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It was crass, but he had the class.

You would never know his name; he was just a man who lived in a city of important people that theoretically included himself. But he had never aspired to, well, anything.

He was a Terland, but if you heard ‘Lord Xitegen’ or ‘Ulva and Petra Terland’, the famous [Twin Virtues of House Terland], or even ‘That Lord/Lady Who Definitely Has Sex With Golems’—you were barking up the wrong tree.

His name was Molen Terland, and he was a [Lord] whose passions in life included eating, visiting brothels in First Landing, having a drink with what associates he had, and visiting the Adventure Rooms. But not in any excess like Lord Calidus, that legend of debauchery.

Molen had a liver problem; his [Healer] told him to drink less and maybe go for walks more. He couldn’t drink a [Sailor] under the table and would be rather dismayed at the lowborn company. He was a man who remembered the Goblin King, who could not? But he would never claim he had fought or wanted more such events in his lifetime.

He was…well, a Level 8 [Lord]. And thirty-nine years old. He didn’t even level as a [Lord] like his peers due to their obsessions with Golems. He thought they were helpful, and, uh…that was it. Gold came in monthly, and he spent it in First Landing. Occasionally voted on lesser measures if someone pestered him about it.

Molen Terland had a new class this year. It was Level 23. One of the fastest levelling speeds for a noble in recorded history; he hadn’t told Great Aunt Ulva about it. He was afraid of what she might say. This man who had no passions, even for his hobbies in life, shot out of his bed where he’d been flirting with some brie cheese and juice for breakfast. He, who did not go on healthy walks, ran.

He ran, and the [Servants] whirled in alarm as he shouted—he, who hadn’t raised his voice for love or rage in two decades.

“The television! Get me a [Message] scroll and—”

He flung himself into the room where a gigantic scrying mirror had been installed. The [Avid Watcher], Level 23, felt his Skill pulsing in his head like a [Dangersense]. All alarms blaring.

[Television: Sense Entertainment]. It was calibrated to what made the man happy. So not news like the King of Destruction winning another battle, but it went off if he should see the newest ring-match in Pomle or he was missing a really good Drassi segment.

Now, it howled. And he howled as he wrote furiously.

(User ‘Molen’ has entered the group chat — “Viewers of Wistram News Network, Group Chat”. 114 Users present. Please be advised this is an experimental feature and subject to delays or interruptions in service.)

Slimy_Snark: I’m just writing the facts. Sir Relz is right, it’s disgusting.

Mattiah Reinluc: Your name, sir, is as objectionable as your dialogue. I wish once again to complain to the [Mages] overseeing this affair for gross speciesism. As well as your name, which I believe is not your true one.

Molen: Something’s happening! I can sense it!

Slimy_Snark: Oh hey, Molen. What’s happening?

Molen: I can sense it with my Skill! Which channel?

He was flipping between them nonstop, desperate to see…but none of them were the right ones. The chat, who knew Molen by name and was more familiar to him than most of his family—despite this chat having only existed for about two months—was intrigued. Many had a [Watcher] or [Viewer] class, and they knew he was high-level…for this group.

Molen: Is it not on the news? It’s like when I saw the war in Pomle, or the battle at sea. But far, far greater.

Slimy_Snark: Oh dead gods, another disaster?

Gardener V: Is it the inn? Some tragedy? Another Goblin King?

Slimy_Snark: Wrongwrongwrong. Didn’t happen, all a hoax.

Wistram Magus (Admin): Please keep conversations about ‘Goblin King’ phenomena or the moons out of this channel, Gardener V. You have been issued a warning (1 of 3 for today). Wistram does not verify any claims of Goblin Kings or such matters, and messaging about recent events involving Goblins has been relegated to “Wartime Discussions — Group Chat, 17+ ages only” for users’ sensibilities.

Molen: I don’t…think so. It wouldn’t trigger my Skill otherwise.

Gardener V: I apologize, so it’s not anything on the news right now?

Mattiah Reinluc: I have been observing the news all morning. Nothing is happening on any channel, sir. Is this another ‘prank’? I find it not amusing.

Molen: I swear it’s not. Someone check, please?

Silence. But his actions, inadvertently or not, caused the bored [Mage] overseeing the chatroom to sit up at their own desk in Wistram Academy. The young [Magus] sipped at a cup of coffee, then turned.

“[Diviner] Eileen? Is there an event going on on the other news channels that we might not be picking up? Someone with a Skill claims something is going on.”

The [Diviner] wasn’t exactly having a thrilling time coordinating the news channels. But she glanced at the words on the scroll, shrugged, and waved her wand.

“We have scrying orbs monitoring the other news channels. I didn’t see anything, and there’s someone from Channel 1 News who does that nonstop. I can ask them.”

She sent a [Message] off as she flicked through other continents’ channels with her wand. She tapped the orb in front of them, and they saw Terandrian ballroom dancing, a battle against monsters in the Dyed Lands…

“Oh, that’s nasty. Is that…?”

“No, it sounds bigger. What about Chandrar? The seas? Rhir?”

Chandrar merely revealed Wonders of Nerrhavia doing a showcase on Djinni building a city. The [Diviner] shrugged as she cycled the news channels one more time. She had just tapped on ‘Wonders of Nerrhavia’ when the broadcast shifted. The [News Anchor] at the desk stopped monologuing from their script.

