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Trigger Warning: Click here for details.

“I’m bored.”

The problem with being a [King] was that the unguarded statement echoed. It was an offhanded comment as he yawned and went from his command tent down the line of soldiers. A [Strategist] mentioned it to the [Archers] firing flaming arrows skywards, setting trails of burning lights through the sky.

The air—choked and thick with burnt flesh and smoke–was hard to breathe in as the infantry stormed the walls. The cavalry circled like wolves, dueling the chariots trying to break the siege. Both ran over the dead, pressing armor and blood into the sand.

Nevertheless, amidst the fighting were men and women armed with chains. They walked with barrier spells up, fearlessly taking prisoners. Administering first aid with expertise—not mercy. [Slave Takers] picking the battlefield for the best spoils before they expired.

The King of Destruction’s words were carried by a line of infantry climbing the [Light Bridges] instead of ladders, storming a breach in the walls where the defenders lay dead. A [Mage] heard it while retreating to regenerate mana. When they fought forwards, umbrellas raised, setting screaming Stitch-folk ablaze, one of them carried it to the front of the fighting.

There, champions of Nerrhavia’s Fallen were trying to duel a pair of blademasters, who cut down all comers without slowing. A dance that had lasted three hours. Orthenon the Steward and Mars the Illusionist stopped only once when they heard that comment. The [Vanguard], who had killed over a thousand defenders of one of Nerrhavia’s fortress-bastions, brushed at her hair which showed none of the gore adorning her actual body and the floor. She threw down her sword and, to the defenders’ incredulity, stopped her advance and stormed backwards.

Orthenon scowled before issuing curt orders for the attackers to hold the line. He fell back as well.

Outside, Flos Reimarch sensed the battle for the fortress, another of Nerrhavia’s border citadels, slacken. He winced and sighed. Sometimes, he didn’t want people to hear every word he said.

——

Sometimes, the King of Destruction and his vassals quarrelled. It was usually him and Takhatres or him and Orthenon, who seemed to have the most strife. Amerys could grate, but any one of Flos’ Seven had been known to war with him betimes.

Mars did it, funnily enough, with pure passive aggressiveness. She sipped from a cup of water with a straw in it as Flos remonstrated with her.

“Mars, I meant the war, not your heroics. Please, we need this fortress taken or they’ll send another damn army, and we’ll have to retreat.”

“I don’t know, my drink isn’t cool enough. I think I’ve sprained my fragile throat.”

He personally snagged ice cubes and dumped them in her cup. She sipped again.

“Now they’re dirty.”

The King of Destruction sighed. He stepped away, and Mars nearly put down her cup; her face fell, but Orthenon held out an arm, and she pretended to be studying her cup by the time Flos came around.

“Mars, it was not an instruction for you to fight harder. Do you think I would have claimed that?”

“I could have taken the citadel faster. But I’m tired, and we need to level the soldiers and not waste my gear.”

“And never did I think to instruct you on the ways of war. Allow me to explain.”

“Of course, who am I to gainsay His Majesty in any way?”

She beamed at him, and Flos raked at his hair. He pressed his fingers together.

“I meant it in the sense of recent events. The Horns. The battle at the Meeting of Tribes—the Winter Solstice, terrible as it was. Were these not events to shake the heart?”

“It did get my heart pumping.”

Mars admitted grudgingly. Flos plied her with another cup of wine, which she refused hesitantly.

“I have to get back on the walls…”

“Indulge us both a moment, Mars.”

She sipped after a second, and he did likewise. Then they traded cups and took a gulp of each other’s. He and she smiled at the Chandrarian tradition.

“It was that damn Goblin King which reminded me I had never met one. And one appears and…! The sight of it, Mars. Now, think of our war here. We are winning.”

“Winning while the Empire of Sands grows in strength and sends armies at us. They’ll have one here soon, despite all Takhatres did.”

Orthenon put in. Flos grimaced.

“Between that and the oddities Trey suspects in Khelt—yes, there are events of notice, Orthenon. None rouse my passions. Remember the Nerrhavia’s Fallen of old?”

“Armies of Level 40 experts and Djinni? Facing armies literally a million strong? You had just hired me and I had to lead the offensive against all that. Plus, Mars came at you nineteen times before she switched sides. Takhatres had just joined, and he was always going off on his own…”

Orthenon’s face was a full grimace of distaste. Flos himself shuddered.

“Dead gods, yes! A nightmare! The only good battle was the million-army one. That Great General was so daft as to think he could field it and it wouldn’t be a giant, bloated carcass starving him of supplies. That was the only fun battle with no great sorrows. But the rest had my heart aflame. Now, look at them.”

He stared out of his war tent.

“It’s just Hemp. No one of a true level wants to fight us.”

“They don’t want to die. They know we’re better at killing. It’s the same reason the Herald of the Forests and the Mage of Rivers never took up against us on the field is because we’d hunt them down. Everyone remembers the old conquests.”

“So we just fight through the lowest-level soldiers. It’s sensible, but that’s why I said that. It does not level us. It is not what you deserve, my champions, and…I fear it is dulling our wits. I am helpless as well.”

Ah. Mars relaxed. Orthenon exhaled.

“Your Majesty has won splendid battles—”

“Bah. Feints and basic strategy. There’s not a single Great General of the lot worth fighting. Queravia would have taken me to pieces.”

Another pause; it was rare to hear him invoke her name, even now. But Flos said it like a man drawing a splinter from his skin and then sighed.

“Queravia. There. And Tottenval too. Nerrhavia’s Fallen had so many of us the first time. Now? We will advance. We are advancing, but it is boring. How many Hemp have turned for us?”

“One in eight.”

“Good. Keep offering them that over chains. I would rather they all turn…but I accepted peace with Nerrhavia’s Fallen the first time instead of taking them all as my vassals and breaking the nation apart. Perhaps it was a mistake. But the last time, they fought like Manticores.”

“If we get to the capital, it may change. Cheer up, Your Majesty. They might send Djinni at us again.”

“Not after I freed them. Go back to the walls if you will it, please, Mars. Let us not shed blood in vain. I just wish I could be there with you. But I don’t have my armor, and even if I have a new sword…”

He touched the one that Silvenia had given him. Flos sat, and Mars tried to cheer him up.

“I, uh, I have some armor that might fit you, Flos—”

“No, no. It’s not Relic-grade, no offense to your armor, Mars. Only you can wear a set and not risk a piercing arrow. I learned my lesson with the King of Duels. I…funny.”

Flos flexed one scarred hand.

“When I was younger, I didn’t mind the lack of active Skills as much. I didn’t need them. I could do more Skill-attacks, too. What was that damn zig-zag Skill?”

“[Criss-cross Cut]?”

“[Typhoon of the Sword Saint]?”

“…Might be a third one. I tried it the other day and nearly threw out my back. I’m stronger than I used to be, but not hardier, and certainly not as fast. Did I really wrestle Djinni back in the day?”

“I remember you fighting one across an entire battlefield for two hours while we tried to pull you two apart.”

Flos sighed.

“Youth really did make up for so much. Now all I’ve got is treachery and wisdom or whatever the damn saying is. Hmm.”

He didn’t continue his train of thought. Just opened and closed his hand. Mars hesitated, glanced at Orthenon, then turned.

“I’ll have the fortress taken by dawn, and we’ll see to you remembering one of your learned Skills, Your Majesty! Thanks for the drink. No hard feelings, eh? Coming, Orthenon? Those soldiers aren’t going to slay themselves, unless Gazi stares at them hard enough.”

She strode out of the room. Orthenon rolled his eyes.

“Coward.”

Flos thought he heard the Steward say that, but when he turned his head, Orthenon just bowed and left. Leaving the King of Destruction alone.

“Lacking.”

He stared at his hand, articulating each finger inwards. As if trying to divine something in his hand’s movements he did not perceive by vision alone. Flos closed his eyes.

“When I heard that bell ring, my soul rang with it. The Horns of Hammerad. What a pity they didn’t wish to stay. Perhaps it was me. A [Dreamer]. Heh.”

He smiled, then stared at his hand again.

“I swear I remember a lesson on this. But it’s been so long. Perhaps I should have gone to Hraace, but I cannot spare myself. Boring.”

His hand twitched again, and Flos imagined a cup of water. He tried to catch a falling drop. Pure imagination falling upon his palm. He sat there in silence, then sighed.

“I don’t…get it. Perhaps I should have taken a year to train. But the moment I awoke—no, my kingdom needed me. I should have never slept. But it occurs to me now, Queravia, that the [King] who returned should have been better, not just the same. You were right, Tottenval. Everyone changes. Drevish. You would have told me that, wouldn’t you?”

The peacemakers and doves of his Seven were gone. The ones who knew how to wield both pen and ink as well as blade and spell. Amerys was the last remaining and she…Flos glanced up.

They were far from the battlefront where she fought, but he fancied he still saw the bolts of lightning she was hurling. She didn’t like fortresses she couldn’t break, and she was venting her fury on the forces of Nerrhavia’s Fallen.

Since her duel with Archmage Valeterisa. Flos had enjoyed it and thought it good for Amerys, even if it was a loss on multiple fronts. The romance angle seemed to be where it actually stung and Takhatres had been sulking for ages for reasons Flos hadn’t gotten out of him.

“Still, I will need your snippy guidance, Amerys, once we consolidate an actual empire. We may struggle more without Drevish or Tottenval in rulership. Until then…”

He stared at his hand, practicing, because there was nothing more interesting to do. Flos wished the Pedagogia were here. Perhaps the Quarass…?

Then his head rose. In the night, as the fortress’ alarms rang again for the Illusionist and Steward, Flos Reimarch’s gaze turned north.

“What is this…?”

He remained fixed in place until someone came running.

“Your Majesty! Word from the north!”

He turned at once, poised for action, filled with anticipation and—well, loss.

“Khelt?”

But no—it wasn’t Khelt. Trey would have communicated to him. Flos had expected the message to be about those odd Antinium or Fetohep, but the [Messenger] bore more important news still.

“The King of Myths and a fleet of ten thousand from Erribathe has been spotted off the coast of Medain! It seems as if they intend to land—but there was no word of them, nor is Medain prepared for them. Their navy is moving to potentially blockade the port.”

Almost, the King of Destruction smiled. Almost with delight, wonder, suspense—but he jerked his attention down to his hand.

“I see. Leave it until we have more word. They are far north.”

Surprised, the messenger halted, for the King of Destruction might have called the entire warfront back to see. But he just sat there. Studying his hand.

“Your Majesty had longed to see the Army of Myths, sire.”

“Yes. Yes, it was a dream of mine. They never sent forces against me in any numbers, even when the Crusade happened. But I am here. We must not abandon the war.”

So said the older man. The messenger bowed, and Flos added, after a second—

“Besides. The Horns of Hammerad lie south of me, now. They delight my heart too.”

His eyes rose and gleamed in the dark. He had a feeling Chandrar had not seen the last of them. The coliseum was an amusing distraction, on par with Mars’ exploits as a girl.

He could still hear that bell ringing.

The King of Destruction waited, practicing in the long night. Bored until the moment he was not.

——

The Horns of Hammerad were finished.

Washed.

Done.

They, a team of three Gold-rank adventurers, veterans at least by the standard of how many threats they’d gone up against, and a Named-rank adventurer, had been stalemated by a new Gold-rank team.

Yes, Earthers. Yes, they’d had an advantage and setup. But that was how it started, wasn’t it? Excuses. If it had been any other team, if they’d gone to blood—then Pisces, Yvlon, and possibly Ceria would be dead.

They’d lost ‘it’. And by ‘it’, Pisces assumed Ksmvr. Or perhaps their cohesion. Their teamwork. Their spark.

He’d been up all night, tossing and turning, despite the sumptuous bed Yisame’s people had given him in the closest city. Thinking about how he’d messed up, how his team hadn’t fought together. Seeing those glowing orbs of compressed mana on his chest.

He didn’t like losing. No one did. Pisces couldn’t remember the last time his team had lost a battle like that. When had the last time been? Montressa’s team, yes. They’d fled some battles, but not been defeated for a long while. Incredible, really. Charmed—but it meant he didn’t know how it worked.

Losing.

It felt bad. Not just because Colth had shouted all the above at his team before storming off into his rooms. Yvlon was utterly silent, and Ceria had been cracking jokes, making plans and observations about the Earthers—Pisces had just gone to bed to think.

Bad mood. Failed quest. Yisame had to know, even if the Wildcards had loudly proclaimed the Horns had taken the bounty from the Tomb of Yad’thuv—Pisces wondered how much trouble they were in.

We’ve never failed a quest either. Wait, no, they’d failed to clear some bees out once, but—never something like this.

At some point he realized he was twisted such that his upper body was facing left, and his legs, and waist, right.

That explained the agony in his back. He untwisted and curled up. Rolled around in his sheets. Tried the old blanket half-on, legs and arms splayed free, sleeping move. Got up to pee. Drank some water.

After about fifteen hours of tossing and turning, he got up and checked the time.

Thirty minutes had passed.

Pisces fished around in his bag of holding and found a rare item he seldom used. Which…he probably should have used when the going got hot.

The Wand of Pisces that he had never really used had come from Enchanter Hedault. To his knowledge it was still in Izril, in a certain Gnoll girl’s care. That was fine; it smelled. Mrsha used to carry it around in her mouth. However, after the Coliseum of Monarchs he’d, uh, acquired a wand from one of the dead [Mages]. It wasn’t great, tuned to generalist-fire magic but Colth had insisted he at least have one. Pisces pointed it at his temples.

“[Sleep]. [Sleep]. [Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep].”

He stared ahead and wished spell resistance wasn’t a thing [Mages] got.

——

Yvlon was awake when Pisces stumbled into the fancy living room of the literal mansion they’d been given. He didn’t see her at first. He was poking around in the pantries for food when she spoke.

“It’s just ingredients—”

“Aaaaablgeh!”

He screamed, leaping back and flailing for his rapier, which he didn’t have. She stared at him. He turned red. She averted her gaze and coughed.

“…Ah, eggs and flour and even milk. One could wish for cereal or something edible.”

“Right. Right. The pantry’s preserved. Would fruits or grains kill them?”

Pisces rummaged around.

“I supposed it’s to encourage you to go and peruse the local markets?”

Yvlon was sitting at a huge, obsidian table; there were glass chairs too, beautifully blown in different colors. The living room connected to the huge sitting room with all kinds of fancy, rich furnishings. Pisces would have happily lived here all his life. It was one of the most gorgeous place he had ever seen.

A shame they’d be gone in the morning. He wanted to investigate the mansion while he was awake, and opened his mouth to say that—when a shadow detached itself from the wall.

“We’re just going to pretend we didn’t hear Pisces scream like that?”

“Whifgha!”

That was the sound of Yvlon’s arms turning into spikes and her leaping out of her chair. Colth was not smiling. He was standing, arms folded, scowling. He did raise an eyebrow at her.

“You two don’t check for rogues. It’s going to get you killed.”

Pisces and Yvlon glanced at each other, then began investigating the cupboards with zeal. Colth stepped forwards.

“I’ll make bread or something. One side.”

He pushed Pisces and Yvlon aside and began to fill a bowl with alacrity. Pisces was going to protest that he could do it when he saw Colth had the dough halfway done. The Ultimate Supporter was already turning a heating rune on the oven, and his bread was half-risen. Pisces sat at the table with Yvlon.

“The reason they don’t put grains, fruit, or anything else in the cupboards is because rats get in. Or insects. You know how many idiots leave the cupboard ajar? Preservation doesn’t stop a colony of flies turning food into maggots. Nothing puts off a fancy guest like that.”

“Ah, makes sense.”

Pisces sat as Colth worked. Yvlon seemed as sleep-deprived as he did. Colth…well, it was hard to tell. He shoved the bread in the oven.

“You’ll get food in five minutes. I don’t know all of our team’s customs. Do we just not talk about how badly we got our asses kicked and play it off like Ceria’s doing? Or are we going to sit down and analyze what we did wrong?”

His face was flat. Pisces shifted. Glanced at Yvlon. She bit her lip and spoke.

“I…was just realizing we hadn’t lost a battle like that, Colth. The Fire Elemental came close, but we don’t analyze fights. Jelaqua made us do it, remember, Pisces? But we never kept it up. Ksmvr always wanted to, but we usually just finished an adventure and were resting up.”

“Ah. Oldschool adventuring. No room for mistakes until someone’s dead, then we just fight and tear ourselves apart. Any interest in not doing that?”

“Plenty, Colth. Believe me, we’re not blind. I know we’re all upset, so I assume Ceria wanted us to rest up.”

Colth was opening a pot of butter and smelling it. He flipped a butter knife up in the air, a spinning circle.

“Ceria’s judgement is off. Could be the circlet. Could be she just doesn’t know how to lead. She wasn’t the last leader of the Horns, right?”

“She was more like the 2nd or 3rd in command. Gerial and Calruz were the two leaders. But she does a fine job. Usually.”

Again, Yvlon glanced at Pisces. He got up to find plates. Colth inserted the butter knife into the butter. Flicked it onto the table. Yvlon stopped it with her palm, and the [Supporter] grunted.

“But you can’t tell if the circlet’s making her act like that. [Freedom From Morality] doesn’t cover everything. Is she actually that much smarter…?”

Pisces found some ornamental plates with too much color on them. Mosaics on the plates…he put them on the table.

“I’d like to think she could have come up with all our tactics before the circlet. Her spellcasting’s better, but…perhaps we should discuss it with her?”

“Feels like we’ll just ask her about the damn circlet. That last battle was all our faults. Or do you disagree?”

Another quick glance between Yvlon and Pisces as Colth opened the oven, and the bread was already smelling good. Pisces sat down.

“No…I quite agree, Colth. We should have fallen back when we realized the Wildcards were so entrenched. And when I mentioned they were Earthers, we didn’t stop to negotiate. You told us to take the [Mage], Lareceina out. Yvlon could have killed her when she charged in.”

The Silver Killer flinched. Pisces smiled at her, or made his lips move to show her he didn’t mean it. She averted her gaze, drumming her fingers on the table. Rose up to get the plates; the bread was already done. Colth cut it into pieces, tossing the steaming plates on the counter. Pisces slowed them before the clatter awoke Ceria. Then came a jar of marmalade, other jams—Colth threw himself into a chair.

His eyes were hard. When they focused on Pisces, the [Necromancer] leaned back. Then Colth’s flat voice gained heat.

“I didn’t abandon the plan because they were raining attack spells on us. You held back.”

“I did the best I could have—”

“You had a [Shatterbolt] I didn’t see you use once. You’re capable of [Deathbolt], and you could have taken their captain down, but you gave him an opening to fight back. Let alone the new spells you’ve learned.”

Colth leaned over the table. Pisces’ back itched because he’d thought the same—

“They were Earthers, Colth. People from Erin’s world. I know you know what that means. If we had killed them—”

A hand was gripping the front of his robes. Colth pulled Pisces forwards and hissed at him.

“In a combat situation, you don’t do the nice thing, Pisces. You take care of your team. If you don’t, you die. I’ve lost too many friends to hesitation! I thought you’d get that, and we nearly died—”

“Hey, this is great bread. Anyone want butter? I prefer jam. Is it old?”

Yvlon put the bread down between Colth and Pisces. Colth let go, and Pisces stared at a jar. Yvlon sniffed it.

“…It’s bad.”

“[Rejuvenate Supplies].”

Colth pointed at it, and Yvlon whistled.

“So handy. Okay, who wants a drink—?”

Pisces and Colth eyed each other. The [Necromancer] rasped as Yvlon got a water pitcher and poked at a magical dispenser.

“I understand that too, Colth. But they’re children from another world. Couldn’t we have spoken?”

“Your Captain gave you orders, Pisces. I was backing her play. So was Yvlon.”

“So I’m supposed to just go along with her? She’s got no morality, Colth—”

“If any of us died, it’s on you, me, and all of us to bear that. You didn’t have to murder them—do you think I expected you to do that? Just cut them down and patch them up after!”

Pisces was glad Colth didn’t grab his robe; the [Supporter] had stabbed a piece of bread with the butterknife. But Pisces was rather surprised by his finger jabbing Colth’s armor.

“They were in the right! We didn’t know we were robbing Hemp-folk! If we’d talked—did we have to even take out the other Gold-rank teams? I didn’t sign up to adventure to fight over stealing treasure!”

“Funny, you don’t have a problem when it’s a grave you don’t know. From your background, I would have thought you understood needing to be practical when it’s life-or-death! We cannot make a mistake here, and if we have to cozy up to a damn monarch to achieve our objectives, we will!”

Colth got up, which was good, because Pisces was already on his feet. The two were almost nose-to-nose when a pair of metal hands pushed them back. Pisces felt cold on his chest; the water pitcher. Yvlon put it down.

“Don’t fight, you two.”

