridor. Then shouted.

“My arm!”

It was like trying to hit a piece of metal! But it sent her reeling and let his team fall back. Lareceina flicked more orbs, and they detonated in midair as Colthei the Supporter sniped them down.

“Kusal! Reset!”

“On it!”

The [Rogue] leapt up. He whirled something in his hands. Then flung it out. It was just a bag made of faded leather, stamped with a bit of magic. He’d attached a rope to it and tugged at the right moment. The Silver Killer, storming back at them, saw Kusal heave, and his bag of holding inverted—disgorging everything it had.

[Bag of Holding: Quadruple Capacity]. The stones, sand, camel manure—everything that Kusal had dumped into it—exploded down the corridor. The [Rogue] leapt away, then grabbed a second bag of holding and dumped two more barricades down.

“[Second Bag of Holding]—is any of it working?”

“I think so! Where’s the [Supporter]?”

The Silver Killer was buried and fighting out of the sand. Her [Aspect of Silver] finally wore off, and Lareceina shouted.

“Let’s get them! [Ready, Set, Serve]!”

She formed another orb of mana and tossed it at Kusal. He fielded it up, and Leo hesitated. Where—

The [Necromancer] appeared, and Leo blocked the sword-slash. The orb landed by their feet, and both men leapt back, but Lareceina refused to let it detonate.

“Here we go—[Gadgets: Recharge]!”

Kusal shouted. He saw Yvlon running at them and jumped out of cover again. She tried to back up, but his stun guns fired, and the electricity arced to the nearest grounding point; her metal armor and arms.

This time, she shouted, but Leo was fighting for his life. The [Necromancer]’s rapier was slashing, and a tennis racket was not meant for—

Pisces thrust the tip through the strings and nearly lost it when Leo twisted it, trying to disarm him. In response, Pisces pointed his free hand, and flames burst out.

They burned across a shield that Leo had drawn. The flames baked the young man’s skin, but he just let go of the racket and drew a sword. Pisces had to shake the tennis racket off his rapier and dodged the slash.

The [Tennis Champion] swung again and saw Pisces going for a parry. So he whispered.

“[Spinning Blade].”

His sword twisted around in the air and knocked the rapier aside. Too fast to parry. Pisces lunged under the blade and fired a [Deathbolt]. Blocked by Leo’s shield—both warriors’ weapons were out of line. So Leo went for a kick to the balls.

Pisces leapt back from that. Turned his head—

Lareceina’s orb of compressed air blew him off his feet. The [Magus of Compression] turned, and her thumbs flicked eight orbs into Yvlon Byres’ chest. The Silver Killer braced—but Lareceina just turned and hit Pisces with three orbs. One green, one white, one red—

“Leo!”

Kusal. Leo turned and saw ice was covering Kusal’s armor. He was freezing in place! The [Ice Mage]. Leo pulled one of Lareceina’s magic orbs from his belt. He took aim at her—and Colth took him out at the legs.

Leo hit the ground, and the Ultimate Supporter’s blades were at his neck.

“Stand down! Your Captain’s a dead man if he moves!”

Colthei had used his armor to move, invisibly, and half the Stitch-folk summons were gone. And he had his blades at Leo’s throat. Kusal was nearly frozen in place too. But Ceria had three Stitch-folk warriors surrounding her as she formed a narrow wall of ice around her they were attacking.

“Stand down or your team dies!”

Colth bellowed at the remaining member of Wildcard on her feet. Lareceina was projecting a rippling barrier of mana in front of her, back to a wall. She didn’t move.

“Stitch-folk of Yad’thuv, hold. Kill him and your teammates die.”

Ceria broke out of her ice walls as Colth hesitated.

“I’m fine. Your team’s the goner if—shit.”

She turned, and Lareceina pointed at the Silver Killer, who’d gone unusually still. She was gazing at the eight glowing marbles of magic stuck to her front. Most were lightning. Pisces was lying on the ground, hands raised. He was sweating as he stared at a glowing green orb on his chest. Colth muttered an oath as Leo groaned.

“Damnit. Standoff. We’ve got your team dead to rights.”

“Everyone but you is surrounded or dead. You’ll never get all the summons. You’ve lost.”

Lareceina shot back. Colth sneered at her. Leo croaked.

“Hey, Lareceina?”

“What, Leo?”

“Timeout. Let’s negotiate.”

——

The two people who wanted to negotiate least were Colth and Lareceina. Probably because they weren’t the ones in mortal danger.