“Exalted viewers, I apologize for the—what? What? The Silver Killer has just leapt into the Coliseum of Monarchs! She’s killing everything? Do we have a—”

The Silver Killer? The [Diviner] and [Message Mage] exchanged one look, and then they recognized that name. The Horns of Hammerad. WNN had done a little news piece on Channel 1 News yesterday showing her smacking into the barrier spell like a bug. It had been part of an ‘amusing scenes’ compilat—

The [News Anchor] had leapt to her feet.

“I’m twenty-five minutes away from the Coliseum! I can see it out my window—what do you mean alone?”

She whirled as an image flashed onto screen. It was Yvlon Byres, a recording from the Coliseum of Monarchs, which of course had full broadcasting on scrying orbs under Manager Bnirm. Someone had helpfully begun with the moment the match had been about to start.

“Jurdic. Get me Sir Relz or Drassi right now. I’m overriding the broadcast with Wonders of Nerrhavia until we can get our own feed.”

The [Diviner] made an immediate judgement call. The apprentice scrambled for a [Message] spell as Molen’s scrying orb lit up and an unfamiliar channel began to play. He gasped and saw her.

Yvlon Byres, the Silver Killer of Izril. The video was on a delay, so it began with her accepting a speaking stone and peering down into the Coliseum of Monarchs. He knew her, of course.

The Horns of Hammerad. One of his favorite teams…ever. The [Lord] leaned forwards, breathless, as his chat-scroll lit up with messages proclaiming he was right.

Slimy_Snark: Oh shit, it’s her. The rabid metal dog of Izril!

Gardener V: Yvlon! I have to tell my husband and everyone else!

Mattiah Reinluc: Once again, Slimy_Snark displays his or her animosity towards Humans and blatant speciesism.

Ciminec, [Trader]: I’m telling everyone on the street! This is huge! Wait, what is she doing? Didn’t she hit the barriers yesterday?

LoveHeer: Step on my face metal queen.

Gardener V: What.

Molen: She’s going to fight. Where’s Drassi and Sir Relz? Why aren’t they covering this?

Slimy_Snark: Don’t be stupid. There are dozens of [Gladiators], and that Champion of Monarchs is higher-level than she is. There’s probably hundreds of [Guards]. Even she’s not that dumb.

Molen was too busy watching to write how stupid Slimy_Snark was. He sensed the [Servants] watching, and someone ran out to spread the news to his friends in First Landing. And he’d called it! He wondered if everyone was watching. Surely…who wouldn’t?

——

Lord Yitton Byres was sitting at a meeting of the Bloodhunters of Izril somewhat stiffly and uncomfortably. It was an odd mix of commonfolk and nobles, and they were rather intense.

House Byres was providing arms and ammunition at a slight discount to its best clients who ate up all it could manufacture, and as such, they had very close relations. Close enough for Lord Yitton to be in almost daily contact with his associates and lend them space on House Byres land to operate. They paid exceptionally well, and he believed in their cause. But the coin was important. Especially since all the funds needed to rebuild House Byres and hire guards against future sabotage would not come cheap.

Things were going well despite all the terrible attacks on his House. His relationship with Emperor Laken? Strained. But the [Emperor] who was so reasonable in many ways had blindspots when it came to Goblins and this.

If Yvlon did what was reasonable and Ylawes’ expedition went well…Lord Yitton was coughing.

“I believe those are Lord Llendal’s lands. If any hunting were taking place, the [Lord] might object.”

Everyone at the round table turned to him, and he shifted uncomfortably. Lord Yitton kept bringing up nobles or cities whose lands were private as the Bloodhunters discussed pursuing their foes. He felt this was necessary, but it was an uncomfortable position to be in.

“Surely he wouldn’t object if we requested permission. What does he have to hide?”

A [Knight] glowered and got a chorus of agreement. Delanay d’Artien smoothly interjected.

“What Lord Byres means is that we should send a message to avoid more incidents.”

“Of course then.”

Yitton sat back and was relieved by Delanay’s nod. Another village then. The last few hunts had been—bloody. But no one was discussing the possibility they’d made mistakes; they had Skills.

Even so, that many Vampires killed…there were more than he’d thought. Far, far more. And history told him how dangerous this scourge was, but he had sensed discomfort in some of his peers who’d written him to ask about his knowledge of the threat. If you didn’t know they were bloodsucking monsters, it seemed like ordinary civilians were being cut down.

A terrible misconception that had to be dispelled. Though Lord Yitton was firm: House Byres was aiding the Bloodhunters in material and some [Armsmen], but it was concerned with the production of Silversteel armaments which were being bought up. He felt this was the best position to take.

The [Lord] was hesitating over the map and about to bring up the question of budgets again—the Bloodhunters were financed by several private donor groups and House d’Artien—but they had ordered more weapons. He was happy to take their gold—if they had enough. The issue of enough arms and people to hold them had made Delanay turn to Terandria, but if they wanted bases and more than this roving force…

He was saved from having an emotional back-and-forth with the passionate group at the table when Shallel interrupted the gathering.