She seemed oddly worried, earnest, as she patted them on the shoulders. Colth snarled.

“I’m just trying to get it in this idiot’s head how close to death we were!”

“I know how close we were! But if we had murdered one of Wildcard, do you think—?”

Pisces’ voice echoed in the room before he felt a cool hand on his shoulder. Yvlon grabbed his shoulder and Colth’s.

“Don’t. Fight.”

She didn’t pat them on the shoulders. Rather, pulled them up and lowered them in their chairs. Both men squirmed, and she let go. Pisces felt at the grooves in his flesh. He and Colth leaned back in their chairs. Yvlon forced a smile.

“Let’s be reasonable here, right?”

“…Absolutely.”

“We’re perfectly rational, Yvlon. No fighting here. Let’s have some bread.”

Pisces ate some of the actually tasty bread as he eyed Yvlon. She was glancing at him and Colth, and he smiled at Colth. The [Supporter] smiled like a man stabbed, but they continued eating bread. Yvlon spoke after a second piece of buttered bread.

“I’m sorry I charged in like that. I should have waited, but I thought I could end it.”

“That’s not the issue, we weren’t backing you up—”

“—if I’d dispelled her magic or we’d come at them with different tactics—”

Everyone broke off. Yvlon chewed on her bread. Pisces pushed his plate back. Colth blew out his cheeks, began to speak, and closed his mouth. Drummed his knuckles on the table in a rhythm until he noticed Yvlon and Pisces watching him.

“Listen, we’re at cross-angles, I know. We’re not doing regular adventures. Even the Crossroads were, well, pure adventuring. This is politics. I don’t like it, but we’re in a powerful kingdom, and we have objectives.”

“I know.”

Colth glanced at Pisces, then at Yvlon.

“Sometimes, you’re right. I, we, should back you up. It’s just hard because that’s not how I’ve operated.”

“I could be more reasonable. I just miss Ksmvr.”

Yvlon was carving a groove in the table. It cracked. Pisces and Colth winced. Colth was staring at Pisces.

“If we step out of line too much, we put those we care about in danger.”

Pisces’ heart sank. Yvlon glanced up.

“Are you talking about Pisces’ slave friends? He said that to me. He’s not blind, Colth. He’s just not a murderer like us.”

The [Supporter] blinked. He stared at Yvlon, and Pisces’ heart hurt as he turned to the Silver Killer, and she averted her gaze. Pisces opened his mouth. Had nothing to say. Searched for the right words, and he always had enough words. Fancy words. He coughed, cleared his throat—

“Hey, team! I thought I smelled food!”

Ceria bounded down the stairs. She was bleary-eyed, but she skidded across the floor, windmilling her arms, and the rest of the Horns regarded her. She had messy hair, but on her head was the circlet, lopsided but gleaming in the dark. They stared at it as Ceria rubbed her hands.

“Free bread? This is a fancy mansion! Serve me up two, and are we gonna talk about how the battle went? I get it; it feels bad. But hey, Earthers, am I right? Let’s agree we all made mistakes and chill out before we do a breakdown. Thoughts?”

She looked around and faltered as she saw their expressions. Ceria glanced up and took her circlet off. Coughed.

“It’s for spell memorization in my sleep. Listen, I get they were Earthers, but they attacked us. And not all of them are statistically going to be good or worth…”

She trailed off.

“Make it three slices of bread.”

——

A story for you. As a girl, Delitandra had once been backhanded by her mother so hard she had broken her jaw. At the time, it was considered excessive, but not beyond the limits of a parent’s actions in Hraace.

A different time, you see. Children had been seen as more of means towards great achievements as Hraace aspired. Insurance if you yourself hadn’t made a mark in your time; their works would be your own. Thus, children were vessels to be shaped at any cost, like Hraace’s aspiring heroes. Delitandra had grown up under that ideal…before the Pedagogia had been overthrown by Araxia, a young instructor who had found the King of Destruction and attached to his rising star.

Then the Terandrians had been chased from Hraace. Then the old ways were dealt with, and the Pedagogia had made an example of Delitandra’s mother and dragged her in a lap around the capital by chariot.

No one had mourned the old Pedagogia. Much less the girl who had aspired to join that new court of the Heromakers. It was old history, and the two often warred with each other like, well, mother and child these days.

But the promise was kept. Never again would such ill deeds be allowed, and it had been an oath Delitandra had never questioned. Never should another child of Hraace fear such violence.

Except, perhaps, today in service of her duties. As an adult, Delitandra did not look forwards to it, but if need be…

“Play the fools for all we’re worth, and if needed have them take out their tempers on us. But have a care. Let me speak before you all.”

She cautioned the other instructors in her small posse before they entered the mansion where the Horns of Hammerad were resting. It was still before dawn, and the Heromakers were exhausted. They had sat out the evening when news had come from the Tomb of Yad’thuv. Of what had happened.

The failure of Yisame’s quest. That was not open news, of course. The Horns were being celebrated, but the Heromakers could read between the lines. Simple extrapolation and some checking of sources told them it had been, at best, a draw.

So they came. Elena had not been around, and for this, Delitandra had judged her best left behind. For when she sprang through the doors, a smile on her face, she was annoying.

“Ah, here are the Horns in their triumph! And where would they be without their erstwhile trainers and companions?”

She bandied herself and her team into the room, over the shock of the four adventurers who seemed sleep-deprived and tense. Delitandra was ready, without appearing to be so, for the blow. She guessed the Silver Killer or Colthei, but she was surprised when she was greeted with, if not enthusiasm, then restrained politeness.

“Instructor Delitandra, how did you find us?”

“Ah, we had it from Queen Yisame’s staff, and the rest was simply a matter of hiring a carriage, Necromancer Pisces. Now, to work. Shall we break down the disaster of the tomb?”

She smiled cheekily, but Pisces just smiled back at her as Ceria sighed, and Yvlon sat back. Colth’s face was unreadably polite, but the rest of the Horns…

“We’ve gone over our errors, but we could certainly rehash them, Delitandra. It was a defeat, but at least the Wildcards are alive, and we are, in the end, teammates. I respect my team immensely, and we shall unify more satisfactorily in the next encounter.”

Pisces nodded a few times as he met her eyes. Delitandra stopped bracing, eyed him to see if he was lying or being sarcastic, and sighed, partially in relief.

So not simmering rage or blame. They were doing the earnestness approach, eh? How…wholesome. More than she’d thought. The Horns really weren’t as dysfunctional as many teams she’d met.

It made her like them a bit, to see them trying to be reasonable, regular people. Even if she knew they were nothing close to that. She smiled and slid into a seat next to Pisces. Insisting he tell her again.

You will be a Named-rank team and, perhaps, spawn a [Hero] among your own. You cannot be normal, poor souls. But is it kinder to break you open or let you crack on your own?

That she did not know, for once.

——

The Heromakers of Hraace weren’t as annoying as Pisces feared. True, Delitandra was a bit pressing, but they listened to the account of the raid, speculating without lecturing on how the Horns might have broken Wildcard’s defensive lines.

The agreement everyone had, from Yvlon, Colth, Ceria, everyone—was that they’d been taken off-guard by a team of unique classes. Lareceina, Kusal, Leonardo—they had been using Skills and combinations in ways the Horns hadn’t fathomed.

“Combined Skills. We don’t have a single one. A combined spell with me and Ceria, but…that is Earthers for you.”

Delitandra hesitated.

“Earthers? I don’t know the term…”

“Trey and Teres’ lot. Otherworlders. You know. The Heromakers surely know about Earthers since all the world powers do.”

Ceria’s face was too bland as she sipped from some juice the Heromakers had brought, and Pisces almost smiled as he saw Delitandra’s eyes flick to her cohort. Colth pushed himself up.

“I’m going to freshen up. Someone explain to the rookies what that is?”

Even Yvlon chuckled, and Ceria skipped off.

“Oh, woe is me! I’m so tired and messy! If only someone were here to tend to my aches and pains!”

She called out, and several of the instructors dashed off. Delitandra hesitated, and Yvlon rose with a grimace.

“I’m dog tired. I’ll catch some sleep now that we’ve hashed it out.”

Pisces could have used his bed too, but he lingered as Delitandra fixed her eyes on him. She smiled, and he felt guilty.

“We have taken you from your home, Delitandra, and I am conscious of your efforts on our behalf. Ah, Ceria could explain it better than I…”

Even annoying as she was, it was a mouthful, and he was tired. Delitandra waved this away.

“That we came was because we did understand you had lost, Necromancer. Not a bad thing, to lose, in fact. Better to have it bloodless than one where your team died, truth?”

“Truth…but a bitter one.”

He sat, still guilty. Yes, they’d reminded themselves they were a team, but he hadn’t managed to say to Ceria…and he and Colth had been rather up in each other’s faces. He wondered how Yvlon felt. Delitandra seemed to read this all in him, because she produced something.

“We have prepared new lessons for you, Pisces. Doubtless, you are tired, but I would think that we have at least three hours for you to practice some fencing. I am no gifted fencer, merely passable. Araxia would be, annoyingly, the best candidate to teach you, but let us retire to the practice courts this mansion has for some swordplay. Mm, yes, swordplay over magic, I think.”

He blinked at her.

“Actually, Delitandra, my bed is rather inviting now…”

He stood. She popped into place and took his arm. He was quite conscious of her proximity as she smiled sweetly at him.

“You don’t mind my bosom, good. Your lessons did something for you—but we should have focused as much on combat, clearly!”

“Er—but one learns with good sleep, Delitandra—”

Somehow, she maneuvered him to the practice courts, not his inviting bed. And she was pushing a stamina potion in his face. Pisces was about to say, ‘thank you, but I insist I need sleep’ when she hit him with a blow below the belt, metaphorically speaking.

“Your father’s appearance on the television was doubtless seen across the world. Did you watch it or not? He is better than you at fencing in many ways. Though in a duel you might have him. With magic. Had you any questions for us?”

He froze. She watched him, too warily, he realized, as if expecting him to lash out—Pisces took a breath.

“I do not hold that man in any regard, Delitandra. He may be my biological sire, but that is all.”

“Is that why you don’t wish to acknowledge when he has a point?”

Another blow between the shoulders. He hunched his…thought about saying something unkind, then swung around slowly. She was a Heromaker of Hraace. And sworn to secrecy. Her people had taught the King of Destruction. Pisces wavered, peered around, then lowered his voice.

“So you think I’m a Silver-bell at best and inferior too, Delitandra?”

Her eyes were oddly sympathetic. She half-bowed, hand across her chest.

“Did I say that, Pisces? Do not mistake the voice in your ear with my own. I too know what it is like to have no parents worth respecting.”

She did? He hesitated, and something in him wanted to know—Pisces untensed a bit.

“My mother is fine.”

“I am sure she is. Did she say nothing when he was at his worst? Then she is no mother, but an accomplice.”

“She was—he’s a wrathful man, and she wasn’t—”

He grew uncomfortable, then angry. But Delitandra’s words were gentle.

“If I overstep, tell me, but I too have known what it is like, Pisces.”

“You had, ah, a parent undeserving of his position?”

Pisces blinked at her, and Delitandra scratched at her side.

“I had someone who sired me, who I would not call a parent. And someone else who stood by and let such abuse happen, yes. The Pedagogia is my parent, just not one connected by blood, and she is vexsome enough as it is. One can choose their parents, Pisces.”

“One…cannot, Delitandra. I understand you don’t regard your birth-parents as such, but they did raise you.”

She smiled calmly at him, and for once, she didn’t feel lecturing, just someone talking earnestly to him, and he wondered what her childhood had been like.

“And I give them credence for that and nothing else. Words have power. If you met that man, Padurn, in the open, would you let him speak to you like that?”

“…No.”

The thought of it made Pisces’ stomach clench, and Delitandra nodded.

“I would not ask if you’d run him through because murder sullies one—but you could at least break a bone.”

“He’s a respected [Fencer] of Ailendamus, and I’m still not sure I could beat him without magic or a trick.”

“If he deserves it, would your team not have your back? I would help.”

For an instant, the image of Ceria, Colth, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and even Vofea jumping Padurn came to mind. He almost laughed, then realized that Yvlon might actually do just that. The idea of his father, skilled with a blade, fighting the Silver Killer of Izril…Pisces would have liked to see that.

So he smiled and relaxed for a moment as Delitandra grinned. Then he looked at her—

“What about your parents?”

She offered him a mysterious smile.

“The Pedagogia had my back, Adventurer Pisces, so don’t fear on that account. She is far from perfect, but I do give her credit in this. When she’s dethroned, she would make an excellent instructor and caretaker of children under thirteen.”

He chuckled, softly, and then, because he felt better, he managed to ask the question he hadn’t dared voice in front of his team. Pisces stared at his feet, then cleared his throat hesitantly, hoping she wouldn’t laugh or judge him.

“…Delitandra. Since you are here and know something about dueling and weapon arts. Ah…could you tell me? What exactly did my father mean when he said I would never rise to a Gold-bell?”

It had been bugging him in the quiet moments. Pisces sort of knew what was meant, but he also was uncertain. Delitandra smiled.

“You did not see his explanation?”

“No, we turned off the broadcast. Did he say?”

“I shall summarize it for you, if that is simpler.”

“Please.”

Pisces sat with Delitandra, not knowing that three members of his team eyed him from the windows as they sat in the courtyard. The dry desert air warmed and the sun shone down on the sandstone mansion. He listened to her gratefully, growing rapt with interest and pain, but less of it.

Since it was her, not that man from his childhood and home.

——

Padurn Jealnet’s lesson on fencing was simple, and he had touched on Pisces’ flaws surprisingly little, because most of his lesson had been on the fundamentals of true fencing.

But he had made reference to what he meant. There was a difference between Pisces, who had achieved the still-renowned rank of the Silver-bell, and that of a Gold-bell [Duelist]. It was, in Delitandra’s words, simple.

“He criticized you on what you, he, and anyone else short of the King of Duels or Maestro lacks, Pisces. Attack and defense.”

It was so simple, the way she said it. Pisces imagined Padurn would be full of lectures and harsh voice…he blinked.

“So simple?”

“In essence? Yes. He would have put maneuverability in there, but I think he could not in good conscience. Your [Flash Step] is enough to keep up with a master.”

She smiled, and he turned red and demurred; Raelt had him in footwork, but that was not what Delitandra meant.

“Consider the Skill your father has, Pisces. [Automatic Parry]. Any blow, any attack he is capable of deflecting, he will. How could you defeat such a man?”

“Make him slip? [Invisibility]? [Deathbolt] to the face?”

Pisces would enjoy that. But even saying it made him realize what Delitandra and Padurn meant. His face fell, and he rested his chin in his hands as he sat on the bench where ornamental ivy twined about the wood seat. It smelled of dusty sand, but also of some of the fragrant flowers planted here. Bread from Colthei’s kitchen. Her personal fragrance.

He edged away on the bench. She edged over.

“If you had neither, and only the sword, could you damage him?”

“Not without a Skill, and I do not have any ones purely for a [Fencer]. If I baited him into [Joveln’s Parry]…”

“So none that can wound him. His point is this: any Gold-bell duelist can do the same without a Skill. At Level 40, nay, Level 50, how does a mortal man hope to wound a true master? Thus, the quandary you and he face.”

Attack and defense. Pisces blinked.

When you got down to it, he had no attacking Skills, did he? He’d noticed it against Bograms and the Champion of Monarchs. Oh, he could stab someone through the heart, and that tended to work. But against an Adult Creler, against a significant foe…

“So I lack for a way to both damage a foe with my rapier—or even regular spells—or defend?”

She smiled.

“Exactly. Now, I shall not lecture you on magic because you are the expert, and spells are more a matter of learning the right ones and using them correctly. But swordplay? There are a few ways to damage a foe who has armor or defensive abilities bar none. The King of Duels has learned some; you recall his spiraling stab he used to wound the King of Destruction?”

A masterpiece of footwork and that classic, piercing thrust. Pisces nodded. Delitandra drew her sword, which he noted was a fencer’s foil today.

“Let us practice and see if we can find you one. There are three means I can think of easily: a Skill, which you might learn, a magical spell you might use in conjunction with the rapier, or your natural aura. To warm up, attack me. [Instruction: Supreme Bladework]!”

He rose, body exhausted, but with a bit of a will. Nevertheless, some the old Pisces was in him, so he had to ask.

“Shouldn’t I get some sleep first, though, Delitandra? One does learn better with rest.”

Her eyes twinkled at him.

“It is the observation of the Heromakers that our clients are most motivated to train after a humiliating defeat, Pisces. Or is this not so?”

Damn. He sighed and drew his rapier.

“I suppose I could do an hour…”

——

Here was the thing; being able to deflect the King of Duels’ stab, the Maestro’s, or any high-level Skill like the Hero of Zethe’s, sounded like madness to Pisces. You either had a barrier or weren’t there—surviving such attacks was impossible.

Or the territory of Gold-bell duelists. He was crestfallen by the problem, but at least he was thinking of how to solve it. Nor was Delitandra completely out of ideas, just stating the many obstacles to overcome.

“Here is my best and simplest way to upgrade your attacks, Pisces. [Bound Spell]. You needn’t the Skill for it, though it would make it faster. You have been in the company of Magus Grimalkin, who is famous for his use of it. He can bind three spells into his fist. You need only one. Consider: could you bind a spell into the tip of your rapier?”

He blinked and regarded his bone-metal rapier. Bind a spell and fire it off?

“I…don’t see why not. I’ve done it before against Lenxiol, actually. [Light Spear], in fact. Well, not the spell like that…”

It wasn’t as powerful as a Tier 5 spell, which he didn’t know, but the thought of stabbing a foe and blasting a Tier 3 spell into their chest had some charm. Thus, Delitandra encouraged him to try binding it in the middle of a fight while she attacked, then had him practice the spell on her while using it for maximum damage.

She had a Skill that granted her immunity to harm while they were practicing, so Pisces quickly learned that the spell needed a bit of time and the right strike to fire off. Doing so while also practicing his swordplay was a good workout and Pisces found himself sweating far before he customarily woke up.

And somehow, during his practice, Pisces realized that he had an audience.

Not the Heromakers of Hraace; they had the amazing ability to be unobtrusive helpers. Rather, he realized Yvlon Byres was there, sitting on the patio, sipping on a chilled fruit drink with ice in it. When he wavered and Delitandra nearly scored a point on him, she waved.

“If I’m in the way…”

“No, I ah, I am simply practicing. I imagine it’s boring.”

They did practice together, or had in Liscor, but this was just his fencing warmup, even if Delitandra was helping. Yvlon hesitated and pointed to her drink.

“They’re making drinks for us. Well, Colth was competing with Ietco, one of the Heromakers, on who could make the best drinks. This is nice. Agave and Ceria’s ice.”

She also had some snacks. Pisces hungrily snatched some jam-coated cheese on crackers and realized it was very tasty stuff. The riches of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, again. Spicy jam, no less. Then he went back to practicing.

It was all awkward after the—well, the miniature fight. Yvlon said nothing, but after two more short bouts, she made a comment.

“Delitandra is very good with a sword.”

“Only when training. Would that I had a Skill to allow all my abilities to translate to battle—Araxia has that.”

“Really?”

She’d be a menace if Delitandra’s [Supreme Bladework] Skill were active at all times. The Heromaker winked at Pisces.

“The benefit of a trainer who levels is that they are allowed to use their talents when supporting their chosen client. Ah, well—I prefer to train, anyways. See, Yvlon, he is trying to refine his incisive attacks and defenses.”

They were practicing high-level swordplay. It wasn’t a classic fencing bout, but more of Delitandra creating exceptionally dangerous offensives where she would use a Skill or mimic an attack a Gold-bell [Fencer] might use, forcing Pisces to defend or dodge, and he’d try to break her guard.

Not quite as dangerous as the Maestro or King of Duels, but Yvlon nodded after a moment.

“He can’t break your form.”

Annoyingly, Pisces could not. [Supreme Bladework] made Delitandra parry Pisces or defend like Padurn could do; even his most incisive lunge just ended up with a blade at his throat. It was good insight, and he did prove he could break the guard in the end—but only with magic. [Deathbolt]—or rather a black streak of light magic mimicking the spell—had Delitandra cursing and failing to dodge it.

“A Gold-bell might parry it. And it is not impossible to dodge with better footwork. Hence the [Light Spear] trick. Shall we try it? Though please, not the spell itself.”

Pisces obligingly bound the spell to the tip of his rapier, and he did try it several times, but when he missed three times in a row—

“If I know it will appear from the tip of your blade, it is easy to account for.”

Delitandra leaned under the spell as it blasted out of the tip of Pisces’ rapier. He sighed.

“I might surprise a Gold-bell duelist who can’t see magic with it—but only once. And I cannot help but think that King Raelt would just parry or dodge it.”