Pisces quite appreciated Captain Leo’s words. Because he was pretty sure he could dispel whatever was in Lareceina’s orb. It really was just…compressed mana. He’d never seen a compression spell like this, though.

Compress magic? It wasn’t something Wistram [Mages] thought of. Why bother? The spell itself was simple, though he felt like Lareceina had put a ‘lock’ on it. The equivalent of tying a bit of string into a knot. Not hard to figure out—just hard to dispel in a firefight.

His issue was that he wasn’t sure if dispelling it would release the magic. And he didn’t want to try it at the moment.

Yvlon? She was just eying the orbs of lightning, and she and he had the same thought. If she had her [Aspect of Silver], it might work, but without it? Yvlon wasn’t that tough.

Ceria eyed the Stitch-folk warriors still aiming glowing blades at her. She had her ice armor spell on, but from the way she grimaced, she understood their position was bad. Colth might have had his blades at Leo’s throat, but…

“It’s mutual destruction. Drop your weapons; we have Queen Yisame on our side.”

“You’re the ones in trouble. The Gold-rankers above are coming, and I don’t think they like you.”

Lareceina shot back. Ceria flicked some hair out of her eyes.

“True, but in that scenario, they deal with us, then you. Look, we can stand here uncomfortably for a few hours, but all that will happen is that either a Gold-rank team will come down and we’ll have to deal with that, or Yisame’s people come down and you’re double-dead.”

She smiled, and Pisces wondered how fast Yisame’s people would actually get to this remote location. But Lareceina folded her arms.

“That’s not likely. What’s likelier is that the Gold-rank team comes down and we team up with them and split the loot while dealing with you. Or our employers come down, and then you’re in trouble.”

Their employers? Ceria frowned.

“Okay, hold on. We’re employed by the palace. Queen Yisame? Sovereign ruler of all she beholds and a lot more since this place is huge? You’re making an enemy of the kingdom. This is their tomb.”

The young Human woman’s eyes flashed.

“That’s their claim, but we’re being employed by the Hemp-folk who actually live here! This is their ancestral tomb! We took this contract to keep the [Queen] or any other faction from looting the warriors that belong to the Hemp!”

When Pisces heard that, he actually raised his head. And a few things clicked. Wait a second, the Reed-folk…he had a sinking feeling made only worse when he heard Colth curse.

“Aw, Creler eggs. We didn’t do our due diligence—”

It hadn’t occurred to Pisces that Yisame would send him to…loot someone else’s tomb. The [Necromancer] rasped.

“So am I to understand that the Hemp are, ah, coming for their ancestral souls?”

For answer, Lareceina fished something out from around her neck. It was…a little amulet? It was very stylish, and when Pisces eyed it, he thought the design on front resembled that of the Tomb of Yad’thuv’s architecture.

“They gave us the key-seals so the summoned warriors would fight with us. I would say that establishes their claim to this site above anyone else’s, even the Crown’s.”

So would he. Pisces groaned as Colth swore under his breath. Lareceina spoke directly to Ceria.

“Reinforcements from the local area are likely to be on our side. That is my summation of the odds. We have the treasure, and our teams are stalemated. So. Are you going to negotiate or explode?”

Lareceina had a way with words Pisces admired. He was making expressions at Ceria to negotiate. She was staring at his chest—

“Try to dispel my magic and it’ll go off, Ice Squirrel.”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed, and Yvlon sighed.

“Ceria. This is my fault for charging in. What do you want?”

Leo croaked.

“You go your way, we go ours—no backstabbing, and we’ll give you the summons under Level 40.”

“No deal.”

“Oh, come on, Springwalker—”

Pisces called at her, and Ceria shouted back.

“Fifty-fifty.”

“Please, your team can pretend they’re all atrophied. We’ve got three of your teammates dead to rights.”

“We have two of yours. Colth vs Lareceina with a few summoned idiots seems like a good fight to me. Want to find out who survives?”

I’m not going to be one of those people! Stalker’s underarmor might reduce some of the blasts, but his flesh beneath wouldn’t survive those detonations. Yvlon might, but Pisces was glaring at Ceria. However, the [Cryomancer] was in full bluff mode. Lareceina’s eyes flickered to Leo.

“You’d risk your teammates’ lives over treasure? I really do hate you.”

“Hey, maybe I don’t like them that much.”

Ceria ignored Yvlon’s and Pisces’ glares. Lareceina eyed her, and the Stitch-folk with blades pointed at Ceria.