“Yitton. I hate to interrupt, but the news…”

“Yes, Shallel? I apologize, all.”

He rose, and she wore a familiar expression of dismay and concern. His heart tightened before she spoke.

“It’s Yvlon. She’s on the news. A [Lady] from First Landing I know told me…”

“Yvlon? What has she done now?”

He’d heard of some kind of incident in Nerrhavia’s Fallen, but she was a Gold-rank adventurer. Ylawes was far more controlled than Yvlon, but her fame had led to plenty of people recognizing his House’s name recently. Even if she hadn’t written a reply to his letters…was she not getting them?

Shallel had a scrying orb from Wistram in her hands. Delanay half-turned in his seat as even the Bloodhunters stirred.

“The Silver Killer, Lord Byres? Your daughter would be an ideal ally here. What does Chandrar have to offer her team besides dust and war?”

There was a laugh as one of the Order of Clairei Fields jested. Yitton hadn’t actually tendered their offer to Yvlon yet—he hesitated, but showed the scrying orb around.

“Some adventure, I trust. Or an altercation caught on scrying orb. There seems to be too many of them. They can capture one in a bad light.”

Oh, of course. The Bloodhunters didn’t like them being so common either. As for her nickname…Yitton frowned as he peered at the scrying orb.

Silver Killer was entirely unbefitting of Yvlon. He’d thought it was just a passing nickname, and she’d sworn it was a mistake. He was explaining that to the table as he stared at Yvlon. She was in some kind of coliseum…and there were Stitch-folk everywhere. Such a surreal thing to see so many non-Humans about. Everything, from their skin tones to the very material this coliseum was made of, was foreign and exotic to Yitton. But what was she doing…?

Nothing that would disgrace House Byres, he was sure. His eyes widened as Yvlon Byres leapt and crashed through a barrier of magic. When she landed, his eyes found a metal face appearing out of a cloud of dust.

“Yvlon?”

Shallel was watching too as the Bloodhunters sat up. Yitton Byres remembered his well-mannered daughter, Ylawes’ little shadow, standing politely to attention and speaking with her good graces—

A screaming woman with a face of silver charged out of the sand. Two blades for arms. She leapt on a [Gladiator] who fled her, yelling, and chopped down. Then spun, blood coating her—

“Yvlon?”

She was laughing. Lord Yitton Byres’ eyes widened, and he sat like he’d been turned to stone. Where had his good daughter gone? He saw a stranger on the scrying orb.

A woman of metal, savage and undisciplined. Had she forgotten who she was?

——

It was news spreading across the world. As ever. The King of Destruction didn’t halt his armies for the Horns of Hammerad at first.

“Bah. I’m getting tired of competing with a Gold-rank team for attention! What could she possibly be doing that matters more than a siege of one of Nerrhavia Fallen’s fortresses?”

He shouted as he held a shield up, watching the ladders rising across one of the towers that his people were besieging. After a few seconds, Flos Reimarch rubbed at his face with his free hand.

“…Show me the scrying orb. Fate would laugh at my words.”

He took one look at the scrying orb, then he grinned. The King of Destruction glanced at the fortress under siege, and his eyes found a figure on the walls dismantling the garrison as they tried to hold her back.

“Oho. Someone fetch me Mars.”

——

The Wild Wastes Tribe was one of the last groups to notice. Mostly because they didn’t have many scrying orbs and were already on the move during the morning. They were loping along when one of the [Shamans] howled. Honored Berr and his [Berserkers] at the head of the group didn’t even glance back—until a Gnoll raced over.

“Berr! Honored Berr! Your disciple is on the news!”

When Berr the Berserker turned and saw a familiar woman on the scrying orb, he did not freeze, curse, or grow excited.

He merely smiled and raised a paw.

“We halt then!”

Chieftain Perale would have objected, but he knew the old [Berserker]’s ways. In a trice, Berr had flopped down, and the Gnolls around him did likewise. They broke out food and blankets, and he called for a drink. His disciples, [Beserkers] and [Barbarians] and [Warriors] all, gathered around. Berr ordered them to gather closer to the scrying orb they sat in a circle around, crowding and pushing to see.

“Come and see, you young ones! Nerrhavia’s Fallen, hrm? Let’s see what my cute little disciple is up to now. She’s keeping her temper.”

He nodded, pleased, as the image of Yvlon Byres appeared on-screen, charging across the coliseum floor. Arrows were flying down around her, and she leapt at another [Gladiator], who backed up, whirling two blades, and whose face suggested he had come face-to-face with a ravening bear.

One of the younger Gnolls tilted his head and hesitated.

“…She’s attacking an entire coliseum, Berr.”

“Ah, but very deliberately. You can tell she hasn’t activated her Skill yet.”

An arm flew past the scrying orb, and it zoomed out to show panicked [Guards] racing around from above, streaming into the ground floor where it seemed Manager Bnirm was unleashing everything to try and slow her down. Monsters, [Gladiators], and the security. Berr nodded, arms folded, pleased.

“Oh, and the noisy Drake is on the scrying orb.”

He saw the image shift, and Sir Relz and Drassi were fighting.

“This is Sir Relz, breaking news—”

“This is my segment! My friends, my team! Drassi, Channel 2 news—”

They shoved at each other as Berr chuckled. Then he had an idea.