“I wish I’d met him.”

Yvlon commented as she put aside the snack bowl. Pisces had nothing but good things to say about Raelt, and they swapped stories of [Kings]—he always felt like he got the better end of the deal, though he wished he’d met the Mage of Rivers and Herald of the Forests.

“Adventurer Yvlon, I am getting tired—apologies, I’m not as fit as I wished to be after that ride. Would you care to let Adventurer Pisces practice his defenses? Your arms are as fast as a Gold-bell duelist.”

Delitandra asked after another bout, and Yvlon hesitated. She eyed Pisces, and he realized they hadn’t sparred since the incident with Numbtongue. Her arms had been too deadly to try in a practice setting…

“I’ve got better control these days. Why not? If you’re okay with it, Pisces.”

“Do I get a barrier spell?”

He meant it as a joke, but she handed him her Ring of Siphon Barriers, and since that worked, he found himself [Flash Stepping] out of the way of exploding needle-arms.

“Dead gods, Yvlon!”

“You have a barrier on, be quiet.”

She grinned, and he got hit by three needles as her arms turned into two pincushions that made it literally impossible to dodge if you were around her. Pisces leapt back.

“This is worse than a Gold-bell duelist.”

“Good practice, though. Can you parry her metal arms when they extend?”

Delitandra was cheering him on with the other Heromakers, and Pisces tried it; he parried two spikes in quick succession. The other eight stabbed the shimmering barrier over his skin. Yvlon grinned, and he poked her in the chest with a rapier.

“What about your defenses?”

“That’s my ring. We’re teaching you high-level dueling, Pisces.”

“Surely you need practice—”

“I’ll just make shields with my arms or use my [Aspect of Iron]. Delitandra, you told me you had a better plan for this than just Pisces dodging faster. If the [Light Spear] trick isn’t good enough, what else is there?”

She and Pisces turned to Delitandra. The problem with learning a new attack was that it was damn hard. You didn’t just learn a new Skill overnight, and Delitandra confessed she had two problems.

“The way of auras is difficult and long, and yours is not exactly a royal one or a specialist’s, Pisces. The Order of Seasons in Pheislant are known to use theirs to bypass enemy resistances.”

“I know them, but my aura isn’t trained. Erin would have an easier time of harnessing hers. Do I seem like a good aura-trainer, Yvlon? Hah!”

He flicked his blade at Yvlon’s face, trying to bait an attack out, but just grinned at him. She didn’t flinch in the face of a blade even inches from her skin. She trusted him too much—and she was holding a sword of her own, now.

He’d forgotten she was a good swordswoman. Quite competent, if not nearly as fast as he was. But even one-handed, without a shield, she made for a good partner…because her arms would elongate, letting her stab faster than he expected or contract so she could pull the sword close to her body.

She was so damn unpredictable that they began getting into the sparring in general as Delitandra commented.

“Truth, Adventurer Pisces. Then the next logical step would be to copy a move of old. We had thought to teach you an old Gold-rank duelist’s technique. [Joveln’s Parry] is on that level.”

Pisces smiled as he demonstrated that very move and jarred the sword out of Yvlon’s hand. She swore, stomped over to pick it up, then made her off-hand turn into a blade arm. She went in swinging as he [Flash Stepped] away hurriedly.

“Who did you have in mind?”

A sweet smile from Delitandra.

“Az’kerash.”

“Wh—”

Yvlon hooked his leg, and Pisces went down. She pointed a sword at his chest, and he stared at Delitandra before she heaved him up. Then both stared at Delitandra, slightly aghast.

“Az’kerash? But he’s the Necromancer. Y-you can’t be—”

“What is proscribed in Terandria and Izril is not so heinous here, Necromancer. In fact, he pioneered a number of dueling moves, given his acclaim. Chandler’s Rebuke is, in fact, a famous dueling move he developed.”

His ears perked up so much at this they almost waggled like Ceria’s. Of course Pisces knew about Chandler’s Rebuke. It was a famous move, and he’d tried to find a copy of a recording or even an account of it—! But the Necromancer himself had never described dueling to Pisces, just magic.

Delitandra could not know about Az’kerash’s occasional tutelage, of course, but Pisces was powerfully curious.

A second problem. When he asked to see it, she hesitated and coughed.

“Er…the issue is that most texts on him were burned during our Terandrian occupation. We are sending to Hraace for a master duelist’s techniques, but as I understand it, Chandler’s Rebuke was a move that allowed him to parry an enemy [Archmage]’s spells, close the gap, and stab them through the chest or stomach in a single blow. He apparently once deflected a Tier 7 spell before running his opponent through.”

That sounded insanely cool to Pisces. Yvlon was only too willing to let him try it.

“I could make a huge fist and let him parry it. How does it go?”

Another of the Horns appeared at this point. Ceria, who came out munching on food. She was surprised to see Yvlon and Pisces there, but she listened to an explanation of what was going on, and then Colth emerged in an apron. He was scowling, but even his eyes lit up.

“Are we teaching Pisces to parry? Excellent, that was the one thing old Deniusth used to do well. Chandler’s Rebuke…I can’t say I’ve ever heard him mention that move, but he never talked swordplay with me.”

“Really, Colth? Didn’t the other adventurers teach you?”

The Ultimate Supporter sat on a railing as Ceria conjured a chair out of ice and threw herself onto it. It wasn’t like the awkwardness of the morning was gone, but for a moment, they were just…

Pisces swore he saw Delitandra smiling, but when he glanced at her, she was blank-faced, just listening keenly. Colth scowled as he accepted a drink from one of the Heromakers.

“I took lessons and went with all of them, even Mihaela on her runs, yeah. But I was the rookie Silver-ranker, not a partner most of the time. Valceif was the little kid they coddled. Me? Deniusth couldn’t talk swordplay with most of the old guard. Larra’s a [Wizard], Mihaela kicks, Eld’s a sword-and-board user. It really annoyed Deni that he was good with a sword but everyone could best him in their own way. He is talented.”

Both as a musician and swordmaster—he was a Gold-bell duelist, though Pisces hadn’t seen him fight. Ceria eyed Colth.

“And you’re a dual shortsword user and Named-ranker. Even if it’s not the same, you’d probably dice a Silver-bell duelist in a fight. Why’d he never talk to you?”

Colth hesitated, then smiled blandly in that way Pisces knew.

“I’m the kid. We were never on the same level.”

“That’s stupid.”

Pisces nodded, and Yvlon grunted in agreement. Colth lifted his hands.

“Look, he conquered Chalence before they called me a Named-ranker—”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s more arrogant than most adventurers. And I’ve met Elia and her team. You gotta remind them you’re on their level, Colth.”

Pisces put in.

“Precisely. Weren’t most inactive until the New Lands? Surely you merit some authority over them.”

“Bah, they’re just old…”

But Colth seemed pleased by the commentary. He shook his head.

“The point is, Pisces needs a good technique. Let’s get back to that. Chandler’s Rebuke—how’s it go? I’d like to learn it myself.”

He, Yvlon, and Pisces clustered around a memory crystal Delitandra had prepared of the only example her group had of the move. Even Ceria eyed it, and Pisces saw, to his astonishment, a familiar figure.

Archmage Eldavin. Wait…

“Hey, this is that lecture on Az’kerash he broadcasted! Wait, is that Chandler’s Rebuke?”

It wasn’t actually Eldavin, but a [Duelist] performing the technique for the Archmage of Memories. He was doing a rather stylish offhanded parry move before he stabbed through an opponent. It was…odd to Pisces. Yvlon frowned at it, then swung one arm up.

“I could do that. That’s literally a parrying move you do with a shield. Pretty fast, and you thrust the arm out wide…”

“Probably so if it’s a monster or something you make sure you’re opening their guard. It’s nothing special. Wait. This is incomplete.”

Colth realized the same thing as Pisces, and Delitandra gave them a pained smile.

“The, ah, problem is that this move is purely demonstration, Horns. Eldavin himself mentions it is just the movement, not the Skill or spell.”

Ah. Pisces had been wondering how you were supposed to deflect Tier 7 magic with that. He stared at the offhand.

“Do you…hold a buckler or something?”

“It’d have to be Relic-class gear. And you wouldn’t call that a move if it required an artifact, just talk about how his shield was great. It sounds like something anyone could pick up.”

Colth opined. Pisces tried the move a few times, but when Yvlon threw a big punch, he nearly sprained his wrist trying to deflect it.

“So Pisces needs to figure out what that move was, eh? It’d sure be useful—though how about a good attacking Skill instead? He’s gotta kill things too.”

“Better to defend than attack, Captain Ceria, surely. An adventurer must survive—more drinks?”

Ceria was rolling around her ice-chair as Colth elbowed Yvlon aside to enter the dueling ring.

“Yeah, well, if Pisces had done more attacking, we’d have taken out Wildcard. Maybe we need a non-lethal attack so he can actually participate.”

The [Necromancer]’s relaxed smile vanished in a heartbeat. He stopped taking the glass of juice from a Heromaker, and Delitandra winced.

“Adventurer Colthei, the training, the training—”

“Fine, fine. Let’s actually get serious, Pisces. C’mon!”

Colth drew his Baneblades and came at Pisces fast and hard. He tried to get in close, right under Pisces’ chest, and the [Necromancer] swore.

“Selphid’s tits, Colth! I’m practicing against other Gold-bell duelists, not [Rogues]!”

“Some can move like this. Go ahead and fire spells, I’ll put up a low-tier barrier. Better yet, Ceria?”

She waggled her fingers.

“I can do a personal barrier. What’s your poison? [Mana Barrier]? It’s real standard, and Pisces can go through it if he hits too hard, but I’ve only got that and [Arcane Deflection].”

Pisces blinked at her, and Yvlon raised her brows.

“Those are new.”

“Yeah, well…”

Ceria hesitated, then indicated her circlet. Pisces bit his tongue, jealous. Those sound like Tier 3 spells, and she’s just learning them while I’m stuck on my Djinni spellbook? He coughed.

“With spells like that, one wonders how we failed against Wildcard. Can’t you just dismiss the summons or whatnot?”

“Or cast a spell to blind them? If that circlet’s teaching you magic, you should get it to teach you some swordplay too. Can you get it to work on Chandler’s Rebuke?”

Yvlon smiled, and even Colth snorted as Pisces grinned. But Ceria’s face closed off, and she leapt up.

“Yeah, yeah. Sadly, it only works on what I’m figuring out. It’s got spells—and no, it’s not loading my mind up with anything else. Speaking of, I need a nap because I did not sleep well. You lot have fun beating each other up, the dedicated [Mage] is gonna train her brain. On a pillow.”

She waved airily and then skipped into the house. Pisces hesitated, and Yvlon raised a hand.

“Ceria, I just—”

She trailed off and glanced at him. Colth drew his blades again.

“Leave it. We dancing, Pisces?”

“Not unless you let me actually practice my way, Colth. I don’t need to be deadlier.”

It was the Ultimate Supporter’s turn to scowl. He rammed his swords back in their sheaths.

“Just so long as you remember that we’re dead if you ease up, Pisces! Argh—you know what? You’re right, I’m not a fencer, and I don’t do rapiers. Never got the hang of them. I’m going to head inside too.”

He walked off the fencing courts, and Pisces bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant—that left Yvlon and him. Delitandra’s face was clearly troubled, and she turned to Yvlon desperately.

“Yvlon, would you consider at least helping us train with Pisces? If we were to do two-on-one, that is also—”

“Sure.”

The Silver Killer’s voice was quiet, but Pisces blinked at her. She just shifted and met his eyes.

“I have time, and it’s good to practice again, right, Pisces? Unless you don’t want me here.”

“No, I—absolutely it is. And you could train your arms if you cared to.”

She smiled at that, and after a second, they went back into the ring. Neither one spoke for a moment, then Delitandra hurried in, all smiles, to get back to training Pisces. And they didn’t talk for several bouts, except to comment on a blow or a perceived weakness…

But more than once, Yvlon caught Pisces’ eyes, and they’d nod or smile. That felt normal.

Natural.

Between them. At times, Pisces thought he saw Ceria in the window or felt like Colth was eying them, but the other two didn’t come out. Less than ideal, but Yvlon ended up toweling off sweat as Pisces gulped more water and reminisced about other battles with the Heromakers.

That was good. In fact, Pisces protested, after three hours, that he was good to keep going. Yvlon hadn’t objected, and the exercise took his mind off everything else.

If they were going to take today to rest, he might as well salvage his poor performance. They’d have to talk to Yisame soon, but…Pisces saw Delitandra raise her eyebrows.

“Ah, no, Pisces. We must have you fresh and pampered within twenty minutes! To the baths!”

“What? Why?”

He didn’t get it, but a shout from above made him glance up; Ceria was waving her arms from the windows.

“Get out! I’m sleeping! I’m—”

The Horns were all being awoken by the Heromakers. Delitandra gave Pisces a bright smile.

“Why, because we must be at your parade in the city in thirty minutes, Pisces.”

Yvlon stopped sniffing at one armpit and half-turned. She squinted suspiciously at Delitandra.

“Our what?”

“Your parade. Surely, the heroes who conquered the Tomb of Yad’thuv expected no less? Especially the ones who won the battle against so many Gold-rank teams?”

She waggled her eyebrows, and Pisces took a second before he groaned and tried to object. But Delitandra overruled him.

“It is not from us, but from Queen Yisame. She desires it, and it is a good lie. To save face if nothing else. Humor her. Quick, to the baths!”

They almost carried Pisces away to freshen up. He vanished into the baths with a yelp, and Delitandra was giving orders on attire, how they should act—Pisces blasted a spell at her to get her to leave his bathroom.

It wasn’t all fun and games. And the parade…

Well, that sucked on multiple levels.

——

Ten thousand Stitch-folk turned out in the city of Yarithuv, throwing brightly colored grains from the rooftops, cheering the Horns of Hammerad, scrambling to pick up pieces of dropped silk confetti, and bowing down to the feet of the Horns as they walked down the endless red carpet. Their deeds were being shouted, and images flashed about them.

Pisces wanted to die. He had been flushed so red for the first few minutes that people had been staring at the image of him flying overhead and his face as if wondering if he were a different species.

Yvlon Byres walked along stone-faced, muttering her famous greeting under her breath. Colth was smiling and waving, in pure propaganda-Colth mode, utterly disingenuous.

Only Ceria seemed to enjoy any of it, skating along, blowing frost kisses—but even she grew bored after twenty minutes.

“Hey, guys? Do you think Yisame thinks too much of us?”

Three of her teammates’ glares answered her. Ceria sighed. She turned and began shooting plumes of snow into the air, then at the crowd who screamed and chanted her name.

“Ice Squirrel! Ice Squirrel!”

They were delighted, agog—but Pisces didn’t feel like he’d earned it. More than that—there was something artificial about how enthusiastic the people were. He got liking his team, he really did. Look at Colth, who was a Named-rank adventurer, or Ceria, who could bring ice even to dry Chandrar. But…they hadn’t done much.

It hadn’t been broadcast, their fight. The above-ground parts had, but this was no Village of the Dead scenario, or the Crossroads. It was further confirmed when Colth slowed to whisper.

“[Enthusiasm of the Masses]. Mass Skills from whoever’s job it is to keep the people happy. They’re going to go insane—then we’ll be forgotten.”

Pisces’ face showed how much he liked that thought. Even Ailendamus didn’t do that…! And Yisame was okay with this? Well, of course she was. Yvlon appeared conflicted and clearly decided to not worry about this by striding ahead.

“We messed it up for her. We have to Knight a bit. You two look good.”

So saying, she pumped her fist up in the air and morphed it into a blade-arm. The crowd reeled back, then screamed louder. Yvlon bared her teeth and strode forwards.

“Hello! My name is Yvlon Byres! Some may call me—”

She was really trying. Pisces half-heartedly thrust his rapier skywards and was so embarrassed that he conjured all of his Skeletal Champions to show off, slinking behind them. Colth was better; he did a flying frontflip, drew his daggers, and began to do acrobatics. Ceria was conjuring her Frostmarrow Behemoth—Pisces ran over to kick her, and there was laughter. Yvlon smiled at him.

She didn’t really want to do this. But Yisame was her friend. Pisces…felt bad for Yvlon, in a way. He was apprentice to or being favored by a monster, Az’kerash the Necromancer. But Pisces saw him fully. Yvlon had a devoted fan and friend who was the [Queen] of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. And it seemed to only now occur to Yvlon that Yisame wasn’t always the best.

It was the richness, for one thing. Could you be too rich? Pisces had not hitherto asked that question because even Magnolia Reinhart had not seemed excessively wealthy. Oh, she had powerful magical items like her carriage, mansions, and a staff, but he could almost picture being able to afford one of those things, especially as he had made Gold-rank.

But Yisame threw a parade and the cost clearly never occurred to her. Whereas he?

He saw it.

It wasn’t even a big parade, he could imagine her telling Yvlon. Just one for a modest achievement. So all you had to do was reserve a city. You know, grind all the commerce, all trade, all pedestrians down the main thoroughfare to a halt for a day?

Nevermind that, that was just bureaucracy. Then you had to announce it to the public, and the public didn’t show up to a parade, even for the Horns, without some free food. So buy out every storefront along the walkways, have them give out food.

You needed to hire the staff to deal with that—oh, and [Guards] because you needed to block off the parade from the people. Every [Guard] in the city might do, and maybe some more hired help. Pull it from another city.

Obviously, it followed that you needed music, someone to give a short speech, emergency [Healers] in case of problems—Pisces saw two tents, and wondered if Sage Etrikah had thought of that. But now consider the parade.

…Four of the Horns of Hammerad was not a great parade. They’d be here, and gone, in a second, and they weren’t impressive alone. An easy fix for Yisame’s people!

Of course, you had an army march through. Just a show-battalion, six thousand Cotton and Silk soldiers armed to the nines, with their own trumpets and drums. But one battalion was below standard.

So two Grand Elephants, captured from Tiqr. A bunch of entertainers, a mix of tumblers, bards, and so on! A few [Illusionists] for the magic, and with all that and the things Pisces hadn’t seen, he wondered if the Horns could have afforded to pay for this parade between all the gold they’d earned.

But that was the power of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. The power of empire. He watched a Grand Elephant tossing its head and wondered if it was sedated. It had [Beast Tamers] to soothe and guide it, people on its back tossing flowers—

Even a team whose entire job it was to pick up poop. Because animals did defecate, and there, Pisces saw it.

A collar around the neck of a Stitch-girl who ran after said poop with a bag of holding. His stomach lurched. A [Slave]—

“Hey, some parade, huh?”

Ceria nudged Pisces, and he jumped. She was smiling. She glanced at the little figure who’d vanished after the elephant and whispered.

“Cool it. Yisame’s keeping the you-know-whats low. See how there aren’t any among the staff?”

He glanced around and realized the servers with drinks, guards, everyone else was a civilian. Which wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary in Izril. But here—

“She’s doing it on purpose?”

“Makes us feel better. Must be harder and jump the costs, but I doubt it’s even a flea to the palace.”

Her tone was casual, and she seemed approving. Yet that just made Pisces wonder how many [Slaves] would be here elsewhere or who had been pushed out of sight for…his sake. Ceria glanced at Pisces and bit her lip slightly.

“Listen, it’s politics.”

“I know that.”

He wasn’t blind to the reality of their situation, it was just that he felt this parade wasn’t needed, even to make it seem like the Horns had won at the Tomb. It truly was just for Yvlon Byres; when she began walking down the parade route, there was a roar of sound, and he wondered if it was all for the Silver Killer or if more Skills had been activated.

All for Yisame’s best friend.

Pisces wondered how you dealt with that. He had ex-[Slaves] for friends. He admired the Death of Chains. But if you had an actually unscrupulous person as your ally? How did you deal with that? He had only had Erin Solstice, who didn’t really have a flaw beyond being silly at times.

Not one flaw.

Maybe she could add more flavor to her spaghetti.

Sometimes, she played into her own stereotype too hard.

Sure, he could think of bad things, but she had been kidnapped by Roshal and was stranded at sea. In Baleros though…that woman on the scrying orb…

No, he didn’t have bad things to say about her. In fact, he had a rapier he would happily insert with a loaded spell in anyone who had problems with her. She didn’t respect undead enough, that was her flaw. And she could be hurtful in taking teasing too far.

Pisces was escaping the reality of the parade with his analysis of Erin Solstice’s limited faults, and it was going pretty well. Right up until the crowd moved, and he saw someone break past the guards.

Of course, a parade had guards. To keep the adoring crowds back if nothing else. Bored Stitch-folk wearing the [Queen]’s livery. Most of the people screaming didn’t actually try to push forward; the Silver Killer was, uh, famed. But for whatever reason, there was a swell as Yvlon passed by a group of young Stitch-folk, and they pushed—and knocked one of the [Guards] flat. Most went down with him, but a few scrambled up and ran towards her.