“One of the people in mortal danger is you.”

“Well…maybe I don’t like myself much. Let’s call it 60-40. Including Named-rank spirits.”

Ceria was still haggling. Lareceina just folded her arms.

“All Stitch-folk over Level 40 are ours, and all of the highest-grade artifacts. You can claim the tomb held less powerful spirits. We’re already giving up part of what we were hired to do. Don’t be greedy.”

“Mm…”

The [Cryomancer] was wrinkling up her nose, clearly trying to figure out another angle, when Colth sighed and sheathed one of his daggers.

“Deal. Ceria, take it.”

“Damnit, Colth—fine. Adventurer’s honor.”

“What honor?”

Lareceina just watched as Colth let Leo up, and Kusal finally unfroze. The Stitch-folk warriors stepped back—and only then did she walk over and pick the marbles off Pisces’ chest. She did offer him a hand.

“Sorry, Scourge of Roshal. Your teammate sucks.”

“Ceria does like her mischief. No hard feelings?”

She eyed him silently as her team assembled, and the Horns of Hammerad glanced at each other. Sheepishly, Pisces thought. Yvlon was doing her best gladiator-face, but Colth’s face was one huge scowl. Ceria whispered at them.

“We can’t break our word and double-cross them, can we?”

All three glared at her, and she threw up her hands.

“Alright, fine. Damnit. Fork over the loot, then!”

She stomped over to the Wildcards, and Pisces ruffled at his hair. He knew they’d made tactical errors. Yvlon going in alone. He’d not been in tune with the others. He could have used [Shatterbolt], but he might have killed…Colth was just glancing up above.

“Ceria, situation on your walls? Wildcard, we need to coordinate on getting out of here.”

They nodded, and Pisces leaned against a wall. Yvlon joined him, rubbing at scorch marks on her shoulders.

“Huh.”

“You alright, Yvlon? That was some kind of electricity attack—”

She nodded, wincing.

“Still hurts. I want to know what that was. Earthers?”

“Not the time to discuss that. First, let’s get out of here.”

He muttered. But he hoped the other adventurers were willing to talk. This was not a…a salubrious meeting, Pisces had to admit. But that wasn’t what felt so odd.

It was only when Colth collected several crystals in amber, and Ceria eyed a collection of blades and other tools that Captain Leo turned over, that Pisces felt it.

Ah, of course.

<Heroic Quest — The Tomb of Yad’thuv Failed.>

It didn’t hit him like a blow. He just exhaled, sniffed, sneezed, and wiped at his hair.

He couldn’t really remember the last time his team had lost.

It didn’t feel great.

——

Some days you won, some days you lost. Some weeks, some years, even. It was the mark of a seasoned warrior, or person, to recognize that losses, setbacks, were inevitable and not rage or despair entirely at them.

Nuvityn, King of Myths, wasn’t sure if that applied to [Kings]. Because, so often, a good man was not the same as a good ruler.

Perhaps they should be, but what should be was not what was.

For instance, he was sailing to hold an [Innkeeper] and her inn to trial. Whether it was right or wrong—his son was dead. As [King], as father, he would have a reckoning for that.

His army of ten thousand of Erribathe’s famous warriors, Prildor, Tserre, and much of his royal council suited for campaigning were a force to set even the Five Families to alarm. Nuvityn had written ahead, of course, using the power of diplomats to assure the Five Families he was coming not to upset their authority, but to go south.

The Walled Cities he would see about, but he intended to visit Izril and see what had changed. Visit the inn and deliver judgement, right or wrong—and then continue onwards. To the New Lands? To Baleros to find the [Innkeeper]?

That was the plan. There had been hiccups on the way. Not even bad ones; the fact that his company now had a [Princess] of Calanfer in it was not entirely bad. Nuvityn did not love Calanfer at this moment, but Princess Vernoue was youthful, earnest. A refreshingly young voice in love with stories.

And she might even crack the mystery that was Magus Tserre, whom Nuvityn regarded as a [Mage] as legendary as Archmage Eldavin. For she had once been an Archmage herself.

Yes, things had been decent when he had set sail on The Gathering Light, one of Pheislant’s largest trading vessels, to Izril. It, along with several other trade ships, had been paid to carry his army across the changed sea routes to First Landing.

Nuvityn had been hoping for a Treant or some wonders at sea. Perhaps even a [Pirate] attack, but sadly, his days had been largely without event. Oh, there had been dolphins, that magical storm in the distance, ships, even Drowned Folk, who had risen to talk and trade with his famous army, but nothing extraordinary. So he had bided his time. He knew how long sea trips were.