“Is there a Drake city nearby with [Mages]? Someone run to one and find out. We should…hrm, what’s the word? Advertise, yes? Tell them she is Berr the Berserker’s apprentice.”

He pointed at the scrying orb as more blood flew. Chieftain Perale opened his mouth.

“Is that the best advertisement the Wild Wastes tribe needs or wants, Berr?”

The Gnoll gave Perale an innocent expression as he glanced at the scrying orb.

“It seems very honest to me, yes?”

He was relaxed, but Chieftain Perale leaned over and whispered as he saw how many warriors were fighting the one lone woman. A few [Gladiators] had taken her side, but arrows were landing about her, bouncing off her metal skin, and he saw magic licking downwards in a plume of flames.

The woman with her metal skin was ignoring it all, but such Skills would not last forever, Perale knew.

“Will she be okay, Berr? Against so many? She is not your level.”

“No. And I would not take on so many alone and come out unscathed. Or even live, necessarily. Dodging is hard, yes?”

“Then—”

Perale grew worried, for the Horns were friends of the Gnolls. But Berr just rested his chin on one paw, watching with calm eyes.

“She is a very delightful child I wish I could have raised longer. Angry…all my disciples are. But no fool. She has a plan, I hope. If not, I have taught her wrong. We watch.”

His eyes followed Yvlon Byres as the [Aspect of Silver] vanished. And then she was ‘merely’ a woman with blood on her cheeks, helmetless, as she charged at a group of [Guards] with her arms exploding into deadly pincushions of metal. Berr added softly.

“Besides. She is with her team. She does not fight alone.”

——

Ceria Springwalker and Colthei didn’t know where Yvlon was. Oh, they suspected, but they didn’t know until they were halfway out of the palace and heard the roar of sound from the Coliseum.

“Oh dead gods. Did she try and take Bnirm hostage or something?”

Colth paled. He’d thought Yvlon had been acting wild of late—well, she’d nearly attacked King Perric of Medain, but that was understandable given the man himself. Manager Bnirm was no easier to stomach, but this was beyond crazy. She hadn’t even told them!

Because they would have stopped her, obviously. Ceria just cast an [Ice Floor] spell and began sliding down the steps. Colth followed her as she shot down—her eyes were fixed on the distant coliseum.

“We’re going in.”

“If she’s started something, I’m going to kill—”

“Colth, shut up and get ready. We’re going in cold.”

She shouted at him, and he realized she was taking this as seriously as he was. Ceria drew her wand. Then cursed.

There were vast crowds around the Coliseum of Monarchs. People going in—as well as some fleeing? They clogged the many entrances.

“We need a route in now. She’s going to be killed if she’s up against that Champion of Monarchs! Why didn’t she…? She’s not crazy. So what am I missing?”

She leapt off the [Ice Floor] spell as Colth ran past her, trying to use his Skills to spot an entrance. But the entire damn arena was packed; Stitch-folk knew what was happening and he saw [Mages] from Wistram pushing to try and get in. Then Colth passed by a [Bard] who was scratching at his head, appearing ruefully amused.

“So that’s what she meant. The price of a seat.”

Barelle the Bard glanced up as Colth stumbled. Ceria spotted the [Bard] and skidded to a stop.

“Hey, you’re that guy.”

“Captain Springwalker. Colthei. If you’re trying to get in, the scrum is virtually impenetrable. My Skills don’t work if the audience is this packed, and I am loath to play my harp to get people out of the way.”

He nodded to them and gestured at the coliseum. Colth bared his teeth desperately.

“Sir Barelle! Would you care to join us for a little affray? We could use some backup—”

Especially if what I think is going on in there is happening. How the hell did she bypass the barriers? If she didn’t, we have hostages below. Wait, her [Aspect of Silver] is a magic-killer. Would she even survive impact with that tier of spell?

Barelle lifted a hand, eyes flickering as he turned to Ceria.

“Excuse me, but I must decline. I am just an observer.”

“Fine, great. Then get out of our way, old man—Colth, get me an entrance or I’m firing [Ice Lances] through the least-crowded entrance.”

That was a blood-chilling statement. Colth turned to Ceria and feared she was serious. Her eyes were glowing. She knew…Barelle’s eyes fixed on Ceria as his own expression turned cold. Colth’s head whirled around.

[Supporter] Skills…he borrowed from a [Problem Solver] he’d once met.

[Speculation: Logical Analysis]! How did they enter the Coliseum of Monarchs? His mind presented a few options.

Sewers. Too slow. Possibly warded.

Crowd control at the gates? So many bodies. Perhaps a [Fear] Skill or Ceria could [Ice Floor] them, but he bet the sheer press of bodies was damned annoying.

Teleportation wouldn’t work into this area…his eyes flickered.

“The walls. We could go over the walls.”

Ceria’s head rose as she inspected the tall walls of the Coliseum of Monarchs. She grunted as she eyed the people fighting to get in or out.

“We don’t jump like Ksmvr. I could probably use [Ice Wall] to create ledges, but—”

“I have jumping Skills. Don’t kill anyone.”