Including a young Stitch-girl. She was…odd. Her steps shuffled, and Pisces saw she was smiling, eyes locked on Yvlon. She came forwards as Yvlon hesitated, then stuck out a hand.

“Er, hello. My name is Yvlon Byres, but the truth is—”

Pisces saw Colth striding forwards, and some of Delitandra’s people were moving as well, smiles on their faces. But the Stitch-girl walked up too fast. As Yvlon was talking, she halted in front of the Silver Killer, too close, and stood on her tip-toes. Then she grabbed Yvlon and kissed her full on the mouth.

Pisces stopped dead still. His mouth opened. Yvlon froze up. Her eyes went wide, then she shoved the Stitch-girl back. The girl stumbled into the crowd and vanished as everyone cheered. In the next moment, Ceria was laughing, doubled over, pointing at Yvlon’s face. Colth was swearing.

“Those damn idiots—Yvlon, are you okay? [Poison Detection]—clear! Are you feeling good?”

“I’m fine—stop overreacting, Colth.”

“They got us! It’s a killing kiss! A hex!”

He was shouting, but the crowd was cheering the unexpected kiss, and Yvlon was so flustered she just wiped her lips on her arm. Colth kept inspecting her as the flustered [Guards] got in position, and Delitandra’s people clustered around Yvlon, but the Silver Killer didn’t feel anything wrong.

She was still red as they wound down the parade ahead of schedule. She glared and pointed.

“That kind of thing is meant for Pisces!”

“Me?”

He jumped and glanced around, fearing random Stitch-ladies with designs on his lips. Not that he was entirely—Yvlon sighed and went to pinch one of Ceria’s ears.

“Can we please get down to business? Please?”

They had to make something of this damn debacle. As fate would have it, someone had come to see the parade for Nerrhavia Fallen’s most popular team.

Leo, Kusal, and Lareceina were all staring at his team as they passed by. They appeared either unimpressed or jealous. Pisces waved weakly and smiled. Well…this was awkward. From bad first impressions to this.

He really hoped they could be friendly. Sadly, Ceria spotted the team and took this moment to bound over and put Lareceina in a headlock.

“Hey! Look at the losers we had to beat! No hard feelings!”

She gave Lareceina an aggressive noogieing, and Pisces ran over to pull her off as the red-faced [Mage] fought her. All he wanted was some civil, mutually respectful conversation in peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes. He turned his head, then saw the true power of fandom: another Stitch-girl, entirely unprompted, had decided to sequester a signature from one of her heroes. Namely, by pulling her shirt up and exposing her breasts. He stared at her. Then at the quill she was waving at him.

Stitch-folk had a, uh, more open attitude towards the body. Which Pisces observed in a scholarly way by noting a second performer who had apparently been hired for the Horns’ parade as extra entertainment. She was wearing familiar clothing to him: that of a [Fool], all bright, big panes of colorful fabric that clashed against each other.

Even a jester’s cap with ostentatiously ringing silver bells attached to the ends. She was doing cartwheels past the Horns while exposing a lot of skin. And when she saw Pisces staring at both her and the fan, she also pulled down her tunic, exposing more skin and pierced nipples with gold on th—

Pisces kept staring until he realized everyone was watching him.

Then he turned invisible and fled.

——

An entire continent’s ride north, the Pedagogia of Hraace was sighing over the image of Pisces Jealnet goggling at a mere pair of breasts.

She was riding hard towards Medain, though the King of Myths had yet to approach the coast. Hraace had to be part of this negotiation and event. Why not? He had a fondness for her kingdom, and there was opportunity here—and danger. His nation was kith and kin to [Heroes].

But she sent a few pointed reminders to Delitandra that if she wanted the Horns to be a success, she had better do her job rather than bask in the fame.

“We trained him to talk to beautiful women.”

One of the older Heromakers complained, and Araxia sighed again.

“Clearly, we should have had him do less polite conversations and more touching. I thought a [Necromancer] who specializes in bone would be less minded to pay attention to flesh. Or perhaps he’s uncomfortable with fleshy bits so he specialized in…”

A prudish [Necromancer]. She rolled her eyes, but she hoped the Horns had learned a lesson from the failed tomb raid. She hadn’t needed Delitandra’s report to understand they had been defeated in some sense, there. Incomplete. And not just for lack of their other members. Worse, now…she glanced south.

Nerrhavia’s Fallen had embraced the Horns. They had made a splash the first time, each member in their way. Ksmvr of Chandrar, that famous name, Yvlon the Silver Killer, Ceria the Ice Squirrel, Pisces the Scourge—all had made their titles here. Each one inspiring nations.

However, that had been the splash of visitors. When they had returned, the stories had grown perhaps beyond them. But Yvlon Byres had shown Nerrhavia’s Fallen that her team had grown to continue fitting the legends; a rarity. So often it was the other way around.

“But therein lies the great danger. Nerrhavia’s Fallen is too large. Too filled with stories and means to lay low even [Heroes]. Or to match them or bring them to events worthy of them. It is the crucible.”

And she rather feared the Horns had just failed another important test. Well, they weren’t dead, and Delitandra was the one there. So the Pedagogia rode onwards, unaware that the King of Myths himself had come to Chandrar for the Horns of Hammerad, however unwillingly. If she’d known that—

Well, she’d have probably doubled her bet or something.

——

Predictably, his team teased him about the breasts incident all day. Colth, that unscrupulous bastard, just had to repeat the Jecaina incident to everyone in earshot. The Heromakers were horrible.

“If you’d like more training in that regard, Pisces, you wouldn’t lack for willing volunteers, both among us or fans—we would need to go over safety in the bedroom.”

“Safety? From what?”

Ceria nearly spat out her drink as they sat in the enchanted carriage. Pisces was leaning out of an open window, red-faced, considering hurling himself out of the speeding vehicle. Delitandra counted on her fingers.

“Aside from assassination in bed, unwanted pregnancies, disease, pillowtalk that leaks secrets, the mundane such as a jealous lover shaving one’s hair or leaving a lovemark, avoiding entanglements, sleeping with an important individual, [Devotee] Skills that connect you—”

Ceria’s amused expression turned sour instantly, and she sat and tugged her circlet down.

“Bleh, your nation takes all the fun out of adventuring.”

Delitandra favored Ceria with a smile.

“We are used to these things, Captain Ceria. Torreb himself was said to have fallen prey to such a Skill, albeit that might be said to be more of a mother’s love for her child. Inheritance of his strength, not theft. He resented it even so.”

Pisces didn’t know that. He saw Yvlon look up. She was yawning, less impressed by the parade despite the unexpected kiss.

“Someone inherited his strength?”

“Itkisa. The woman who was glaring us down. I heard a rumor she was only a bit stronger than someone with [Enhanced Strength]…until Pomle. She might have been hiding her true potential all along. For decades.”

Colth put in, growing more interested, and Delitandra nodded at him, eyes glinting.

“Or perhaps Torreb himself had her on a leash, eh? She was invited to Hraace, you know. But she refused. She claimed she’d visit if she had need of us. From how she appeared, as a Gold-rank adventurer, she seems to want that fame denied her, yes?”

“True, but she’s in her, what, forties? She’s lost a step, and even if she is Torreb’s daughter and hung out with him, how much does that translate into killer instincts? Ever seen her fight?”

Pisces was all for the conversation changing to Itkisa, but unfortunately, Yvlon took that moment to yawn again.

“I hope she’s not actually against us. First Wildcard and these Gold-rank teams—we need some friends. Ceria, did you have to humiliate them?”

“Hey! I’m just getting back at them.”

Ceria protested, and Yvlon and Pisces glowered at her. Colth shrugged.

“They’re still rookies, Yvlon. It’s a bit of friendly hazing. Izril’s adventurers do it all the time. The Haven’s lot are nonstop with it, and guess who’s always the rookie?”

He made a face, and Pisces frowned at him.

“Shouldn’t you advocate to end that system then, Colth?”

“I just throw jabs back as I level. We’re one dysfunctional family up there, and they need to pick on someone.”

Colth waved it off, but Pisces persisted.

“If it bothers you, you could tell them to simply stop, surely.”

For all Erin teased him in the inn, she didn’t really let anyone pick on anyone else—well, she had people she picked on like Jewel or Montressa, Bezale, and Palt, but those tended to be grudges they had earned. The Haven was old-school adventuring, though. Colth shifted and folded his arms. He opened his mouth, closed it—

“Listen, they’re all grumpy children in the end. Don’t worry about me, I’m a big boy. Unlike someone who treats all breasts like they have an [Attention Target] Skill glued to them.”

He flipped it back on Pisces again with a Skill, and the [Necromancer] flushed. Then Ceria made it worse by coming to Pisces’ defense. She slapped him on the back.

“Hey, Pisces has seen tons of breasts! Mine, uh…ones on dead bodies, I’m sure—he just has an appreciation for the physical form!”

“Ceria, please stop.”

Yvlon’s eyes had rolled up in her head. Ceria pointed slyly at her.

“Yvlon’s the one who got a kiss.”

“That shouldn’t have been allowed—”

Delitandra and Colth were annoyed about it, but Yvlon just grimaced.

“Chandrar truly is foreign. I mean, I know about women kissing women. Ysara is uh—but in public?”

Now it was Pisces’ turn to glance at Colth, who seemed even more amused as Delitandra and the other Heromakers eyed the Horns, gauging their opinions.

Pisces felt, as a fairly well-travelled fellow, that he understood other cultures—and you saw a bit more laxity in social customs in the cults or other groups he’d frequented. Just look at Ama and her, uh, paramour.

Ceria? Utterly unconcerned by issues of morality thanks to her circlet, and Colth was the most worldly of them all. But Yvlon…she peered around. Raised her metal hands.

“I’m not offended. Just not a fan of people kissing me. If people want to—I mean, is that a custom in Chandrar? It’s awful foreig—I mean, I respect Stitch-folk culture.”

“You mean all culture, Byres.”

Pisces saw his chance and took it. Yvlon eyed him.

“Not Izrilian. I know that for a fact.”

“Heh.”

Colth snorted, and when Yvlon eyed him, he coughed delicately into one hand.

“Clearly, you don’t know noble circles well despite your upbringing, Yvlon.”

“You’re telling me—the entire reason my sister left the north is—okay, give me an example, Colth.”

“[Soldiers], [Ladies]—I think the [Lords] have more of a hangup, but I could tell you stories—Drakes and their Turnscales, oh my. Your sister clearly didn’t care to hide who she was, but I bet she had all the stories. Didn’t you say she went on a ship? Now, let me tell you, depending on the ship—”

Yvlon eyed Colth, whereupon he began to give her a lecture that started with bored [Sailors] at sea and went the gamut of species and places and classes. Yvlon stared and, after a few minutes, had to hold up a hand.

“Wait, waitwaitwait. People sell artificial…penii?”

She stumped Colth and the Heromakers for a solid minute. Pisces sat back with a relieved sigh as they unpacked another one of Yvlon’s Byresisms. At least she seemed to realize it herself, because she sighed.

“Immoral. I can hear my mother now in the back of my head. Okay, tell me what is actually going on with this kind of thing. And if someone laughs, I’m kicking them out of the carriage.”

——

Another day, another event. Pisces tried to read his spellbook. His Djinni spellbook with the weird little mirror on the cover that auto-detected which magics he was capable of learning and selected spells for him based on his inputs.

His studies weren’t fast with it mainly because studying through all of what he’d been through was hard. Magic was hard. If he had been in Erin’s inn for eight months with little else to do but read and practice, he’d make great progress, he was sure.

On the road with plenty of distractions? Hard to learn magic, and again, it wasn’t magic like he was used to. He studied Lighted Arrow spells, not [Light Arrow] spells. The spellbook taught you how to form arrows out of light magic, how to give it acceleration, force, even spin—and to fail any one component of the spellcasting was dangerous, as he had learned to his own cost when he’d nearly blown a finger off.

Even so, Pisces would have done better in his studies except for…

He stopped reading the complex litany of magical instructions on how to give his arrows a homing target and felt a cool gust on the back of his neck. Pisces leaned left, propping his spellbook against the wall of the carriage. After a second, the cold air tickled the right side of his neck. He shifted again. Then stared pointedly down at Ceria’s head, which was trying to insert itself under one arm.

“Springwalker, do you mind?”

“Nope, go ahead, Pisces.”

She was contorting her neck to try to read his spellbook. Which was the main problem. He sighed.

“You’re a bit distracting—”

“I’m not saying a word! You just go ahead and keep reading, and I’ll turn myself into one of those long-necked things from Tiqr.”

“A giraffe?”

“Sure.”

“Perhaps if you studied your own spellbook?”

Ceria’s expression was of a wounded doe he’d shot repeatedly with Ksmvr’s crossbows. Colth called over.

“Sniffmaster Pisces hates company when he’s studying, Ceria. He wouldn’t let me read either.”

“You two are hardly unobtrusive!”

Pisces complained as he flicked the page over. Instantly, Ceria flipped it back.

“Hold on, I wasn’t done reading.”

…Which proved Pisces’ point. Colth was arguably just as bad; he’d try to get Pisces to discuss each page and his key takeaways and summaries instead of blissful silence. Pisces appealed to Yvlon with his eyes. She was just staring into the distance, pondering the dynamics of love in its many forms.

——

It was something of a relief to get out of the carriage. It was only an hour’s ride, actually. Their adventure had taken them close to one of the Horns’ objectives.

The region that the Tomb of Yad’thuv was based in was not a…rich one. Dry—and not all of Nerrhavia’s Fallen was so dry!—occupied by a lot of Hemp-folk, and its cities were connected along long routes, forming part of the famous trade routes that brought goods across Chandrar.

The Glass Straits themselves connected to this area, and Pisces remembered his voyage there with the freed [Slaves] a lifetime ago, or so it felt. But they were a glittering band on the horizon. What the Horns had come for, and the place that lay outside the city of Halqued, was a rather large commune exiled from the city proper by about three miles.

Not far enough to judge by how residents in the city refused to go anywhere near the strange compound. It had walls, fifteen feet high and made of dirt and sandstone, but here was the curious thing: the walls faced the wrong way.

They faced towards the compound, and slanted dirt let one walk up from the outside. In fact, Pisces realized, there was no formal entrance. He saw someone walking up the walls, then try to hop down into the compound below—he winced as they landed. Colth, who’d been checking they were in the right place, glanced up.

“Compression fracture, two places. Idiot.”

“Nasty. Pisces, go help the poor bugger out.”

The Horns were getting out of the carriage and stretching, and Pisces did indeed stride over and hear the wail of a woman’s voice.

“Help! My legs! You damn fools, help!”

She was screaming at two people standing on the wall above and clearly not willing to jump down and break their legs. Pisces cast [Featherfall] and hopped down…he saw a woman clutching at her legs.

“Excuse me, I am a [Necromancer]. I can heal—”

The woman stopped screaming, did a double take when she saw him, and raised her hands.

“B-Bane Pisces? I don’t own slaves! I thank you, but if you just help me—”

She had a dagger out, but not for him. He realized she was sawing at her broken legs, despite the pain. She was trying to remove the stitching—

Right, Stitch-folk rules. Bemused, he took the dagger, gingerly severed the strings, and her legs became cloth the moment they were cut. Cloth with broken white fabric sticking out from the brown ‘skin’, he saw.

The woman, who it turned out was a [Trader], had new legs she pulled out and sewed on in a trice. There was some blood on her clothing, and she was clearly shaken.

“Nerrhavia’s bones, that hurt! My best legs too! Agh, and to embarrass myself in front of a famous adventurer no less! I thank you, sir. If I were Human, I’d need your magic. One wonders how anyone does without cloth for flesh.”

She stood, and he had to own, he was impressed.

“Stitch-folk bodies are certainly far more adaptable and easy to repair than Human ones, Miss?”

She bowed.

“Trader Hexata, Bane! And if you need for knickknacks, curios, interesting items, I will go across Nerrhavia’s Fallen for my clients! And if my two idiotic brothers would deign to come down and introduce themselves?”

They had a ladder by now and tumbled down it. Hexata and her two older brothers were a funny trio. Not the most well-to-do. Scrappy in a vaguely Octavia way, Pisces decided. They were much taken with him and chatted openly.

“You say Stitch-folk bodies are all that much better, Scourge, but our limbs fray and wear down a hundred times faster than yours. We need to restuff or repair an arm in but a month whereas your flesh heals.”

“Constant repair vs a permanent body. Tradeoffs; I do understand. Even so, one of my teammates nearly lost her arms to infection. When I think of that—”

Pisces recounted Yvlon’s battle with her infected arms as Hexata, Grulive, and Xomet listened with rapt interest. Hexata stared at Yvlon herself as the Silver Killer landed on the ground next to Colth; he’d leapt down easily, and she landed on her metal foot which extended to stab the ground then arrest her fall. Ceria just slid down a ramp with the Heromakers.

“So you too have come to visit the Mad Ones then, Scourge? For any one purpose or just to see what they have cooked up this month? If I can introduce you to any—I visit them often to see what they make. And if you need anything…”

Pisces thought it might be good to have a contact like Hexata. He was taking her card when Colth swept over.

“Pisces! We’re meeting the Mad Ones—hello, excuse us. Pisces, c’mon.”

“I was just meeting Trader Hexata here—”

Pisces reached for her card as she proffered it to him with a desperate smile, but Colth moved such that he blocked her and didn’t seem to see the card. He hurried Pisces away, and Hexata sighed as Pisces twisted.

“Colth, what are—at least say hello—”

“Pisces, don’t waste your time, and therefore ours, with the small fries. She’s a Level 20 [Trader] who doesn’t even know how to get a rope. I get you like being in that Silver-ranker mentality but we don’t have time for that. Even Yvlon’s figured out who she is now.”

Pisces stared at Colth, rather offended. The [Ultimate Supporter] saw his glance and grimaced.

“Oh, now you’re all upset.”

“I just don’t think it’s fair to write off anyone for being low-level—”

“Listen, Pisces. I get it. I had the same thought, but after the ten thousandth person you meet who’s earnest, excited, and just needs a tiny bit of your time, some gold, or a favor—it gets old. You’re famous. That girl who was so excited she wanted you to sign her breasts? You’re going to meet a lot of people with that energy, and I’m warning you—it’ll burn you out. Even Eld got that, and he was a literal [Beet Farmer]. I’m trying to preserve your youthful charm.”

Pisces understood Colth’s point on some level. But he couldn’t help but snap back.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you let me wear out such feelings on my own?”

Colth glanced at him, and Delitandra half turned from where the Horns were talking to a gaggle of odd-looking people.

“Maybe. But it sucks seeing someone make the same mistakes, Pisces. Perhaps that was an earnest young [Trader] who just wanted to strike a deal. But the first one who takes your money or tries to sell you under the river—we’re trying to keep your innocence. Dead gods, is this how Larra and the others felt about me?”

Colth just shook his head, sighing. Pisces didn’t know what to say to that, so he sniffed and met another group of the King of Destruction’s famous vassals.

The Mad Ones.

——

A question for you. Flos Reimarch, King of Destruction. Famed for ruling all of Chandrar and having countless mighty vassals who had as-yet not joined him.

Like the Monks of Sottheim or the Loquea Dree. Each one whose capabilities were such that they put other forces to flight. Yet in his conquests, his battles with nations to re-establish his empire, he had betimes bemoaned his lack of good, standing forces.

Wished the Rustängmarder were with him, for instance. Or Amerys. Or…the Mad Ones.

Out of all of his vassals, not once had the King of Destruction invoked groups such as the Monks of Sottheim except maybe in a passing comment about high-level staff fighters or experts in childrearing. Yet he had spoken of the Mad Ones a hundred times more than other groups.

Why? It occurred to Pisces to question why his team had been asked about the subject, and that curiosity had taken them to the place where Nerrhavia’s Fallen had begrudgingly allowed the famous group to settle. He understood they were, well, eccentrics.

[Alchemists], [Inventors], [Mechanics]—crafters who had formed a kind of commune, but who were so unpredictable, so prone to making things explode, that even regular [Alchemists] wouldn’t hang out with them.

His guess would be that they’d be like Octavia after three nights without sleep, or mini-Salisses. Full of that energetic chaos, unable to sit still. He was…sort of right?

They had a lot of energy, and once you got past the relatively deserted area around the walls, you ran into tents. Some freestanding buildings, but mostly tents. Clearly pitched a long time ago; people had altered them to stitch two together, formed a walkway between another, and there was patching indicating where holes had been made.

For instance, one wooden building appeared, well, cheap. Not bad, but Pisces suspected it had holes, and the wood wasn’t all one type of board. It was clearly cobbled together from scrap; he’d associate it with a poor district in old Celum.