…Which was why after two weeks, he had begun wondering how badly the sea currents were changed between Terandria and Izril. The [Captain] was a good man, Level 37. But despite his speed Skills, the winds and currents just didn’t have them seeing land. Nuvityn had accepted the man’s hospitalities and spent the time talking with Prildor and Tserre when she emerged, catching them up on recent events.

That had taken a week before he noticed his crew going to ask [Sailors] what was going on. Then Nuvityn had sensed… a problem.

Even becalmed, three weeks from the southwestern edge of Terandria to First Landing was too long. And yet, Captain Giltreder swore the winds were good and that he’d found the right currents. Yet when he deployed his spyglass and checked the stars—everything must be muddled because he could neither see shore nor figure out their location.

“It looks as if we’re only two days from First Landing. But I do not see it. And…this makes no sense, Your Majesty.”

After two days, the [Captain] showed the King of Myths his chart. It was a neat progression from Pheislant’s capital harbor to First Landing…and then onto Izril’s shores. They should have been at Invrisil by now. Nuvityn stared at the map.

“And you are sure, sir?”

There were numerous cross outs and question marks. Captain Giltreder was sweating.

“Your Majesty, I have read the position of the stars and my best [Storm Sailors] swear that they feel us going the right way—but it makes no sense! And sire—”

He looked around and lowered his voice.

“When I check the winds, and currents, I think they are too strong.”

“Due to the magical storm? Could that have thrown us off?”

“Entirely possibly, and I cast myself upon your mercy, Your Majesty. But I mean that in the sense of other ships. That Drowned Folk ship we saw—when it caught the wind, I had thought it were blowing slightly crosswise to ours, and far slower. We have had…good wind for a week now. And the current appears becalmed at times, but I feel as though we are moving faster than I think. Yet it appears still.”

For proof veritas of this, Nuvityn went to the bow and saw the waters did indeed seem calm with little wind. Yet…Captain Giltreder motioned, and, covertly, one of his [Sailors] tossed something down.

A…bucket. It splashed, then jerked out of the woman’s hands. Silently, the King of Myths spoke.

“Why covertly?”

“Because when we lower it normally, sire, it dips into the water and comes out unlike that.”

Nuvityn didn’t like the way Captain Giltreder was speaking. Nor the sudden suspicion in the back of his mind. He recalled his own feelings.

I can sense the auras of distant people, and I swear I had felt the Five Families’, though they are not royals. The same when I beheld the other great events of note. Yet I do not sense them from the right…places…

Strange. If you had a ship that appeared to be moving at a decently high-level [Captain]’s will, yet had oddities with the observable wind and stars and waters beneath you—what could muddle even the wits of a [Storm Sailor]? Only a great foe, perhaps. A Skill? A magical storm of passing weirdness?

Or maybe…

——

Magus Tserre had her rocking chair and sat in her cottage, which had folded up and sat down on the deck of The Gathering Light. Vernoue, her apprentice that Tserre had still not really acknowledged, was balancing on one foot on the rocking ship and casting spells.

“Focus, Princess. Cast one hundred spells in the hour or we’ll have to come up with a punishment for tonight.”

“I’m…not…quitting, Magus Tserre! So can you please stop trying to make me?”

Vernoue appeared distinctly seasick, but she was keeping with the magic. Tserre saw Nuvityn and his people approaching and sighed, closing her book.

“Whyever would you think I was doing that? I’m simply bringing you up to an acceptable focus. You and I have limited time. So enjoy the training we used to give [Mages] who were about to be sent to Rhir.”

Vernoue made a whimpering sound, but she turned as Nuvityn called out.

“Magus Tserre, good morning.”

“A fine day to you, King of Myths.”

She replied blandly, and everyone stared at her. Not really welcomingly. Even Nuvityn’s face was clouded.

“Is it, Magus? I have just spoken to my people, and I am troubled by some reports.”

“Oh, what might those be? I am, of course, at your service.”

He grunted.

“So you claim. Yet, Magus, it appears the interference from the magical storm still lingers. Scrying spells do not work on us.”

“Such storms are beyond any [Archmage] in power. Even Level 80 [Druids] would barely match such awe inspiring magic, Your Majesty.”

“Fair enough. Yet we are three weeks at sea when we should have been one at the longest.”

“Perhaps we are catching new currents changed by these New Lands, or the storm sent us to sea, Your Majesty. It is hard to navigate the open ocean.”