Grimly, Ceria pointed, and a wall of ice shot out horizontally from the side of the coliseum. The beige, weathered stone was occupied by frozen ice that created a platform ten feet off the ground. Another one shot out, twenty feet up—steps for a half-Giant to climb. As she cast, Colth glanced around.

Maybe I could make a ladder for her. He wished she just knew [Levitation]; he might have the ability to jump with her in his arms, but his Skills weren’t unlimited.

A solution came to him as he saw someone running their way. A familiar Fox Beastkin girl he’d identified from yesterday…

“Zirre, yes?”

“Yes! My sister’s in there! Wh-what’s going on? They said the Horns of Hammerad were in the coliseum, but you’re out here?”

She held up a hand as Ceria pointed a glowing finger at her; when Ceria realized who it was, the half-Elf blinked.

“You’re that fox-kid that Yvlon saved, right? We need a way in. Wait…don’t you know gravity magic?”

“Me? Yes, a bit—”

Ceria’s eyes lit up.

“Excellent. Start casting. We’re going up and over!”

She pointed, and Zirre whirled, confused, then gasped.

“Up that? Are you crazy?”

“We’re the sane ones in our team. Cast or just show me how and I’ll copy the spell!”

Ceria snapped at her. Zirre only hesitated a moment, then began to cast.

“[Reduce Gravity]—!”

The three ran for the first platform as people outside turned and saw the two Horns of Hammerad leap up into the air. Ceria landed on the ice and nearly slipped; Colth used [Anchor Boots] and caught her.

“Don’t fall.”

“Damn ice. Alright, go—”

A second leap carried them higher as people tried to climb onto the platform below. It shattered into pieces as Ceria pointed down, and Zirre squeaked as they landed twenty feet up. Then jumped. Thirty…

Agonizingly slow. Colth heard the screams from within but knew it had only been minutes. Enough time for a lot of combat—he glanced down and saw something watching them.

——

Barelle the Bard had captured the entire, desperate interplay of ideas and problem-solving by Yvlon’s teammates. As he watched the trio jump higher, the [Bard] mused to himself.

“They are no doubt adventurers. But how does one make a song about this?”

If you had to do it, it would have to be a ballad encompassing more than this moment. Which required the full story. He frowned, took a step—

—Appeared next to Cognita Truestone in the empty seats, and took in the scene inside the Coliseum of Monarchs. She turned; she had a bucket of popcorn in her hands.

“You are late, Barelle.”

The [Bard] glanced around and raised his brows at her. He’d lied to Colthei; it was just not expedient for him to enter the fighting. This was their adventure. They didn’t need his help. The [Bard] touched the harp at his back as his other hand flicked out his journal, and he made grudging notes.

“Merely admiring youth, Cognita. The other Horns are on their way. Did she smash through the coliseum’s barriers? All of them?”

“Something close to that, yes.”

The Truestone Golem’s eyes were unsurprised by any of this; she had to understand and be processing this battle at speeds he could not comprehend. Yet her eyes found the woman in the center of the arena.

Barelle glanced at [Archers] lining up on the balconies, drawing a bead on Yvlon. He had seen this too. His hand twitched towards his sword, and Cognita put a hand on his stomach as he unconsciously began to rise.

“Cognita—”

“She made me a bet. We will watch.”

The Truestone Golem saw Barelle waver, then sit, aware of how easy it would still be for him to move. Cognita added after a moment.

“Besides. You are not in possession of all of the facts.”

She glanced at a scrying spell as it passed over the Coliseum of Monarchs. It began to focus on her, and because it annoyed her, she dispelled it. Her eyes gazed into the [Scrying] spell and saw a hundred thousand outlets.

Ylawes Byres could not see his sister, trapped in the New Lands as he was. But her family was watching.

All of them.

——

A few moments before Yvlon Byres stormed the coliseum and got on the news, Ysara Byres had been arguing with Qwera.

The Silver Merchant and the Golden Gnoll, two successful businesswomen with a rather metallic theme. They’d known each other before recent events of course, but their association with the inn and Mrsha had thrown them together.

Given their shared interests and the unpredictable state of the world, it was almost inevitable what had happened next. The oldest Byres daughter and the secret Doombearer were sitting in a room in an inn that Qwera had rented.

Ysara was more used to caravan life, but Qwera liked her amenities. She was more of a big-city performer with her entire network; Ysara was still a one-caravan woman who did riskier, more remote deliveries like the Bloodfields run. She knew alchemy and weapons; Qwera did more general and entertainment goods.

Right now, they were sitting around a contract on the table and brainstorming. Qwera put a copy of a list before Ysara.

“I had a few [Trendsetters] and experts come up with some names for us. I even paid for a Hraacian consultation. So—the best name I found was Heartmetal Industries. What, you don’t like it?”

Ysara had pulled a face. She was no stranger to odd bedfellows—it was one of the reasons why she never went home. But this was a business proposition, not romance or desperation.

“It sounds like we’re smithing metals. I’m all for combining the names, but why that?”

The Golden Gnoll consulted her list.

“According to the expert, it’s symbolism. ‘Heartmetal’ denotes a fantastical magical metal, and ‘industries’ sounds weird, but it’ll signal to certain groups we’re advanced. Modern.”