But one wall was made of steel or some metal, a huge, vaguely round splash of material that looked like the wood in texture and was clearly tough; pockmarks indicated impacts against it. The entire building was a microcosm of the Mad Ones’ camp.

Improvisation, chaos, a lack of great funding, and occasionally something crazy you had to glance twice at. The inhabitants of each building had the same vibe.

Most were dirty. Sand blew over their compound with some regularity, and if not that, then the fumes from other alchemical works or just grease and dust created a second layer of skin on them. They were a bunch of species—though Stitch-folk and Human predominated—and wore overalls or vests with lots of pockets for tools. But where they diverged from the quintessential mad genius look was the magic.

A lot of them were spellcasters. Pisces saw more varieties of spell schools and magic he’d never conceived of across the camp in a single minute than he’d seen in all of Wistram.

Weird magic too. Like…he saw someone bending a strand of fire magic in a complete circle with a wand. Then tying a knot in it. Utterly free-form—and the fiery knot blew up in a miniature explosion, but the young [Mage] had already taken cover behind a bench. He popped up and chewed on a biscuit, mildly singed.

“Damn, it keeps blowing up like that. But I need a knot here, or something close. Anyone know knitting or needlework?”

He called out, and a few others turned. One raised a hand, but didn’t come over; the Garuda was forging something at an anvil.

“I do, but what’s the project?”

“I want to shape raw magical threads together.”

“In a tapestry or something?”

The Garuda leaned out of his open-air forge, growing interested as he pushed some goggles up. A few more of the other crafters glanced over, visibly interested, but the young man shook his head.

“No, I’m thinking more like a statue. Or an art piece, but not linked up like a tapestry. I’m trying to make a spell that’s beautiful. Any takers?”

The Garuda shook his head and slapped his goggles back down without a word. The other crafters went back to work, and the young man sighed. He went back to his task and formed another circle in the air. Added a different kind of twist in the fiery thread, prepared to dive…and when the strands didn’t detonate, added another circle with a pleased look.

Pisces had never seen someone free-cast like that. Holding magic in the air was hard as hell. He stared as the young man kept working. Two circles now, and he was adding more magic around it, giving it contouring, details. He was, in fact…

Making a pair of breasts. Pisces stared at the floating magical ‘artwork’ as a passing Mad One scowled at the image. But the young man kept working with the dogged persistence of someone who believed that a fire-spell in the image of a naked young lady was a worthwhile addition to the world.

“I love these guys.”

Ceria Springwalker was grinning from ear to ear as she took in the camp. Their guide was a Stitch-man in his mid-fifties. He had some white hair and was bald except for a frizz of hair like a halo around his head. And from the grease stains on his fingers, he was more of a mechanical sort. His name was Otevious, and he had served the King of Destruction himself.

“This is all the freeform stuff, guests. Don’t mind them. The better, more structured projects with funding are more interior. Anything’s a project out here. You get silly ideas from the younger lot like this all the time. ‘Is my Potion of Excellent Sensations working? I need fifteen lovely ladies to volunteer for me!’”

He shook his head at the foolishness of youth. Yvlon gazed at the panoply of people working around her. Something exploded, and she reacted instantly, making a shield out of her arms. She blocked a tiny, glowing piece of metal that had nearly gone through Ceria’s nose. The half-Elf recoiled. Pisces himself hadn’t reacted fast enough.

Otevious had leaned out of the way of the shrapnel.

“Right, that reminds me. Barriers up, guests? Unless you’re a [Warrior], of course. I think we have some rings…nope, we either used the last bunch up or tried upgrading them. If you’re killed by something exploding, that’s the risk you take. Even Flos knew that. Sorry, I’m all over today. Who are you again?”

Refreshingly, he had no idea who they were. Ceria held out a hand.

“Ceria, Horns of Hammerad?”

“You sound like adventurers.”

“Er, yes. Gold-rank? We conquered the Village of the Dead? Reached the Crossroads of Izril? That’s Yvlon, the Silver Killer. Killed the Champion of Monarchs?”

Otevious blinked at Ceria, then put on a disingenuous smile.

“Charmed, I’m sure! The Champion of Monarchs you say? Never liked…her. If we need any silver killed or crossroads found, I’m sure we’ll call on you two!”

That took the wind neatly out of Ceria’s sails, and Pisces hid a smile. Otevious led them onwards.

“No offense, truly. But we don’t, uh, pay attention to current events as much. Unless it catches our eye. We have one of those things everyone yammers about in camp. Scrying orbs, right. Television? Weird name. Someone new to our camps was familiar with it, but the nomenclature felt wrong to me. Wistram wouldn’t name it that. Um…oh, right, it’s from another world.”

This time, all the Horns glanced at him, and Otevious smacked his forehead.

“The entire Earth wing of studies. Too much damn funding for all that. Was that why you were here? You said Flos sent you.”

“We’re here on behalf of a number of prospective clients, sir. May I ask if we can help by providing our unique skillsets? I’m a [Supporter], and we have a high-level [Necromancer], [Cryomancer], and a [Warrior] with living metal arms!”

Colth leapt in, clearly trying to ingratiate himself with Otevious. He obviously thought this would arouse the man’s passions, but Otevious glanced over the Horns and shrugged.

“How long are you here for?”

“Er, we could be here a day or two—”

“Pass. I’m out of [Eureka Moments] for the month, and unless you find someone who wants to gamble on a breakthrough in a day, you won’t find much interest. Again, no offense, but if you’re not going to put in at least four months’ time, using someone with high-level anything is pointless. You’ll be gone soon, and then we’re back to square one.”

What an interesting perspective. It made sense, but that took Colth out of the running as he recalibrated. Pisces and Yvlon got nudges to go humiliate themselves, and so Pisces thought and tried next.

“We are here at the request of His Majesty of Reim and the Quarass, asking for you to relocate your camps to their nations, Inventor Otevious. Naturally, I imagine this is a tricky political matter, and we do not wish to endanger your camp. Is there a governing body here we should speak to? We have made no promises other than to carry the requests.”

Even if the Quarass had a good incentive for Colth to help her. Otevious blinked at Pisces and then scratched at his head.

“Governing body? Sure, there’s the Funding Committee. But we’ve fielded both monarchs’ requests for, what, nearly two years now? Ten for the Quarass, I think. Flos came back and wanted us to join him, which has some appeal, but then we’re at war, and he always wants the weapons. Other things too, and the funding was appealing, but…I think we’re just going to let him come to us.”

“Er, pardon?”

Otevious waved his hands around.

“Tell him what we told—wait, we never hired a Courier did we? Oops, no wonder he’s mad. Right, well, this is perfect. Tell him that we’re delighted he’s back, we’d love to take his gold—when he conquers this section of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, we’ll get right back to it! If he had any big projects in mind, we’ll get a few concepts running. How’s that?”

Pisces’ mouth stayed open, and he stepped back. Once he conquers…Ceria raised one finger to her temple, a grin of delight on her face. Colth grabbed it.

“Er, Master Otevious. You’re willing to work for the King of Destruction? What about Germina?”

“Oh, sure. The Quarass is a wonderful collaborator if you can get her to sit still on anything. It’s like asking a Djinni for hints; she’ll get you ahead, but it’s bad to rely on her. We’re down for both.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever gets here. Or offers us a lot of gold to move. Actually—if the Quarass could pick us up with a Djinni? Lift the entire camp up and just move it around? We had a prototype regarding that. Hey, Yerelia! Guests! Where’s your prototype concept for the House-mover?”

They entered the inner camp where there were better buildings with actual enchanted walls and fewer people. A woman stepped out from working on a complex series of magical objects floating in a glass aquarium. Some spell was sucking the light out so they moved in a black void. She lifted something off her face—odd monoculars over both eyes with multiple colored lenses which could flip into place to magnify her vision.

Yerelia was another Stitch-woman, albeit one with one hand which was a Gnollish paw, the other being a tentacle that split into five digits, like fingers. She also had digitigrade legs and walked out in a fashion Pisces found fascinating—and wondered if it was cumbersome. The Horns stared as the woman called out.

“That old thing? Buried in my files; we got rid of the actual prototype, remember? What’s with the guests? Nice magic on them. Recruits? Hired help? Did the committee finally pay for a good [Mage]?”

“Nope. Just lookers.”

“Damn.”

“They might send us all to Germina or Reim, though. Got a preference on which one?”

The woman leaned on a curious object that looked like some kind of wrench married to a needle; it was altering magic around it, Pisces realized. And it had a strand of magic in it? He peered at it as Ceria squinted.

“Um…I’ll take…Germina. Probably. They have better finger foods. And poisons.”

“Poisons, I forgot! Put my vote in for poisons too. If you’re taking votes when you abduct or transport us, that is.”

Otevious snapped his fingers and turned to the Horns. Ceria’s smile seemed forced this time.

“Er, you don’t mind if we put sacks over all your heads and cart you north?”

The two [Inventors] stared at her. Otevious scratched at his chin.

“I’d hope it was faster and a bit more elegant than that. But we’re hardly going to fight adventurers who kill silver, are we? Just make sure you have us disarm all the active experiments of a certain type or they might explode when you take us. Even in Chests of Holding. Oh, and you’re bringing our experiments, right?”

He seemed actually worried there, and a few more crafters came over, mostly in their later years. Pisces presumed these were the ones who could duck or knew how not to explode themselves.

“Still working on your Earth projects, Yerelia? How’s it going? Who’re the lookers?”

“Adventurers. They’re going to kidnap us to Germina or Reim—they haven’t decided yet.”

“Damn, I was working on a project—did they say when?”

The Horns were treated to several stares, and Colth opened his mouth only for a woman holding a canister of what might have been magicore to open it and check on something.

“Can I persuade you to wait until Beithday? I’ve got a few projects I’d love to finish up if we’re getting kidnapped again. Want to try this one?”

She offered the canteen around, and everyone instantly refused. Pisces hesitated long enough for her to shove it in his face, and it turned out to be not magicore but…soup.

Soup with at least some magic in it. He eyed it, and Pisces, who had stared down at Erin’s magical cooking, feared to imbibe whatever this was. It had a sludgy quality to it. If colors could melt…the woman sighed and took a bite of whatever it was. Instantly, she spat it out.

“I’ve poisoned myself. Let me know about the kidnapping when we get that sorted.”

She walked off. Colth was trying to clarify.

“We’re not kidnapping anyone. We’re just asking on behalf of Their Majesties—”

“Didn’t we tell Flos we were waiting to be conquered?”

“We forgot to pay the Courier, remember? We had them doing exercises instead before they got mad and left.”

“Right, damn. No wonder he sent this lot. Are they threatening to kill us if we don’t go?”

“Not yet…”

Ceria was laughing too hard to do anything. Colth had the colorful expression of a man trying to up his weirdness levels to keep up. Pisces was just hesitating and wondering if Erin would have fit in or been blown away by them. Even the Heromakers were clearly not sure what to do.

They trained heroes, not dealt with madfolk. In the face of all this, every head turned to Yvlon Byres.

The Silver Killer of Izril, who had been yawning a bit. Pisces thought the camps were fascinating, if obscure, but he supposed Yvlon had no appreciation for it. Ksmvr would have loved this. She blinked at him, hesitated as Colth and Ceria nudged her, and sighed when she realized it was her turn.

Without much faith in herself, she lifted a hand.

“Hello, my name is Yvlon Byres. Some may call me the Silver Killer of Izril, but the truth is, I’m hardly so dangerous. I got my name fighting in the Coliseum of Monarchs in Chandrar, and my team has fought everything from Adult Crelers to monsters in dungeons like the Ruins of Albez.”

She held out a hand, and Pisces’ eyes rolled up into his head. But the inventors turned, eyed her, and Otevious shook her hand.

“Splendid introduction. What rank of adventurer?”

“Er, Gold.”

“Thank you. I’m Otevious, [Inventor of Mechanical Genius]. Some may call me the Madman of Oletto, but the truth is I didn’t kill that many people. I got my name exploding three buildings, but casualties were minimal.”

Another hand from Yerelia.

“Pleased to meet you too. Yerelia, [Engineer of Magic’s Grasp], on the Funding Committee. Some may call me Yerla, but that was a nickname when I was a child. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone except monsters, and half of those were accidental.”

Yvlon’s face grew more colorful as the others shook her hand. The rest of her team was clutching at their sides. Pisces was shaking in agony, trying not to laugh, and Colth was crying.

Yvlon appeared ready to kneecap the lot of them, but she bared her teeth and then glanced around the camp.

“Very delighted, I’m sure. Before we figure out about, um, kidnapping, which I don’t think we’re doing, may I ask about this funding I keep hearing about? Are the Mad Ones in need of financing? We do have a bit of gold, and if you had anything to sell, we’d be interested.”

The inventors paused a second and Otevious squinted at Yvlon.

“Gold-rank adventurers don’t tend to have that much. What’s your budget, a thousand gold pieces?”

“Er…we could spend more than that, I think?”

Yvlon glanced at Pisces, and he tried to recall how much the Horns actually had in the Merchant’s Guild. That, it transpired, was enough for one of the other Mad Ones to eye them.

“[Investor Appraisal].”

He looked the Horns up and down, then ran off. The other Mad Ones turned—saw the Garuda tear into a tent, and come running out with one of his inventions. Otevious’ eyes brightened, and Yerelia rubbed her hands together.

As it so happened, Yvlon had said the magic words.

Funding. Instantly, two dozen more Mad Ones emerged from their workplaces to welcome their favorite guests!

Paying customers. Pisces blinked, then saw Yvlon smile smugly and put her hands on her hips. The rest of the Horns half-glared at her as the Silver Killer met their eyes. Then Yvlon yawned again.

——

“It’s all about funding. No one has much gold, and if we have any, it’s either spent on necessities or it goes to the Funding Committee.”

Yerelia was a lot more willing to spend time with the Horns after realizing they might give the Mad Ones gold. It was remarkably straightforwards; the Mad Ones didn’t care for fame or levels if it didn’t help them.

But gold was gold. The reason they liked the Horns was, well, because the Horns were easy marks.

“You’re not lookers, you’re spenders. Very important difference there. We get [Traders]—”

“Ah, like Miss Hexata?”

Pisces was standing there with Yvlon as Yerelia worked on whatever strange Earth-creation she was about. She was delicately maneuvering magical strands together in the weird tank, which was actually a fishtank she’d converted into this project. Ceria and Colth were meeting with a lot more people, trying to figure out who was in charge.

Good luck to them; Pisces doubted there was anything for either one to make sense of in terms of actual leadership. Even Ceria’s circlet would be flummoxed by this place because it was a well and true commune.

Having been part of one himself, he knew how it worked. Some people were in charge, of course, but the rest? Chaos. Yerelia was as good as anyone to talk to since she was on this Funding Committee, and Yvlon was so out of her depth she was sticking by Pisces out of pure desperation.

The unlucky [Trader] was known to the Mad Ones by name at least; Yerelia glanced up.

“You know Hexata?”

“We just met. She broke her legs jumping into the compound—”

“Oh, the walls. Yes, they make them higher each time something blows up or escapes. We’ve had to move eight times. But Nerrhavia’s Fallen gives us a budget. We spend it, so we always need more gold.”

“Why would Nerrhavia’s Fallen give you a budget? My impression was that you were considered terrible nuisances. Yisame said you were a stain on any nation you came across.”

Yvlon interrupted, and Pisces winced at the blunt statement, even by her standards, but Yvlon clearly had the lay of the land here. Yerelia just smiled.

“That is the position any monarch would take, but we have our uses. There was some kind of plague of those damn beetles. Oresects? It annoyed us so much everyone stopped working on our projects to figure out what the Great Sage had made and create a cheaper solution.”

Yvlon and Pisces stared. The Mad Ones were responsible for ending the Oresect plague? Yerelia just nodded absently.

“Not by creating the mixture that kills the bugs, of course. That was already done. We just devoted time to taking one of the ingredients—Kalaab seeds—and finding a cheaper solution. That’s all we needed to do. That’s how you win wars. Against bugs, people. Economize the cure. Well, if that didn’t work, we were going to create a Rustshredder spell, but it would have been less effective.”

—There it was. Just for a second, Pisces saw something. He hesitated, and Yvlon’s head rose like a woman who had just seen a threat. For a moment—they eyed each other.

“So you do understand war, Miss Yerelia? You served Flos?”

The [Engineer] glanced up again.

“Of course I did. All the older members did. It was good for levels, but we died fast too once the [Assassins] realized who made his weapons. If we’re not keen on joining him, it’s simply because all his inventions go one way. Nor did we find something meaningful in what we made, by and large. Because most of it was just war.”

“Like what?”

Pisces didn’t know the legacy of the Mad Ones well, so Yerelia just thought a moment, before snapping her gloved fingers.

“What might you know? Ah, the Tripvine Bag, for example. The same one I trust you have used, or at least, seen as an adventurer.”

It took Pisces a moment to realize what she meant, then he stared.

“Your people invented the modern Tripvine Bag?”

“A more effective version of it, yes. Tottenval’s seeds were hugely effective, but it was in how they were packed and organized. A shame; when he was alive, they were practically a sidearm in every [Soldier]’s arsenal. Terrifying to fight, I’m told. Astounding tactics came of his plants; any cavalry charge turned into dead animals. You could tie down a formation and just ignore them or shoot them dead while your forces advanced. That was worth making—to some. I wasn’t responsible for more than the bag and configuration. I’m no [Mage], you see.”

Yerelia recounted this all distantly. Pisces blinked. He stared at the tool she was using and protested.

“But you’re using magic right now! This entire creation—”

Little orbs were hanging in the pitch blackness, made out of magic, and it was so adept he couldn’t see the details of the delicate mana weaving. But Yerelia just smiled, and here her eyes did light up. She tapped the monoculars on her face.

“Ah, but that’s because I’m using this tool. I invented it myself. I can neither see nor use magic, Adventurer Pisces. I was born without the talent. But I have always wanted to make magic, so these lenses let me see it. This tool lets me manipulate magic very carefully.”

“But these are spells! You can make a spell with—”

Pisces had heard of expert [Mages] using their fingers to adjust magic. Never someone creating a spell from ambient magic. He watched Yerelia tease another strand out of the air, and she nodded.

“Yes. It’s not fast nor simple. Even now, I can injure myself greatly, so there is no mass appeal for this device. I didn’t argue my case hard in front of the Funding Committee, but they’ve seen the value of it.”

“Giving a non-[Mage] the ability to see and manipulate magic isn’t worth money? How does this committee work?”

Yvlon was incredulous, but Yerelia laughed.

“I can see why His Majesty took an interest in you. Let me see if you can understand how we think. Outsiders seldom do. Yes, my creation is valuable—to me. Yes, it is revolutionary—again, to me. But consider that it only gives me the abilities of any Level 5 [Mage]. Is there a benefit in making more? Yes…but is it worth spending the time, the resources, to refine this process? To make something that will be used across the world? For now—no. When this tool can do what a [Mage] cannot do easily, then it will be ready.”

She held up the curious grabbing device that held magic like thread, and Pisces thought he saw it. It was not a lack of passion; it was in Yerelia’s eyes, her evident pride in her work. But it was a kind of ruthless efficiency.

I am not yet ready to change the world with this. And the way she had spoken of the Tripvine Bag…that was the quality of Mad Ones that set them apart from a casual [Mad Genius], Pisces realized. They understood the difference between the glorious bang and something that would change the world.

The woman went on, casual.

“I was part of the teams that worked on alchemical items, as I hadn’t finished this design. Not all of what we made is still in use, of course; the designs change and alter, but I am proud of it. Potions of Blast, healing potion bottles—”

“Wait, wait, you made all of that?”

Yvlon was in disbelief, but again, she was mistaking the woman. The [Engineer] snorted again.

“Of course not! We just created the version that was most effective. You see? We experimented to make lower-cost versions of each formula, altered designs for the King of Destruction’s army. You know how you can smash a healing potion on someone? Who do you think made it so the glass shatters yet won’t break from sitting on it?”

She tapped her chest and grinned. Then she went on, sighing.

“Spells too. So much basic spellcraft like making a Rune of Cooling last another week—you come from Pallass, yes? Some of our designs they used on their ballistae. It was damned hard to get ahold of samples, but then we churned them out! The Drakes were always so confused at how we made them, but once you actually break one down…well, it’s teaching a generation to think without the need for Skills. Their Engineering Guild is a fine asset; if we’d worked with them, we’d have had the Flying Gnoll in the air a decade ago!”

That was the fearsome power of the Mad Ones, Pisces realized. Their hands were so subtle in how it had changed the world. On a hunch, he asked, and she grinned at him.

“No, not spell scrolls. The blend of papyrus or parchment used for it was long set before us. But His Majesty did need plenty, so we set up fields and tools to make more. Most of it still lies in Belchan; doubtless, he needs for more [Mages], but he will not ever need parchment again, unless those idiots burnt down all the workshops.”