Indeed, the blue-green water around them was impossible to use to place where they were; a [Sailor]’s nightmare. Tserre pointed up.

“Without scrying spells, I suggest using the stars.”

“Which is what the good [Captains] have done. Strangely, they have not led us to shore. It almost appears, Magus, as if something odd is happening to our vessel.”

She sipped from a teacup as Vernoue stopped balancing on one foot. Now, even the 5th Princess of Calanfer was staring at Magus Tserre. But the old half-Elf’s face didn’t move one whit.

“Disturbing, Your Majesty. Should I look into the issue?”

It was Prildor who sighed.

“Tserre…”

“Yes, Prildor? I require some kind of word aside from my name.”

The half-Elf stared blandly at her two chickens until Nuvityn spoke.

“Magus Tserre. Would you kindly drop whatever illusions you are casting? I order it by the Kingdom of Myths. An authority you may not well recognize. But by our pact—I would consider it the bare minimum to keep trust.”

His eyes glinted as he folded his arms. Voreca, Miihey, Andromeda, the leaders of Erribathe’s warriors all gazed at Tserre. She just sipped from her teacup and glanced off the portside bow.

“Oh, very well.”

She didn’t snap her fingers or tap her cane or…one second, the waters behind her were bright, clear, and calm. The next?

Rain hit Vernoue in the face. Rain—and she saw land. Dry land. Arid. Yellowed, not the greens she had expected, or First Landing’s harbor she recalled from being a girl. The geography was the wrong color. Yellow and…

Sandy.

Sand, which as some people might observe, got everywhere. But which was also more endemic, more common, to a certain continent than, say, Izril. The rain hit Captain Giltreder in the face, and he blinked at the distant shoreline. Only visible thanks to extreme magical magnification spells. Perhaps still days from the ships reaching shore. But they were here instead of…

Giltreder keeled over backwards onto the deck. Nuvityn’s head turned, slowly, and then he stared at the city in the distance. It had a harbor, yes. Even ships. But…Tserre spoke.

“I believe rations are getting low, given our numbers and the unexpected voyage. Perhaps we should put ashore, Your Majesty?”

“Tserre. Where—is this?”

Prildor choked, and King Nuvityn stared at the distant flags. He eyed the crowns united under one larger one, the dry ground, and then turned his head.

Tserre sat there as the port city of Medain drifted past them. She smiled behind the teacup she raised to her mouth, and only Vernoue, open-mouthed in horror, saw her expression.

“Incredibly, we appear to be closer to Ceria than I thought. We might as well ask about her.”

Then, it occurred to the King of Myths that he might have erred, prevailing on an ancient mage of old. Magus Tserre had appeared entirely reasonable, willing to put his desires before her own pressing obligations.

He really should have remembered what old damn [Mages] were like.

Author’s Notes:

Hey, I have a lot to talk about! In order of priorities, firstly I do have an AMA planned on r/Fantasy on the 13th. So be there to celebrate the book launch! If you want to ask a question with spoilers for the plot, I might not answer fully, but go ahead and just spoiler tag them so new readers don’t read anything they shouldn’t.

Second…I’m back! From my travels! I wrote a short blog post about how it was to sign so much, but my shoulders STILL hurt. Not bad, and the team was very accommodating and kept asking if I needed breaks or snacks, but I was trying to sign everything.

It turns out signing is hard as shit. I prefer writing for 10 hours, frankly. Signing is uniquely stressful on my limbs, and it’s less fun to write the same thing over and over. But I got what I could done, and I do hope everyone who wants a copy of the bookplate gets one.

Maybe I should have taken a second week off, though. Travel gets to me, and I’ve run out of my backlog; there’s no Rickel chapter prepped, and I could only just finish editing the Horns chapter five minutes ago because I know more of their plot.

Moving forwards I’ll split chapters and release shorter ones because I need to rebuild my backlog. But this is the final push towards the book launch. After this chapter, it’s out…and so I have an appeal!

If you would, consider reviewing the books on Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and wherever they’re sold? That helps a huge amount, and if you do some writing, it’ll show new readers what there is to love about the series. I know I keep asking you for help, but I really do appreciate it, and we’re almost there.

It’s nerve wracking, but I have held the books, and I know they’re real. Now, it’s only a matter of waiting until they’re out in all the stores. Any review helps! It feels like I’m back to being a younger, newer author again, and I got this far with your support, so I’m asking again. Let’s celebrate on the 11th.

—pirateaba

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