“Oh, all the ones chasing children around. I still don’t like it. Let’s be more honest. What’s wrong with Silvergold Enterprise?”

That was on the list, and Qwera shuddered.

“It’s so boring. Moon Aurum Caravans?”

“I get ‘Aurum’, but silver doesn’t equate to the moon. How about ‘Mystic Metal Caravans’?”

“I’m not advertising us like [Traders]. We’re combining our businesses for bigger things, Ysara. You can be the woman who runs about, but I’m buying property and warehouses.”

The Gnoll woman was waggling a claw at Ysara, and the Human [Merchant] was rubbing at her brows. They got along, and they didn’t need to be kissing-friends to make this work, but this might be the hardest battle they had to fight.

…Well, Ysara would fight it all day. It beat the things they couldn’t talk about because it hurt Qwera too much. Like Tesy, or Vetn, who was still missing. The Golden Gnoll still glittered, but she looked thinner. She hadn’t been eating or sleeping well, and this argument was doing a bit for her.

Even so, it crept out. There was a moment as Qwera drew breath when her eyes flickered. Then she stared down at the list of names and spoke one not on the list.

“What about…‘Second Chances’? Everyone should have at least one of those. At least one.”

Ysara hesitated.

“Second Chance Caravans? It has a ring to it…”

Qwera didn’t respond, and Ysara bit her lip. Thus, she was relieved when the door burst open and one of Qwera’s helpers thrust a scrying orb into the room. Ysara sat up.

“Yvlon’s doing what?”

All thoughts of the company name were thrown out the window as Qwera brushed aside the papers, and Ysara saw her sister. Her eyes widened as she saw Yvlon fighting in the middle of a Chandrarian arena.

“Yvlon…”

She was bareheaded and running down Stitch-people. What was she doing? Qwera whistled.

“Your sister’s a Gold-rank adventurer to the marrow.”

“She’s doing it all wrong. No—even if she’s Gold-rank, she knows better than to do this!”

Ysara stood up in agitation, hand on her own sword hilt. Qwera raised her paws.

“Calm down, Ysara. We can’t do anything. I’m positive this recording’s on delay anyways. What’s wrong? She’s got them running scared.”

Ysara snapped back.

“For now—she doesn’t even have a helmet on! I don’t care if she’s Gold-rank, no one but a fool runs around without one.”

“She has that metal Skill—wait, it’s worn off.”

Qwera sat up, fur rising as she saw Yvlon was indeed a lone woman beset by all sides. Ysara’s hairs rose as well as she saw arrows sprouting from the sand in Yvlon’s wake. Fired from above.

Ysara had learned how to cut arrows in midair, but it wasn’t a trick she would have relied on in combat, even if she had a [Swordswoman] class. Even with armor on, Yvlon was courting madness.

Not least—there was a high-level [Warrior] there. The Champion of Monarchs moved like a master of some kind. His steps were too carrying, his footwork too fast. He flipped a spear up, hurled it, and it nearly hit Yvlon. Her head moved out of the way, and Ysara’s heart caught in her throat.

One millisecond’s hesitation and Yvlon would have lost her head. She kept chasing the Stitch-man as he retreated, but he was baiting her, easily able to outrun her on the sands.

He’s got her on movement Skills, he’s got throwing Skills, and he looks strong. What is she doing?

As if Yvlon sensed she wouldn’t catch him, she pivoted left, sprinting at a [Gladiator] and a group of [Guards] who’d emerged from some of the gates. Qwera winced as a censored blur obscured the brief combat a second too late.

“Dead gods. Mrsha talked about the Horns like they were friendly, silly adventurers. That’s your sister, Ysara? No wonder Mrsha turned out like she did.”

She’d torn apart the entire group so fast Ysara couldn’t believe it. The [Gladiator] had tried to ward her off with a trident; Yvlon’s metal arm had morphed into a swordcatcher’s blade, which had stretched out, blocking the trident. And her other arm had elongated and chopped until she was amidst them, arms swinging.

They might be alive since they were Stitch-folk, but there were arms and legs and blood on the ground as she ran on.

“We apologize for the blood, ladies and gentlemen—oh, Ancestors, are they dead?”

Sir Relz was commentating as Drassi spoke over him.

“They might be alive. Why is she doing this? Yvlon, duck!”

A [Fireball] touched down, and the smoke and dust cleared only to show Yvlon had escaped the blast. More spells falling. Ysara whispered.

“They have height on her. They’re completely encircling the arena, and reinforcements are coming in from all sides. She was trained better than this.”

They hadn’t studied military strategy, but anyone could see this was a killing field. Yvlon had seemed far, far more independent and freer when they’d met last, but this? Ysara’s hand was so tight on the hilt of her sword she was in danger of tearing her skin. Qwera glanced at her and then at the scrying orb with wariness.

She had lost one of her own loved ones recently. Tesy…she made to block the scrying orb, second-guessed herself, then sat tensely. The Golden Gnoll glanced around, as if trying to make the camera shift angles. She asked the question everyone else was thinking.

“Where is her team?”