Monsters of efficiency. That was the Mad Ones’ power. Mind you—they didn’t dislike the glorious bangs, either. Yerelia was chuckling as she recounted some other stories for the two Horns.

“And yes, sometimes he just wanted something to explode, so we’d all take a break and design five different spells or explosives for him! Then he’d have it hurled by a trebuchet, or Takhatres’ people would drop it on the enemy. Ah, those were sights indeed. Flos had too much money. We grew spoiled under his rule. We’d make something that exploded or a living magicore serpent that he’d unleash on his foes. True, it’d crater a hole through an enchanted wall, but it was never worth the cost, you see? It scared his foes, but this is better.”

This humble community at the edge of Nerrhavia’s Fallen? She nodded in response to Pisces’ words.

“Yes. Oh, we need more gold, but we are making things that can be scaled up, that are needed. Things not meant for war or combat alone—there were some ways in which they served more than that, but it drew too much focus. With too much gold, we make one-shot marvels, and that’s fun for a moment. They will not reach Terandria’s shores. Knowledge will. So this is my project. It has no commercial value, but it came with our understanding of Earth, so I have the funding for it for now.”

She hung another orb in the aquarium, and now Pisces and Yvlon focused on it. They peered at the floating ball of red with white clouds spinning through it.

“What is this, Engineer?”

“A planet. A simulation of interstellar bodies; I’m trying to approximate the exact gravity and flow of stars in this other world. Purely so we have a baseline to measure with. Some of the ideas these children come up with are fantastical, but we cannot tell if we’re making what they want too well or if their rules are different. Gravity, for instance. They claim it’s the same as their home, but they also claim their world is three times smaller than ours. Something is off—we want to know what. A shame we don’t have a map of our world, but, well…would you like to see how they’re supposed to orbit the sun?”

Yerelia pointed, and Pisces and Yvlon stared at each other. Their mouths opened.

The who now?

——

A young woman was standing behind a glowing barrier as Otevious worked on his projects, which included more magic than Yerelia’s had. He was peering at a canister of something that everyone was staying away from, using metal arms to manipulate it as he took the lid off.

“So, for the sake of our guests, you are telling me that the key to advanced pyrotechnic heat is not more magic. At least, in your world it is not. The secret that Dwarves hold over us in their Dwarfsteel is a more fundamental reaction. More fundamental than even alchemy—which we shall separate from ‘chemistry’ as two differing fields. One uses magic. The other…the most natural forces. Elemental.”

“Elements, yes, sir. And this might work because it’s not one exact combination—”

“It’s the reaction that matters. That goes against some alchemical truths that hold that it is usually one set of combinations that are incredibly difficult to replicate. Magic refuses to be put in a neat equation, often. But this? Once lit, this will create an extreme—what’s the word?”

“Exothermic reaction, sir. B-but it’s just a theory! A game theory, even! I don’t remember how it works—”

Otevious had a visor over his face, and he snapped it down with a maniacal grin.

“It’s a nice theory. Let’s test it. Three, two, one—”

He lit something. Whatever it was, it took a second to ignite the mixture of reddish dust that Colth and Ceria were peering at, but then there was a flare. An explosion of light, and Pisces saw the canister turn red-hot.

Something was burning in the center of it. Burning, and it did not go out despite not having…a flame? It was so damn hot that Pisces saw it melting the metal canister. Yvlon shifted, eying the metal, and stared.

“That’s no fire I’ve ever seen. Is it magic…?”

“It’s not magic.”

Colth responded quietly. The burning mixture tilted outwards as Otevious used his metal claws to tilt the mixture onto a variety of substances. Most of which the burning metal ate through—fast.

“It’s working! It’s wooooorking!”

He was shouting in delight. A crowd of Mad Ones were all watching, nodding—not cheering, but watching. And the young woman whispered.

“Thermite.”

“Non-magical thermite. Alchemists can produce the same reaction, but we did it without. No fire crystals. No salamander skins. I’m calling this—victory for replicable materials from Earth. Victory for their elemental table—I’m requesting money for a [Mage] capable of casting memory spells.”

One of the other Mad Ones was shouting as people took notes. Colth interrupted quietly.

“Victory for modern warfare?”

Otevious was lecturing the other Mad Ones about this compound. Which apparently, refused to go out when smothered. In fact, water would just make everything explode if you tried to pour it on this stuff. Pisces shivered as he imagined that being thrown on them. But to his surprise, the [Inventor] just turned and shook his head.

“It’s a finicky combination, Adventurer Colthei. If we can make a flask of it that detonates, I imagine it’ll scare Stitch-folk. Might be used to intimidate the poor Hemp-folk. I’ll vote against manufacturing it if that’s the only use-case. But even if we made it—and cheap—so what?”

He pointed at Pisces.

“I knew I remembered you lot somewhere. Liscor, yes? We were trying to buy that acid stuff. Don’t you get it from a fly over there?”

Pisces jumped.

“We do, sir, but—”

Otevious was taking apart the thermite, removing the unburnt material to stop the burning reaction as the young woman peeked over.

“I was going to breed some, but no one would transport the things. And a [Druid] we consulted said it might ‘spread across habitats and wipe out natural populations’. Bah. That’s acid in a jar at almost no cost. This is an expensive blend of metals you need to grind up. No comparison.”

In his books, acid beat thermite. At least in the case of throwing it in people’s faces. However, Otevious grunted.

“The real use for this isn’t pure violence. I’m thinking…if you slap a simple illusion over this? It’s a non-magical powder that melts locks, and the Acid Fly acid cannot do that. A [Rogue]’s friend. I want to test this on enchanted locks. Tell the Funding Committee that if we make a workable vial-sized prototype, we’ll have money coming in from every [Rogue] in the world.”

In a minute, he’d talked himself out of making a weapon of war and instead pivoted to a way to rob vaults. There it was again; Colth wore a genuinely unsettled expression as he tried to peer at the recipe list. He met Pisces’ eyes and nodded.

These people are actually dangerous. Pisces realized the occasional bang and noise from the exterior of the Mad One’s commune was a false illusion. The real danger was here.

“Alright, young lady, we’ve earned our funding for today. Let’s get some food, and you write up that report. Then we’ll chat about the uses of this stuff from your world.”

Otevious let his apprentice go, and Pisces saw the Earther dash off. He had to ask.

“Where did she come from?”

“Oh, we found her. That’s Botane. It was…a year ago? My, how time flies. Come, come, prospective clients. Let me offer you some food.”

The man led the way to some tables, and Yerelia had seen Yvlon too. They sat the Horns down and presented them with some actually quite good food.

…That someone had run from the city. And which also cost—Pisces nearly spat out his bite of pita bread filled with savory meat when Yvlon whispered the price in his ear.

“Eighty gold coins?”

The two inventors beamed at him.

“Nothing but the finest for our guests.”

They were charging the Horns for their food at insane markups! They really just wanted money, didn’t they? Otevious didn’t deny it either as he chuckled.

“All of this costs gold, guests. Plenty of it! Even if I were to make my rogue’s favorite device, I’ll give 70% of the profits to the Funding Committee.”

“They take your profits?”

Yvlon was aghast by the worst-sounding deal in the world, but again, the old Stitch-man just chuckled.

“We don’t care about personal wealth. Far better that I have anything I earn taken away so it can be allocated. No one gets all of what they want unless they have something truly, truly revolutionary. But by combining forces, we can all keep this going. Another plate?”

Pisces wisely refused a second helping, but he felt like this trip was illuminating if nothing else. Even Flos Reimarch hadn’t been as interesting as this group. Overwhelming, yes, but he felt like the Mad Ones were making things that would truly change the world. Colth was the skeptical one.

“May I ask how you met Miss Botane, Inventors? One doesn’t just find…Earthers. Larra never found one, and her inn moves.”

“Larracel the Haven doesn’t seem interested in people who aren’t above Level 40 or rich, Colth.”

Pisces returned softly, and Colth hesitated and bit his tongue before nodding.

“But the free bread—argh, but I don’t believe an Earther just pops into your camp. Did she seek you out?”

The [Engineer], Yerelia, was unabashedly eating the food the Horns had just paid for. She frowned.

“I think it was the scrying orbs, remember, Otevious?”

He snapped his fingers.

“It was. It was right when Wistram began mass-producing them. A few of the younger members of camp had them. Why not? Then someone—I think it was Addy?—noticed the spell was easily reversible. We didn’t like that. Cue us smashing over three dozen of the damn things and repurposing the crystal. But that got us paying attention, and we noticed weird scrying spells. Who made the sensor net?”

For a second, Yerelia stopped eating.

“Thomos.”

“Ah.”

Otevious pushed back his plate after a second. Then he swallowed and turned to the Horns.

“He built a rather impressive scrying spell detection network. It ‘caught’ spells and backtraced them. We saw who was sending and what they were searching at. We were all rather fired up about Wistram, you see. That’s when we noticed young folk getting grabbed. Botane was the fourth girl, and she was close enough that we rode out and nabbed her before anyone else did. Well, we did it with two other groups.”

Someone had been searching for Earthers? Pisces was astounded.

“How many do you have? May we meet them? We know someone—”

Colth nudged him hard, and Pisces kicked back, scowling. The secret was out! But Otevious just shook his head.

“Botane’s the only one who remains. The rest left. Or died. Whoever was after the Earthers sent [Assassins]. We suspect it was Roshal or someone connected to them. They destroyed Thomos’ scry-catcher, killed him, killed a number of our camp.”

Pisces lost his appetite abruptly. He sat there as Yerelia nodded. Both of the Mad Ones glanced across the camp towards where a gap might have been…? Someone had replaced whatever had been lost, and only they saw it.

“If it was Roshal, they wouldn’t have stopped until they got their quarry. So it wasn’t them.”

Colth’s voice had an edge to it despite his pleasant smile. But here was the last mistake he made. Otevious gave him a blank glance.

“It might have been them. We are not speculating more than we have, and the matter rests for now. It is not forgotten, Adventurer, but we are well aware of the risks of taking on a nation as we are. If the King of Destruction finds us, we will discuss it with him. Along with any other grudges we might have.”

Then he looked dangerous despite the sweat on his silly bald pate and simple inventor’s clothing. Colth frowned.

“But Roshal does not relent, sir. Believe me, they want Earthers. They wouldn’t stop at a hundred [Assassins]. They have endless Ranks.”

Yerelia pulled a plate over and took another pita sandwich and bit into it.

“So they do, young man. But even they run out of Faces. After the second one we killed, they stopped. We are the Mad Ones of Chandrar. If they throw an artillery spell at us, we throw one back.”

Ah. So that was why they existed. Pisces wondered what kind of weapons the world’s greatest group of inventors had stored away. He shifted, and it was Yvlon, the Silver Killer, who sat up from where she might have been napping during the story. He frowned at her, but she gave the others a sleepy smile and said—

“On that topic, if you have anything we can use, we’ll buy it from you. At a fairer price than lunch.”

The two inventors grinned. They’d been hoping she’d say that.

——

Ceria caught up with Pisces after the second hour of being in the Mad Ones’ camp. He was essentially being given the run of their inner area. He could walk over, and one of the Mad Ones would put aside what they were doing—assuming they could—and pull out whatever they had that he thought he’d like.

More than one was open to making something for him, but then you were talking budget, timeframe, expectations…Ceria walked over and leaned on his shoulder.

“Pisces, I’m ready to go.”

He turned to her.

“Ceria, this is the most incredible camp we’ve ever been to! You haven’t even asked about all the things they’ve made, surely—”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s amazing, they’re smart, I can see why everyone wants them. But there’s not going to be anything for us. Colth, yes. Yvlon? Maaaaybe, but I doubt it.”

“They’ve invented amazing things, Ceria—”

She peered at him, then shrugged.

“Okay, sure. I’m gonna nap like Yvlon. Let me know when you’ve worked it out.”

So saying, Ceria wandered off to find a place to snooze, and Pisces stood there and was unaccountably stung.

That implied he was missing something. That implied she thought with her circlet she’d figured out—why not just tell him?

Dissonance, again, with his team. He would have loved nothing more than to go around, the four of them, inspecting each item and arguing whether they needed it. But his team wasn’t together.

Ceria was cocooning herself in ice magic to avoid potential accidents, snoozing in the street. Colth was running from inventor to inventor, trying to figure out what to buy with his funds. And Yvlon?

“Come now, Yvlon. This is fun! Let’s go around.”

She tried, he could tell. But she was leaning on him, and she was heavy.

“Sorry, Pisces. I didn’t get good sleep last night, I think. I’m exhausted. It is fun, it is.”

After their late night of discussing the raid, Pisces could admit he wasn’t the freshest, but he tried to put some energy into both of them.

“They have everything from weapons to homemade spells.”

“Ksmvr would love it here. Please don’t buy a home-made spell.”

That, uh, was the thing. Anything the Mad Ones made was usually a prototype, and they were fairly good about warning you that user-injury was likely if you used a spell or invention. Or…bomb.

——

Botane was helping do sales. Apparently, the young Earther had been inducted into the Mad Ones’ senior membership as a kind of roving apprentice. She was advertising to Trader Hexata, Colth, and a few other clients and exasperating one of the Mad Ones.

“And here we have an attempt at a Djinni’s magical makeup, madam and sirs, which was made of gaseous magicore infused with—”

“It’s a bomb. It explodes in a cloud, and no one knows what it does.”

The group edged back from the container made of, alarmingly, wood. The Mad One in question, Adda the Alchemist, glared.

“It’s a beautiful experiment even the Djinni admired, Botane! Ignore her. Here we have another attempt at the cumulus Djinni’s body—”

“It’s also a bomb. This one has 20% more magic in it.”

Botane indicated the item, and Colth checked his money pouch. And whispered.

“[Check Integrity]…pass on that.”

Everyone instantly passed on the second canister, and Adda put it carefully into a reinforced chest. Then put that chest in a second chest. Then loaded it into a vault in a trolley. The vault was made of steel, Pisces couldn’t help but note, and enchanted. When she lowered the entire contraption into the ground, he decided to step back.

“Very well, very well, how about one of my best flasks? Perfect for a—”

“It fills the tunnel with a long line of clouds which explode. It was another version of the Djinni bomb.”

Colth did bid on that one. He began haggling with the others as Adda pulled Botane aside.

“Young woman, I appreciate your help, but please, stop characterizing all my inventions in such simple terms!”

“If it blows up, Alchemist, it’s a bomb. They’re going to buy your works.”

“Yes, but the Djinnis loved the attempts! They said so!”

“They said it was ‘hilarious’ to get you to make more, Alchemist. Look, they’re going to buy them! Excuse me, if you like that—”

Pisces would have loved to talk to her; she had a few scars he could see, but he wasn’t sure if she’d gotten them from here or just…coming to this place. However, he was distracted because while he was not in the market for…bombs…the Mad Ones knew he had gold.

And they were a-hunting.

“Necromancer! Silver Killer! I have just the item for you. Are you tired of fighting crowds? Would you like to walk into a room and obliterate everything? This is a lovely, lovely experiment in dimensional magic that sucked in a lot of wires and a few people that I could part ways with! Now, I imagine that once you unleash this, it will let the wires out at high speed.”

Pisces eyed the orb he was being offered, and here was the thing: he didn’t want to hold the contained ball of wires.

In fact, he didn’t want to be anywhere near a compressed orb of what he was told was five hundred feet of steel wire compressed into about a baseball’s worth of space. He didn’t think it would go well in a bag of holding, and he was not sleeping in the same building with that around.

When he said that to the [Enchanter], the man was very understanding.

“Absolutely, absolutely. I would have definitely said that putting it in a bag of holding would be an amazing way to murder yourself. I assumed you wouldn’t do that. How stupid do you think the average person is…? Hold on, let me get a piece of paper to write that down.”

He hurried off, and Yvlon sat down on the ground. Pisces nudged her.

“Yvlon, are you playing into your Silver Killer role? Did you not break out into a sweat at the sight of that thing?”

“What? No, I got it’d kill us, Pisces. I’m just…I’m sorry, I really need a nap. I’m gonna lie down on Ceria.”

She got up, and he hung his head glumly. Was it that boring…? No, he thought she was genuinely tired. But what did Ceria mean? That ball of compressed space was definitely Named-rank gear. Transport and safety issues aside, he couldn’t name anyone who wouldn’t fear that thing.

The answer came to him with the next prospective seller: Otevious himself. He walked over with an object in his hands.

“This may interest you, Necromancer. I’m told you do something with the rapier? Any [Rogue] crossover, perchance?”

“I do use [Invisibility], but I’m afraid not, sir. Colth is our generalist.”

Otevious hmmed.

“A shame. Well, let me pitch you on this. I was a Gold-ranker myself as a lad. I did a bit of the old dungeon raiding, and I dabbled in smithing, magic—I’m not a huge fan of alchemy, but I’ve gotten into the chemistry stuff.”

He was a genius. Someone who made things for the joy of it as much as chasing after value. And what he’d made was…

At first, Pisces took it to be a stylish cigar case. It was made of wood, long and thin, and the real clue was the image of a cigar on it. It also said Cigar Case, which Pisces felt was slightly redundant. Otevious even slid open the case to reveal space for exactly, uh, one cigar.

Pisces was about to ask what kind of cigar it was in the spirit of things when the [Inventor] flicked his wrist and a piece of metal snapped outwards. It locked into place with a click as two other sections unfolded and locked into place.

In a moment, the man was holding a shortsword with an actual edge. Pisces stared at the composite, folding sword Otevious had made and resisted the urge to applaud wildly. The Mad One smiled at the expression on Pisces’ face.

“I did the same thing with other weaponry. But daggers are so concealable—a rapier is a long, flexible piece of metal. Very difficult, but if we made part of the blade telescoping—this is a prototype. Would you like to see my concept for a personal rapier?”

——

An unfolding sword. Pisces stared at a bunch of roughs on a piece of canvas that showed exactly how each piece could unfold and fit together to form a rapier. It would, when assembled, compress into a block of metal about as long as his hand.

It seemed insane, but Otevious was confident it could be done.

“The trick will be a magical alloy. Not too magical or it would defeat the purpose of a backup weapon. But with it you’d have a blade you could smuggle into a room. Now, the flick-action should result in the full blade. It might not be the sturdiest, but—”

A sharp rapier when no one thought you had one? Even in battle, you could surprise a foe! Pisces was like a kid looking at magical toys.

“That—that does seem useful, Master Otevious, and I would be in Chandrar for a while longer. How much would one—?”

“Five thousand gold pieces.”

Five thousand!? Then again, Pisces caught himself, he could pay for that. And this was the most interesting blade he’d ever seen. True, the handle wasn’t that impressive since it had to unfold, but when he heard that, Otevious had an idea.

“What if the handle were a mesh guard that expanded when you flicked it? I’d have to prototype it, but that’s intriguing…and I was going to make it just a piece of metal, but if you had a good cover for the item? A flute? I could potentially try to find space to make it a case—”

A custom-made unfoldable rapier. Not in a cigar case, but Pisces was rubbing his hands together.

“This—I think I may have room in my budget to commission this, Master Otevious. You see, I do not have a rapier of sufficient quality myself. This is what I am working with—”

When he showed the man the bone-metal rapier, Otevious was very interested and lifted it, remarking upon how Pisces had married ivory and steel to create a working balance.

“You say you reforged it in the middle of a battle?”

He frowned as Pisces nodded.

“I’ve been practicing spells to remake my blade in case that should happen again. [Bone Rapier]—if I have the ivory.”

He cast the spell he’d improvised, and a rapier made of bone grew from his bag of holding. It was slightly off when he held it up; a bit unbalanced. And [Flame Rapier] was good, but as Pisces had learned in his duel, dangerous to use on a foe who didn’t care for the flames. But with the metal one—

When the [Inventor] saw Pisces conjuring both rapiers, his interest and excitement in his unfoldable rapier project vanished. Pisces didn’t understand at first and thought the rapiers were just too showy or unimpressive. But the man took his unfoldable shortsword prototype, then pulled the concepts of the rapier off the drawing easel and laid them aside. He smiled.

“Well, that’s a shame. But if there’s anything else I have…?”

“I’m sorry, Master Otevious? I thought we were coming to a deal.”

Pisces was confused, but the [Inventor] just nodded to his designs.

“I can see you’re well served with improvised weaponry. I should have expected no less from a [Necromancer].”

“But your unfoldable rapier was a masterwork of metallurgy! I’d gladly pay for it!”

The style! Yet Otevious waved it off.

“It is nice. But if it’s just for vanity, pardon me if I don’t waste our time on it. That’s the problem with making weapons, you see? His Majesty was always complimentary, but…it’s just hard.”

He sat on his messy workbench, and Pisces felt a tingle on the back of his neck. Ceria’s words came back to him.