——

Pisces wasn’t fighting. Those first eight minutes of chaos, he stood, [Invisible] to all. People rushed past him; [Guards] taking aim below, members of the crowd fleeing or trying to get better angles, and he…

Well, he wasn’t as ashamed as he might have been in ordinary circumstances. There Yvlon was, tearing through the ground floor of the Coliseum of Monarchs, and he wasn’t helping her.

He had good reasons why, of course. All very tactical, but it still made his stomach twist. Still. He was one [Necromancer], and he felt she had underestimated how many [Guards] the coliseum held.

To wrangle magical beasts or deal with [Gladiators] or unruly captives? There had to be hundreds, and Manager Bnirm was calling on all of them now.

He was, in fact, headed below, screaming orders into a speaking stone.

“Kill the Silver Killer! If she survives, I’ll have her imprisoned, but just stop her!”

He was furious. Nor was he worried about repercussions from the [Queen]; the [Manager] snarled at one of the anxious people around him when they mentioned Yisame’s name.

“Damn the [Queen] and her spoiled foreign pets! This is my coliseum! What is Lenxiol doing?”

“Avoiding her. He’s missed both spears—”

“He outlevels her! Put more [Archers] above and shoot her!”

In truth, Pisces hardly blamed the Stitch-man for choosing a ranged battle. Lenxiol seemed rather attached to his health, which Pisces could relate to. But mostly…it was Yvlon.

If she came at him, Pisces would run, even if he had three dozen Skeleton Champions in front of him. In close-combat, he wondered if even a Named-rank adventurer like Eldertuin would come out ahead. Once Yvlon grabbed you, she was both insanely strong, would never back down, and her arms were very…pokey.

Pisces strode after Bnirm as the man ran down the sloping hallways towards the ground floor. He was aware each passing moment left Yvlon alone, but again—

He could not act without thought. Indeed, Pisces had to keep his steps clear of a [Mage] who was holding a glowing wand aloft.

“Where’s the other one? The [Necromancer]?”

Bnirm asked as he panted, sweating; his physique was clearly all cloth. One of his bodyguard answered, glancing around.

“We don’t know, Manager. We saw the others the Silver Killer was with, but he vanished…”

“I have an [Invisibility Purge] spell at eighteen feet, Manager! And I have [See Invisibility]! If he is about, I will know!”

The [Mage] with the pulsing wand insisted. They cast around, and Pisces stepped behind one of the [Bodyguards] again. The [Mage] had helpfully repeated how far their [Invisibility Purge] spell’s radius was several times. And the thing about [See Invisibility] was that it only worked if your line of sight actually, well, saw said [Invisible] person. A [Flash Step] carried Pisces smoothly backwards around a corner before he saw the [Mage] glance ahead.

“Is she not dead yet?”

Bnirm asked as they reached the first floor, which let him stride out onto a balcony overlooking the fighting below. The screaming and shouting outside let Pisces hear the answer to that.

“Keep her away! Get back—she’s coming at—”

“Yvlon! Get to cover!”

“Someone call for reinforcements! Shoot her, you blind-as-bat fools!”

[Guards] screaming as a Level 45 [Silversteel Armsmistress] ran at them. Voices calling for the [Archers] above to hit her, but she was fighting at the edges of the coliseum, meaning half of the [Archers] had to lean over the railing to try and shoot her….

And help? A Stitch-man was fighting in a knot with a group of [Gladiators], taking out the coliseum’s defenders. Bnirm roared.

“That traitor, Mectail—! Is that Granith with them? Pethore? Romen? Kill all of them!”

That seemed the bridge too far for the Stitch-folk around him. One protested.

“Manager, they’re just standing with the Traitorous Three as they did in the past. None of them have killed—”

“All of them! Kill all of them or I will have you stripped of your stuffing and turned into Hemp! No one goes against my coliseum!”

It was rather disappointing. The Stitch-man was ranting and raving as he pointed down at the chaos below, and he had not said anything that revealed to Pisces a greater motivation for his actions other than pure, petty power.

The ‘Traitorous Three’ suffering for so long. The dead [Soldiers]. And the [Slaves] and criminal gladiators killed for what?

“Surely there is a reason.”

But no. Pisces remembered Hrome and that banal face of evil. He heard a muffled sound from a speaking stone, and a [Bodyguard] stirred.

“Manager, our [Sharpshooters] are in place. They beg forgiveness; one has a shot.”

“What are you waiting for? Kill her! Silver Killer, you have made your last mistake!”

Manager Bnirm’s voice rose; he had seized a speaking stone and amplified his voice into the Coliseum of Monarchs.

Pisces could not see outside or know that the scrying spells had focused on Bnirm. Or that Yvlon, aware of the danger, was sprinting for her friends. She swerved, dodging a third spear tossed by Lenxiol as a pair of black-clad figures took aim at her with bright, gold bows.

The [Necromancer] knew none of this. All he knew was that his blood ran cold when he heard the [Manager] speak and saw his teammate was in danger. His hesitation vanished.

Pisces drew his rapier and took the longest [Flash Step] of his life. Twenty-nine feet past the [Bodyguards]. His free hand reached out, and the tip of his fingers touched the robed back.

“[Dispel Magic].”

Manager Bnirm half-turned.

“Wh—”

Pisces’ blade flashed across the man’s neck. The [Necromancer] felt a shock of resistance against his sword’s hilt, but he swept the blade through the protection spells.