“I’m sorry, Master Otevious, I fear I’ve offended your sensibilities. I don’t follow.”

The Mad One glanced up and smiled. He explained, kindly, to Pisces what the issue was.

“I take no offense, and it’s nothing you’ve said. It’s just magic, young man. Magic is our enemy, for all we use it. It is damned hard to beat. Here, let me show you an example.”

He hunted around his workspace and then came up with a shortsword, a simple one enchanted with a cutting spell.

“A good testing benchmark. This is a simple blade, the kind any Level 20 [Enchanter] and [Blacksmith] who pour some energy into their work can make. It is…difficult to surpass. You have seen our numerous creations, many of which are deadly. Most of which cannot be mass-replicated. A benchmark we use in our camps for weapons is: is it better than a [Fireball]?”

Pisces blinked. A [Fireball]? A Tier 3 spell most [Mages] could cast…he saw Otevious gesture at the folding blade.

“That would be the work of a month. Custom prototyping, advanced metals—all for what? A blade that springs to hand when you could cast [Bone Rapier] and produce one nearly as fine in a moment. There is no point to my invention, Necromancer. In the same way, this shortsword…there is nothing I can do, from a mechanical sense, to best it. A simple cutting spell and it is sharper, more deadly than most blades. Oh, I could make a spring-loaded blade that does more damage—for single swing. But I am defeated again.”

By magic. Pisces sat down as the Mad One flipped the blade up and caught it by the hilt. He glared at the enchanted shortsword, then shrugged.

“We live in a world where magic exceeds science. Except for maybe the weapons of Earth…which I do not feel like creating as of yet. And even then, can they beat the true foe, the one that humbles us all?”

“What would that be, Master Otevious?”

The Mad Ones had magic. Otevious seemed to enjoy more mechanical projects, but Pisces had seen any number of magical creations here too. But the man just waggled his finger in Pisces’ face.

“The real foe is not just magic. I thought it was, but in truth, it is simply…rarity. Or as I put it, levels. Earth is delightful because it is not as convenient as our world, you see.”

He folded his hands together, and Pisces frowned at him.

“I don’t follow. They have achieved a higher level of technology in some ways—but they lack magic.”

Otevious nodded.

“They also lack rarity and levels. That darling girl tells me they have made weapons that erase cities. I told her we made the same. She told me hers can destroy an island. Hers could pollute a thousand miles and leave it dead. I told her we sank the Continent of Glass. Damned nations with a single spell.”

The City of Shields in the Crossroads had been destroyed when they threw a volcano at it. After turning all metal to…Pisces shivered, and Otevious nodded again.

“The difference is, Necromancer Pisces, one world does this with fundamental elements, however rare. They can mass-manufacture what they want within limits because it is a formula. Here? It is a Level 80 [Archmage]. And that is why we win and lose. That is why my sword is useless. Because on Earth, Dwarfsteel is a top-tier metal. Here? If I were to want to improve it, I’d hire someone to dig for Adamantium or better. Or find a [Smith] with [Forge of the Supreme Temperance] or some such…”

Ah, and there it was. Pisces finally got it. Otevious patted him on the shoulder, not resigned or even upset, but just…realistic. Brutally so.

“In a sense, we Mad Ones are mad because we are challenging the true rulers of creation: levels. We lose, time and time again. Your [Bone Rapier] spell has bested my invention. Well done, I applaud you on your levels, young man. I shall do better.”

Pisces twisted as Otevious put the show-weapon aside. He tried to protest, offer the man a flower because he did have great appreciation for all this.

“Master Otevious, I truly do think your blade design is inspired. An [Assassin] might make great use of it—”

“Or simply gain a Skill that lets them hide a blade. I would look into a mithril rapier, young man. Or an enchanted one. There is no point to mine, made of simple metal, because you cannot enchant sections of metal the same way. Perhaps if I made a blade with the help of a Level 50 [Enchanter], such that each segment were pure mithril and enchanted with runecraft so there was no magical interference on each part…”

Otevious sat back, speculating, then glanced up at Pisces and grinned.

“…But it would just be one. And take too much time, you see? Come, come, let’s see if anyone else has something worth you buying.”

He chivvied Pisces up, not actually that down, but then Pisces saw what Ceria’s intelligence had already led her to understand.

Aside from, well, a one-time explosive, Pisces and Ceria were [Mages]. They cast magic, and the Mad Ones were in a race against them. What they had…Pisces gazed at a spring-loaded axe hanging on Otevious’ wall.

“Does that work, Master Otevious?”

“Oh, splendidly. You hit something with it and the compressed springs explode outwards. It could down a man in plate. But it might shatter your hand, and the springs require a tool to compress again.”

The man beamed with self-evident pride for the creation he had worked so hard on. Both he and Pisces knew that aside from maybe Colth, no one would ever use it. And Colth…probably just once. It hurt Pisces’ chest a bit, because there was something in this place that made him wish it were more respected.

What the [Necromancer] didn’t realize, of course, was that he was no gifted liar. The Mad Ones had seen royalty, adventurers, the desperate, all come for their treasures. He was an unguarded fellow, for all that he was. They saw his dismay and appreciated that, of all the Horns.

Mind you, they did wish he’d spend more.

——

The problem, in the end, was that Pisces had not enough time in the Mad Ones’ camp and the mentality Colth had lectured him on.

He still spent like a Silver-ranker, which was to say, not at all. Whenever someone quoted him anything above a hundred gold pieces, he winced. Several thousand and he just didn’t have the ability to buy it.

Even useful things! The Mad Ones had magical items on sale. Not everything, not private projects, but one gamely showed him a series of enchanted pots.

“These are designed to eat magical interference and still maintain holding. How it works is that it’ll start to vibrate—then crack as you exceed your interference. You can use them as Bags of Holding or as ways to survive your equipment detonating. Store it until you have that issue.”

They were a set of six, each one designed to break in such a way that they vented the magical dissonance and bought you time to transport gear—or just made your bag of holding sixteen times larger. It was splendid, and Pisces saw the use case for them.

…He didn’t spend thirteen thousand gold pieces on them. He could have. Pisces had estimated he could spend forty-six thousand gold pieces on—on something. But when he tried to make himself buy these useful items he might well need if they found magical loot or just to carry things—

Thirteen thousand gold pieces? When it would break? After twenty minutes, the Mad One sighed. That was the problem they faced.

Trader Hexata was perusing the shops and making deals too—Pisces saw her, but she couldn’t have afforded the pots nor found a buyer. So the Mad Ones needed either something cheap and mass-producible or a big spender.

Pisces was not that kind of person. He hemmed, hawed, appreciated their work, and spent nothing, and they would have begun chasing him away, politely, for the sin of getting their hopes up but for that other annoying thing about him—he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“So this crossbow auto-cranks itself with each shot?”

“Partially. The impact reloads it slightly, but you crank the entire thing back anyways—it’s designed for someone who can use [Power Shot] or overload it. In theory, it would almost perfectly reload without magic. Which then lets you enchant it with something else instead of a reloading spell. I’ve had two Hunters from Noelictus ask about it, but the perfect buyer…”

A somewhat brusque [Tinkerer] knew Pisces wasn’t going to buy it, but she did have to show off. She was going to pointedly suggest he go to another of her associates when he murmured.

“Fascinating. You know, I had a similar design in a skeleton I made.”

“Really?”

She raised a brow, and Otevious, who had been about to go back to his workshop, half-turned. They weren’t entirely dismissive, but Pisces hesitated.

“I—it wasn’t so adept. A friend dared me to innovate, you see. And they couldn’t reload since I never figured out how to have them self-crank the crossbows or reach around inside. Too much fine control when I mass-animated them.”

“So you created a mass-animatable skeleton with a crossbow mechanism inside? Uh huh. And you’re Level 60? An honor.”

She took off a glove to shake his hand, revealing a lot of scars from accidents with wires, and he raised his hands.

“No, no! I was entirely inept, you see? My teacher at the time also speculated it was a waste of complexity because you’d be able to animate less. I—drat—let me just show you. Animate Skeleton Chestburster!”

It took him a second to remember how, but when a skeleton with the ribcage configured to blow up did arise, the two Mad Ones blinked, and then the [Tinkerer] was leaning forwards.

“Wait, this is a hurling design. Very simple, but—”

“Careful, it’ll snap and explode in your—”

Pisces grew alarmed, but she instantly disarmed the mechanism by pulling the bone that would snap outwards and spray bone shrapnel. Then Otevious was peering in as well.

“I’ve seen Goblins build similar weapons. Simple use of compressed force…but that’s the necromantic challenge, isn’t it? You can create an entire crossbow out of bone, Calice. I once saw a [Necromancer] do it in a single spell.”

“Impressive.”

“Yes, but it’s such a headache he couldn’t do it twice, and it costs more mana. This is a good mix between efficiency and complexity! Hey, Poetr, you like undead? Come see this!”

Pisces puffed up a bit as they called other Mad Ones over to see. Right up until Calice made a comment.

“I doubt it aims well, though. And the force won’t take out anyone in armor. Plenty of room to adapt; is this the first trial? How many iterations did you go through?”

“I, ah—well, this one worked, and I’ve barely used them in combat—”

Their looks of appreciation became ones of sardonic exasperation instantly. Pisces lifted his hands.

“It wasn’t a viable concept, and I have Skeleton Champions!”

“Well, if you kept it here, it wasn’t viable. Far be it from me to tell a [Necromancer] his business. How many undead have you created that are new? I’d love to see them.”

“Well, ah, new—”

Poetr slapped his forehead.

“Oh dead gods, he’s an Az’kerash [Necromancer]. Mass-summoner. No offense, I’m sure it works well, but he was a very uninventive spellcaster, historically speaking. You know?”

Pisces tried to protest, but he’d thought the same thing himself. Even so—

“He was one of the two most powerful Archmages of the time, though, sir! And a master duelist and—”

“Oh, no, I’d never deny that. Have you studied his life? I have a lot of proscribed accounts of his battle prowess, and as a duelist, he was supreme. As a creator…I think it was Terandrian sensibilities. When I compare that to the [Necromancer] who invented the Crypt Lords…”

“Er, someone invented Crypt Lords?”

They smiled as Poetr insisted Pisces have a cup of tea with him and began to talk undead, even if not all of them were experts. Some had fought undead, and Calice had once come up with the concept of a skeleton bound to an oversized crank-crossbow which would revolutionize loading speeds—Noelictus hadn’t wanted to buy or trial her designs.

They chatted more with him, because one had to, of course. There was a mind behind that poor adventurer’s brain of his, and it was the duty of the Mad Ones to engage it. Unfortunately, it meant they lost the chance to upsell more stuff onto him, but sacrifices had to be made.

——

When Colth found his team, he was flushed from running around buying things. Ceria was eating overpriced food, Pisces was not really reading his spellbook, and Yvlon was asleep.

“I’m finished buying items. Did you get anything?”

“Nope.”

The other three Horns’ complete lack of purchases made Colth scowl. He nudged Yvlon with a foot. She was dead asleep on the ground.

“Come on, we have to at least see if we can convince the Mad Ones to move to Reim.”

“They clearly don’t wish to, Colth. Unless we can secure transport, it seems pointless. I’d try moving them to Germina, but assuming we cannot get them to leave, where are we bound next?”

Pisces glanced up, and Colth hesitated.

“Well, pending Her Majesty wanting us to make up for our debacle, we could roam some of the eastern cities. Search for Pisces’ friends.”

Pisces sat up a bit. Bearig, Merr, Eloque—his heart began to beat faster. Ceria glanced at him and stopped shovelling loaded fries into her mouth.

“Sounds good. Let’s get going. I say we skip even talking to them. They’re crazy, but boring crazy after all. Hey, Yvlon. Yvlon, c’mon, we’re going.”

She nudged Yvlon again, and the woman didn’t wake up. Ceria and Colth tried before Ceria smirked, then reached over.

She shot a snowball into Yvlon’s face, and the [Armsmistress] came up swinging.

“CERIA—”

She spluttered, lurched two steps after Ceria, then sat down. And yawned. Colth frowned at her.

“C’mon, Yvlon. What’s with you?”

“I don’t…know. I’m just really tired. Are we leaving yet? Did anyone explode?”

“Not for lack of trying. C’mon.”

Pisces got up, a bit disconsolate. The Horns were walking out of the camp, and Otevious and the others hadn’t come to see them off. They’d done their business, and Pisces didn’t see Trader Hexata.

There was something off about the entire trip, he decided. It just wasn’t fun. He didn’t know what had changed. Even going to Invrisil or camping outside the walls hadn’t been always mindblowing, but there had been an enjoyable component that was lacking here.

Part of it was Ceria, Colth doing things his way, or Yvlon being tired but the team just wasn’t…together. He knew the others were feeling the same way, at least, Ceria and Colth did. He was making plans.

“Okay, let’s head for an eastern city. We might as well put Delitandra’s group to work. We’ll get some actual progress done on our goals.”

“Yeah, and we could do some strategizing in the carriage. You know, how to fight together and not get wiped out? Even fight some monsters.”

Pisces was reminded of something as they approached the walls and realized they didn’t have a ladder. Ceria obligingly began to make some ice stairs, and he did the same. They stared at each other’s ramps, and Pisces began to de-animate his only for Ceria to do it first.

“Bone before ice, especially stairs.”

“Er, thank you, Ceria. I was going to ask, but I forgot—Delitandra, what about that Jaw of Zeikhal? Did anyone end up stopping it?”

Delitandra and the Heromakers had been observing the Horns and taking notes. Possibly, they dovetailed with Pisces’ feeling, because Delitandra leapt forwards.

“Ah, to that, Pisces, I do know it was ended. So do not fear for commonfolk.”

He did relax at that; it had hurt his conscience. She strode up the stairs with him.

“In fact, the one who took out the Jaw was one of the adventurers you met in Tyrant’s Rest. It was none other than Itkisa herself.”

“Torreb’s daughter? She took it out by herself?”

Pisces was surprised. A single adventurer had taken out a Jaw of Zeikhal? Even a young one—Torreb had been famous for killing one in single combat. There was someone who clearly wanted to capitalize on her father’s myth. Or perhaps, reforge it anew. He rubbed at his chin.

“If we assume all the teams we met were hired to go against us in some capacity, then it follows that she might have been hired to fight us as well.”

He climbed the walls separating the Mad Ones from the rest of the world and stopped. A sleepy Yvlon walked into his back and nearly fell down the stairs. Colth had to push her back up. She complained.

“Pisces—”

Then she heard a voice, and her head snapped up. Pisces stared down the wall at a figure who stood outside the Mad One’s commune. The wind blew at her cloak, and she still, even now, looked too different from what he felt she should be.

Like a mother despite the chainmail she wore and the oversized club planted in the dirt. Itkisa, the newly-made Gold-rank adventurer, lifted the club one-handed, and it was as tall as she was. She pointed it at Pisces.

“I was hired to defeat your team, Horns of Hammerad. I thought, from the stories of you, that you’d fight the Jaw over the Tomb. My mistake. Shall we?”

Pisces stared at her. She smiled at him, and he felt a crawl down his back. Ceria was mouthing at him.

Stall. Colth was swearing as he reached for a bow.

“Hey, Itkisa! Are you sure you know what you’re doing? There’s four of us and—”

He was calling out in a loud, confident voice when Pisces saw the woman tense. She crouched, and he shouted.

“Watch out—”

She leapt, and he [Flash Stepped] off the walls. Yvlon blinked up as the woman fell to earth, club swinging. Pisces half-turned, drawing his r—

Itkisa hit the walls, and they exploded. Dirt rained down. The ground shook—was it still shaking? Pisces stumbled and saw a figure rising from the hole she’d cleaved in the compound’s defenses. She turned, and he swallowed.

Aw, hells. Then the second adventurer battle in as many days began.

——

She just didn’t look right. And she knew that too.

Itkisa wasn’t even the right…species. Torreb had been Stitch-folk. His body had been thread and cloth so scarred and pitted by war it had made him look like the Hemp-folk. But no one had ever asked him his thread.

He had transcended social norms. He had been the greatest [Warrior] of Chandrar, perhaps the world. The unstoppable force that armies feared. Whom even Mars the Illusionist had not eclipsed.

Her father. Itkisa knew Torreb better than anyone else in the world. His wives had not outlived him or stayed with him, for Torreb was exactly as people had known him: unpredictable, unshackled by rules, prone to violence or whimsy. He could have passed from this world into the next like that whirlwind, shifting things around by his passage, but for one thing.

Her. Itkisa’s mother had claimed a Skill from him.

[Inheritance: My Father’s Strength]. A simple Skill. A brave Skill for a mother to leave a child. He’d killed her for it, even though it hadn’t taken anything from him. Torreb had just hated the fact that someone else had gained what he had earned himself. As if that were cheating. Perhaps it was. Even now, she didn’t know how to use his strength. He had never taught her. He’d kept her by his side for a lifetime, terrified she’d grow up and kill him in the way of brutal succession, like they were animals.

To be fair, she had killed him at the end. Just not the way he’d expected.

Well, she’d waited decades to find out who she was. And yes, she looked like a mother despite never having borne children. She wasn’t a lithe figure nor scarred by battle. She was thickset, stomach wrapped with a colorful band of red cloth one of her half-sisters had given her. One of the few not fighting over Torreb’s wealth. Her armor a mix of cheap chainmail, battered and scavenged for she had no coins; he had left her nothing. Leather under it that she might move around freely. No potions, no magical items. Just a single club.

One woman versus four storied adventurers, one a Named-ranker. The world’s most famous team, arguably. Itkisa fell like a comet, and only someone like her would know why she smiled.

Smiled like a girl, alive for the first day in so long.

A shard of ice grazed her cheek and tore her bronze skin open. The half-Elf would have shot Itkisa through the cheek but for her moving her head. So fast. Deadly—

But she saw them. The [Supporter] raising a bow, then switching as he observed how fast she was coming down, dropping it and drawing his blades. The yawning [Armsmistress] who didn’t react, blinking upwards and her pupils dilating.

All a moment. Then Itkisa struck the ground with the force contained in her body. Like a child hammered the earth. Not too hard. She could split the club if she swung it too hard, despite the magic on it.

It wasn’t even a Skill. Just—

Impact. Dirt heaved upwards in a column around her, and she shielded her face with her free arm. For a second, she was blinded by her own att—

Dodge. The second spell came through the dirt, an [Ice Lance] that would have hit her in the chest. Flawless aim, as fast as an arrow. If she was just Torreb’s strength, she would have been dead.

But she was a [Warrior] in her own right, and it was still slower than a cup that Torreb hurled when drunk. Itkisa punched the [Ice Lance] and grimaced.

Pain. A cold shock as it exploded. Her flesh wasn’t as tough as she needed it to be. Like the King of Destruction, the only man Torreb had thought might win an arm-wrestling competition with him. She knew the [Supporter] and [Armsmistress] were here, so Itkisa did as Torreb had done.

She swung her club again. And the dirt, a second spell—everything in her reach vanished.

——

The explosion of Itkisa landing was followed by a second one in moments. Pisces had no idea what was going on; he’d taken cover reflexively. Then he saw a spray of what he thought was Ceria’s ice magic—but in fragments?

Then the wind hurled shrapnel at him. Three impacts on his chest; he grunted and sat down. His underarmor saved him, but what…

Dirt.

Dirt and stones. Hurled by her swing. When Pisces got up, she was swirling that club around. One-handed, laughing.

The Horns were all running for it. Yvlon was stumbling away as Colth dove and rolled out of the way of Itkisa’s strike. Ceria was hiding behind three [Ice Walls], firing [Ice Lances] at Itkisa. But the woman was alternating between dodging, punching, and swinging through the magic.

“Incredible.”

Pisces aimed a finger at Itkisa’s back and hesitated. Again, this all felt wrong. She was a fellow adventurer. Why were they fighting…?

But she was terrifyingly strong. Strong in a way that instantly spoke to him of a Named-ranker. That strength…Pisces shouted.

“Itkisa, stop! We don’t want to fight with you!”

[Deathbolt]. It shot at her, and she turned, saw it coming, and went to punch the magic with her free hand. Then block it with her club. Her face twisted with uncertainty. Then she sidestepped, cursing.

—She walked straight into an explosion. One of Colth’s flasks hit her and blew up. He followed it with a charge, and Itkisa leapt clear of the blast. Her skin was bloodied and charred, but she had some kind of toughness Skill or she’d be dead. She snarled.

“Pisces! Flank her with Colth at range! I’m going to chill her!”

Ceria shouted, and the air around Itkisa grew cold. She was backing up, and Colth was keeping out of range of her swinging club. It was longer than she was tall but she swung it as fast as Pisces could swing a shortsword! He couldn’t get close—so he flipped something else at her face.

Acid flask. This time, she went to catch it, and it exploded in midair. Colth’s Skill—it showered her in steaming acid, and Pisces cried out at the same time as Itkisa.

Before the acid could coat her fully, Itkisa did something Pisces had never seen before. She had a traveller’s cloak on her shoulders. She didn’t reach for a potion; instead she grabbed her cloak and swung it around her.

She snapped the cloak, and the gust of wind snapped all the acid off her skin. The spray of it hit Colth, and he leapt back, shouting.

“Dead gods—”

Could you do that? Manifestly, but Itkisa was panting. Sweat and some acid on her skin froze over, and she glanced at Ceria.

“So this is…how did he say to do it again?”

She was muttering. Colth had sheathed his shortswords and was juggling an assortment of alchemical weapons. He gave her a sinister smile.

“Surrender or you’re not going to survive the next attack. You have thirty seconds before you’re a block of ice or a new corpse for Pisces to use.”

Itkisa met his eyes, her orange irises flashing in anger. For answer, she tightened the grip on her club. Colth backstepped fast—but he missed the woman’s next trick. Itkisa had dug one of her sandals into the ground. Pisces shouted.

“Colth! Watch out—”

Itkisa kicked sand at Colth. Another simple trick unless you were so strong—

It looked like an attack spell. Sand and dirt nearly hit the [Ultimate Supporter], who dodged with a Skill. He came up, eyes wide, and Itkisa—

Kicked again. Colth vanished in a spray, and she pointed.

“You.”

Ceria was aiming a wand at Itkisa, concentrating hard. She saw the woman draw back one hand and blinked.

“No w—”

The club smashed through two of Ceria’s [Ice Walls] and nearly took the third one out. The shockwave still slammed Ceria down. She lay there, gasping for air, when she saw Itkisa leaping at her. One fist drawn back to punch through the spells…

Yvlon hit Itkisa before the woman landed. The two collided with a sound like ringing metal, and then they were punching, rolling—before a blow tossed Yvlon back onto her feet, and Itkisa rolled upright. She had a bloodied nose. Yvlon had a dent in her face.

But her body was metal. [Aspect of Iron]. She shook her head, and her face re-formed as she raised her fists. Sluggishly. Pisces appeared behind Itkisa, shouting.

“Enough! We don’t have a quarrel with you!”

She twisted around, and four Skeleton Champions rushed at her. To stop her, not—she punched through one’s face and tore through another with a fist so fast the third and fourth were stumbling when she kicked through both of them. Pisces ducked a flying piece of bone, but he had a finger aimed at her. Again, she hesitated and went to k—

He nearly stepped away, but she stopped. Why? He realized he was standing in the ruined wall; the Mad Ones’ camp was behind them. She pivoted, and the spray of dirt missed the camp—he had already stepped away from the gap as well.

For a second, they hesitated, and Pisces wavered as Itkisa frowned at him.

“Pisces—just [Deathbolt] her three times. She can survive it.”

Ceria croaked as she crawled up and conjured an [Icy Floor] spell. The half-Elf tried to skate away as Itkisa swivelled. She angled herself to face both Yvlon and Pisces at the same time.

Barehanded—she was lifting a palm towards Pisces, a fist towards Yvlon. Martial arts? She seemed warier of Pisces than Yvlon for reasons he didn’t understand until she spoke.

“It’s harder than I thought. Fighting other adventurers. My father always feared monsters over men. But he faced the greatest of monsters. Hitting someone like that—”

Ceria was skating away at speed, eschewing static defenses. She fired another [Ice Lance] at Itkisa’s face. Itkisa pivoted—grabbed the [Ice Lance], and threw it.

Completely wide. It went flying into the distance as Pisces and Yvlon stared at it. But they had never seen someone grab a spell and throw it back. He widened his eyes at Yvlon.

Do I cover you? He wasn’t about to go in close against that woman, even bare-handed. Yvlon…yawned at him. Then gritted her teeth.

“Something’s wrong. Itkisa, why are we fighting?”

“For glory. You are the most famous team in Chandrar. How else am I to make my name?”

Itkisa re-pivoted to them and kicked again—Ceria ran into a second storm of dirt and coughed. The woman’s eyes darted right, left, and Pisces croaked.

“I have no desire to kill you.”

She focused on him and smiled—then her eyes grew round in alarm. She whirled with a cry, and Colth stabbed into her from the side. [Greater Invisibility]! She was quick—he got in two slashes, but her punch sent him skidding across the ground. Pisces fired a [Deathbolt] into Itkisa’s legs. She dodged the second one, staggering. Yvlon—

—Had missed her opening. She stumbled forwards. Itkisa was cursing. She reached into her bag of holding as she searched around for her weapon, but it was far out of reach.

“To the death, then?”

Colth and Pisces hesitated as Ceria shouted.

“[Dangersense]! Get back!”

The woman was checking her bleeding body and damaged armor. She ruefully shook her head.

“A team is better than a woman alone. Magic. [Rogues]. Though you’re not much of a team. Ksmvr of Chandrar was more frightening.”

“We’re more than enough for you. Back off.”

Yvlon Byres was walking at Itkisa, swaying. Pisces was moving left, invisible, and he saw Colth crouching as he snuck up on Itkisa’s back. Ceria was casting as Itkisa peered around, tensing—and then she focused on the Silver Killer.

Something was very wrong with Yvlon. She wasn’t running at Itkisa, and her eyes were unfocused. She took two more steps, silver hands clenched, then…yawned. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and Itkisa halted, hand still in her bag of holding.

“Ah. You’ve already fallen prey to the empire’s games.”

She regarded Yvlon, then turned away from the woman. Almost sympathetically, she looked straight at Pisces—and Yvlon fell forwards on her face.

“Yvlon?”

Pisces stared, and Colth shouted.

“Poison—no, it was the damn kiss! Get her out of here, Ceria—”

He charged Itkisa as Pisces took aim. He didn’t want to [Deathbolt] her again, and she was staring at him.

She doesn’t know how my magic works or if she can block it. She was going to come for him. He prepared to [Flash Step] and then heard Ceria shout again.

“[Dangersense]! Oh tree rot—[Fortress of the Ice Q—]”

He heard a whistling sound, glanced up, and saw something falling at him. Itkisa and Colth gazed upwards, and she bent and heaved the ground upwards as Colth leapt and covered Yvlon with his body.

“[Emergency Shield]—”

Then the falling ballista bolt split into eighteen separate shards which Pisces realized were individual arrows bound together in a single—

——

The explosion was still ringing in his ears. He got up and began to [Flash Step] around in a circle.

Dizzy, but he’d get killed if he stayed still. [Invisibility]—he couldn’t concentrate on the spell. Dust everywhere. He ran into someone in the cloud.

Ceria nearly shot an [Ice Lance] through his face. She was covered in dirt, but there was a shell of ice over her body. She mouthed at him. He blinked at her, and she slapped his head.

“[—store Hearing]! Take cover behind my barrier spells!”

She’d raised a glowing barrier. When had she learned to cast…? Pisces looked around as his head cleared and saw Yvlon and Colth. He’d dragged her behind a metal barrier he’d set up, and Itkisa was shaking her head. But she hadn’t fired…

The five brawling adventurers all turned, and they remembered where they were fighting. The wall around the Mad Ones’ camp was broken in where Itkisa had hit it, and a few tents were downed from Ceria’s magic or Itkisa kicking around dirt. But there was still a crowd of the Mad Ones.

And—Pisces felt compelled to focus on this—

Adelaide. She was sitting on some kind of weird contraption. It looked sort of like Bird’s ballista…if you’d attached the ballista to something that reminded Pisces of Pallass’ elevators. It was like an extending stand that put her twenty feet straight in the air. From this mobile platform, she’d fired a single bolt which had exploded on their position.

The entire contraption was noisily reloading, and Pisces saw another Mad One aiming a five-tubed something at him. He had no [Dangersense], but he put up his hands slowly.

Yerelia had a simple megaphone. She shouted into it.

“Adventurers! If you keep fighting near our camp, we will kill you. Take it elsewhere.”

Four Gold-rankers and a Named-ranker looked at each other. They eyed the Mad Ones. Colth slowly raised his hands, and Itkisa took her free hand out of her bag of holding. She raised her hands as well as Ceria muttered.

“Okay, maybe we should have bought their stuff. But that wasn’t for sale! You gonna fight when we go for round two? Colth and I can’t take her out alone, Pisces.”

“I’m not killing her.”

She stared at him as the Mad Ones made vague shooing motions. Some were shouting at the adventurers to drop some gold before they left. Ceria exhaled a plume of frost.

“Listen, Pisces, we have to work together.”

“She’s not a monster.”

They stared at each other as Itkisa walked over to grab her club. Ceria felt at her head and grimaced as she pulled the circlet off. She dusted her robes off, and they saw Colth levering the unconscious Yvlon up. Awkwardly, Pisces walked away from the Mad Ones’ camp after dropping a few hundred gold pieces onto the sand; no one else had done that. Ceria vanished, and Colth was moving towards the magical carriage.

He stuffed Yvlon into it, and Pisces found himself walking next to Itkisa. She glanced at him as he hesitated. But both peered at the Mad Ones’ camp—

“Further away! At least a mile!”

Neither he nor Itkisa were willing to break the treaty, so she nodded at him.

“Your choice, Adventurer Pisces.”

“To do what, fight to the death? If the three of us battle you, it won’t be bloodless even if you win.”

“Or your team could fall back and ride away in the carriage. I am here for the glory of chasing the Horns away, as I was employed to do.”

“What? You want us to flee?”

She smiled at him as she rubbed at her bleeding cheek.

“It would advantage you, with your warrior gone. And it benefits me greatly. Somehow, though—”

Her eyes flicked to Colth, who had turned from the carriage to favor her with a sinister smile. Then she stared at an empty patch of air to the side.

“—I doubt your teammates will be so reasonable.”

Ceria re-materialized with a curse. She could cast [Invisibility]? Pisces stared at her as she called over her shoulder.

“She’s aura-sensing, Colth. Either that or a tremorsense. Pisces, get over here before she takes you hostage.”

“I’m negotiating. We could fall back, Ceria.”

“Fall back? It’s three versus one, and she’s no Torreb.”

That made Itkisa twitch. Her eyes narrowed at Ceria, and Pisces actually put an arm out to block her. He stared at his offending arm. So did she. Then Pisces addressed Itkisa.

“Did you have to attack us to begin with? To my knowledge, we have never quarrelled, Itkisa. I was actually hoping to talk civilly; you met Orjin of Pomle, and your father was a famous adventurer. I would hate to maim or kill each other.”

A flicker of guilt crossed Itkisa’s face. She brushed at her black hair that she’d tied back in a ponytail, then shook her head.

“It is hard to be Torreb’s child. I am grabbing for what you have plenty of, Adventurer Pisces. Fame must truly taste like water to you if you don’t see how much circles you. Perhaps I was too hasty to judge you. For all they call you the Bane of Roshal. Or Scourge. Which is it?”

“Neither. I’ve barely killed any [Slavers]. I…I think someone is using my face.”

She regarded him as they walked away from the Mad Ones’ camp. Ceria and Colth were following to their right and left, clearly communicating as they eyed Itkisa and counted their distance from the camp. But the woman just smiled at Pisces.

“Titles are not things we choose, Pisces. I am Itkisa, Torreb’s Daughter. The Scourge of Roshal is a fine title, to my mind. If you feel it is undeserving, or wish to rise to it, prove it. But I do not think a boring pretender would draw blade on the King of Destruction.”

He blinked down at her; he was taller than she was. But she had seemed like she was towering over him a moment ago. Pisces came to a halt in the dirt, and she gripped the club tighter at once.

“We are not a mile from the Mad Ones’ camp, and I think if anyone could measure, it would be them.”

“I am not going to fight you, Itkisa. I would prefer we part without violence.”

He crossed his arms, sheathing the rapier at his side. She eyed him as Ceria and Colth halted. Itkisa pursed her lips and dug one foot into the earth with ease. She peered down at her sandals; she’d ripped the toe off the one she’d been using to kick dirt at Colth and Ceria.

She must wear out clothing and gear with how strong she is. No wonder she wanted gold and fame if she couldn’t afford it yet. Itkisa glanced up at Pisces.

“If you were to retreat for the sake of my reputation—”

“Hell no! Pisces, we’ll just kneecap her! Get over here!”

Colth shouted. Pisces scowled at him. Itkisa sighed.

“If we agreed on terms—”

Then she pivoted at the same time as Pisces leapt back from her. Itkisa raised her club, then sighed and lowered it. Ceria waved her arms frantically, shouting.

“We’re too close to the Mad Ones! Stop, stop—oh hey, that’s our side. Or not—hells!”

She went skating away, but belatedly—something hit her, and she tangled in it, cursing. Pisces saw the net covering the Ice Squirrel, and Itkisa lifted a club and blocked another thrown at her. But there were more, and ropes were flying from…

Chariots? One missed Pisces, and he began [Flash Stepping] away. He remembered the war in Pomle—and these were the same damn chariots! He saw Silk [Chariot Riders], whooping as they shot forwards. Carrying the flags of Nerrhavia’s Fallen and shouting…

“All will put down their blades! In the name of Queen Yisame—you are all under the authority of the crown! Do not resist, Torreb’s Daughter, Horns of Hammerad!”

They tried to net Itkisa again, but she swung her club and sent the nets flying. However, she did halt as more drew flaming arrows and aimed at her. They were trying to net Colth as well—he was dodging back towards the carriage. The lead [Rider] screamed.

“Her Majesty’s wrath on any adventurer who fights us! You are to be escorted back to the capital—now! Cease fighting, all of you! Where are…?”

Itkisa had lowered her club, though she kept tearing nets off her. She was sighing, and the chariot riders were circling the adventurers.

Nets. They didn’t look like much but when they landed on her, Itkisa growled, and had to rip at the bright, colorful threads. She heaved—and nearly ripped her own skin off as she cursed.

“What the—”

They were tough! Little stones made of jade carved with runes were attached to the nets to weigh them down, and each one was sewn out of some kind of magical thread. Tearing one apart took a lot of her strength, and she wasn’t the only one.

Colth had slashed two in midair only to find his blades barely cut the thread as well. And when you were caught—

“Hells, it’s anti-magic!”

Ceria was trying to cast a spell, but she was covered partially by two, and she wasn’t able to even cast [Ice Spike]. She was wriggling, though, trying to get out from under—

“By Nerrhavia’s Fallen, you will obey! Hoist the Banner of the Dark Queen!”

The charioteers saw the three Gold-rankers bristling, and one of them unfurled something. A black standard caught the air, and Itkisa gazed up—

A flash of darkness fell over the world. A fell wind blew; the carrion-eaters were pecking at the dead. A fortress loomed, and from it, bones littered the ground. Itkisa felt her chest heaving with panic. She stumbled back—

Fell to a knee—

The woman blinked and pushed herself up. This time, the effort cracked the earth, and not from the weight of more nets. The standard blowing in the wind was physical force. It flattened everything around the charioteers, who were immune. She rasped.

“That’s the standard of the Immortal Tyrant!”

She recognized it. Her father had told her about this when he had inspired her with tales of adventure. One of the proscribed relics of the old era. It had utterly flattened Ceria Springwalker; the half-Elf was lying spread-eagled on the ground, trying to breathe. Itkisa could stand only because of her strength. And Colthei…

He had been crawling towards the carriage with Yvlon Byres in it, but the [Charioteers] had already secured it. One had swung a spear, delicately, and sheared the door clean off. It was screaming about ‘property damage to Wistram’ as they emerged, carrying the Silver Killer, who was still unconscious.

That spear cut Wistram’s magic like it was butter. Itkisa had watched Archmage Valeterisa duelling Archmage Amerys, and the Drake [Spearmaster]’s weapon that Amerys had shattered was not so fine.

This was a full Nerrhavia’s Fallen Silk detachment. Wealth beyond measure. All for the Horns? She gritted her teeth, but then raised her hand as well. There was no mistaking that standard.

Colth had put up his hands as well, scowling. The duo who had gotten to the carriage shouted at their leader.

“We have the Silver Killer! She’s asleep!”

That was a huge relief; the Stitch-woman in charge wiped her forehead. Unpredictable adventurers…she counted.

“That leaves the Ice Squirrel and Scourge. Damn, they’ve vanished. [See Invisibility]!”

She raised a feathered mask shaped like an owl to her face that she’d brought for just this purpose and peered around. It took a second before she saw a crouching half-Elf trying to scuttle into the Mad Ones’ camp.

“There!”

Ceria reappeared and swore before half a dozen nets hit her. The chariot leader rubbed at her neck; it had been a long ride in the damn heat for this.

“Horns of Hammerad, Adventurer Itkisa, we are on the Queen’s mission! Do not resist, I ask it in sanity’s name. Who else? Do we pick up Wildcard?”

She consulted her list. The [Queen]’s words had been to return the Horns and any adventurer team brawling with them. The other Gold-rank team wasn’t here, so the [Chariot Leader] decided to leave them off the list. A subordinate riding in her chariot leaned over as they aimed a flaming arrow at Itkisa.

“What of the Heromakers with the Horns?”

“Bah. They’ll follow as their kind does. Alright…where’s the Scourge?”

She’d been searching around for Pisces, and a few of the other chariots had produced their own anti-invisibility artifacts. Your casual [Invisibility] spell did not work on the Chariots of Tussah, who were an all-Silk group that had more gold than one could dream of.

Not that they wanted to tangle with the Horns or Torreb’s daughter. The [Chariot Leader] was hoping the Scourge of Roshal didn’t know about her family’s [Slaves]—surely, he was a reasonable man and less prone to violence than the Silver Killer, who ate ears like one ate dates?

He was still a Gold-rank adventurer, and they numbered over two hundred across fifty chariots. No ordinary team could face that many, and no [Mage] escaped their eyes.

…So where was he? The woman peered around, then snapped.

“He can’t have gone far. Anti-illusion magic. Is this artifact dead?”

The chariots split up, circling the area. Some Stitch-folk even leapt down to search on the ground. They would have entered the Mad Ones’ camp, but the insane lot appeared, and they were armed—the remaining Horns and Itkisa were shepherded towards the magical carriage. Then Itkisa was given a separate one for fear of violence.

After twenty minutes, the charioteers were stumped. And the adventurers were getting more antsy, as were the Mad Ones. Fearful of more violence, they decided to head back towards the capital. But the irate [Queen]’s representatives echoed the same question the charioteers were asking themselves.

How did you manage to lose one of the Horns of Hammerad? Everyone knew Adventurer Pisces could cast lower-level illusions and [Invisibility], so the Chariots of Tussah had brought plenty of artifacts to locate him. But he was—gone.

Did he know a magic unknown to them? The Mad Ones swore they were not harboring him. The embarrassed [Chariot Leader] rode back the long road to Nerrhavia’s Fallen capital, sweating and cursing adventurers in general. All this for the Queen’s favorites. Well, she did get an autograph from the Ice Squirrel, which cheered her up. But she wondered where Adventurer Pisces had gone.

Author’s Note:

I have been defeated. Routed. Demolished in the marketplace of ideas. I did an AMA for r/Fantasy to celebrate the book launch the other day, and I didn’t answer all the questions.

To be precise, I apparently answered 494 over the course of eleven hours, with breaks. I tried, but they kept coming. Turns out bigger subreddits and more people asking questions has defeated my winning streak. Now it’s 2-1.

Anyways, if you’d like to check them out there were some lore questions! I’ve gotten better at answering AMAs, so I didn’t reply with ‘read and find out’ most of the time. But all of this was to celebrate the book launch and…

It’s here. People have been posting images of them getting the book or for the book bingo—you know there’s another bingo game we’re playing, right? It’s amazing to see in stores, and I went out myself to see one; there it was, next to a book from Ursula Le Guin. I saw Dungeon Crawler Carl and other web serials next to books like Terry Pratchett, and it was an amazing experience.

I will write a blog post with more thoughts, but thank you for being part of the journey, and if you want to help, asking a library to stock the book or leaving a review is very helpful! I am tired, though. Very tired; I fell asleep six hours early the other day. Probably from all that AMA writing and book signing.

So this chapter is ‘short’—it’s the target length I used to try for years ago. I’ll keep chapters shorter, with apologies, because I am both tired and I’ve run down my backlog to zero for the book launch. But I’m gonna continue to write. I’ll just take a second now and then to crack open The Wandering Inn and see if I’ve forgotten anything. Thanks for reading,

—pirateaba

PS: Today we are just featuring art that was tagged on social media! As well as an amazing creation by SpookyOwl, a reader who made a terrarium of The Wandering Inn! Look at the tiny figures and give them a like!

The Wandering Inn Terrarium by SpookyOwl!

Terrarium Showcase: https://bsky.app/profile/spookyowl.bsky.social/post/3msu3apgpyk2a

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