A spray of blood splashed one cheek, warm and sticky, and he flinched. Before the eyes of the horrified Coliseum of Monarchs, Manager Bnirm’s head left his body. It spun with the force of the slash, a surprised open mouth and suddenly-vacant eyes twisting in the air, before it dropped.

Then he was there. Pisces Jealnet appeared as the [Invisibility Purge] claimed his enchantment, and his free hand pointed at a [Bodyguard] frozen in horror.

[Deathbolt]. He fired the spell through their open mouth, pointed left and hit the [Mage] with the same spell, and ran through a third [Bodyguard] and kicked the woman off his blade. Then he turned and shouted down from the balcony.

“Yvlon! Watch out!”

The surprised [Armsmistress] dashing for the gates glanced up at him. Yvlon opened her mouth to respond.

“Pisces! Be c—”

A pair of arrows struck her in the neck and head before Pisces’ eyes.

She dropped without a word.

——

“…Yvlon?”

Ksmvr awoke from his dreams in the Synectic Maze for a moment, the colors flashing around him. He emerged to find himself bound in the wagon again, Vofea’s voice the only sane one in this maddening hall.

But his lucidity was not all his willpower. Not this time. It was something else. Someone else.

His…friend. His teammate. His gentle, kind, impulsive protector. Family, if he deserved such a word.

Yvlon. He often spoke of her. Often thought of her.

He missed her most of all. If that was a treasonous thought to like one member of his beloved team more than the others, it was true, and he would submit himself to punishment later.

He didn’t know what was going on with her. They were under anti-scrying spells and anti-[Message] spells, shielded for their own safety from pursuers and enemies. But he was a [Teammate]; she was never far from his mind. And down here…

Vofea heard his voice and came running.

“Ksmvr, you’re awake again. What was that about Yvlon? What about her, Ksmvr?”

The Antinium had a Skill. [Monitor Attribute (Health)]. It worked on all of his teammates, but he kept it on Yvlon most of the time. He mumbled as he twitched in his bindings.

The Antinium tried to trace the only link he had with her. As if he could see the line that connected him from Baleros to distant Chandrar. He had no idea what was going on. Just faith that she would find him or he her.

He was glad she wasn’t here, dying in this sea of colors. But it was not necessarily safer for her in Chandrar, he knew. And Pisces…Ksmvr’s voice trembled slightly as he responded to Vofea.

“She…it is not the same as when she was fighting the battle earlier.”

Against a terrible foe. This time…Ksmvr stared into the distance as Vofea tensed. The Satyr’s eyes followed his gaze as she tried to see through the mortal world as well. But all she could see were the colors swirling above them, the darkness.

“What? What, Ksmvr?”

The Antinium gazed at the measure of her life given to him by the system of levels. His voice was confused.

“I—she has had the barrier from her Ring of Barriers protecting her health at all times unless she takes the ring off. But now? She has a thousand times more overshielding on her health.”

He smiled weakly as Vofea blinked at him. The colors were dragging him back, but for a moment, the Antinium smiled, and the grey of his willpower hardened and shone with the relief in his voice.

“She must have found a super-Relic. It is very reassuring.”

——

The Silver Killer was down. She lay on her face in the sands as her friends screamed, and Mectail almost ran out to grab her—but they’d all seen the arrows. They’d hit her in the cheek and throat. She was dead.

Helmetless and headshot. A squad of [Guards] with spears, nets, and a healing potion were approaching her. One had a magical collar, and they bent over the fallen women. There was a chance she might be clinging to life. She was a high-level warrior.

The Champion of Monarchs hadn’t moved from his spot, spear raised uncertainly. He seemed confused, as if he’d expected more from his foes. He was glancing around for Pisces, but the [Necromancer] had vanished.

Which was a pity; Yvlon had hoped Lenxiol would come over to gloat like he had for Vitte. She waited until one of the [Guards] rolled her over with the potion and collar in hand. His eyes fixed on her unblemished throat and cheek, and she saw the Stitch-man’s eyes go round as he perceived what no one else had.

The faint blue shimmer over her skin. Rippling from where he touched her. Rather like the Coliseum of Monarch’s own barrier spells. And, as her hand rose and spikes of metal exploded outwards—

The glowing ring of scaled shields on her finger.

The Silver Killer rose in another storm of blood as the screaming turned to gasps and silence. The Champion of Monarchs jerked, and she smiled.

Just as planned.

She didn’t have a full, complex strategy in mind. Yvlon Byres’ plans had pretty much begun and ended at confirming her hypothesis. Which was, namely, that her Ring of Barriers had a function beyond the mere damage shield that had protected her until now.

Her punching the barrier spells yesterday had been the clue: Yvlon had not hit it that hard. Hard enough to mash her fist, but not enough to equal her Sword Art, surely. If you took the obvious of her doing that much damage away, then what was it?

Great Sage Etrikah and Pisces had proven what Yvlon had suspected. Her ring was the thing that could eat a barrier. No Gold-ranker’s ring, this. The adventurers who had slain the Putrid One had come armed with the best, and, she suspected, this had been how they’d broken into his sanctum to slay him, despite all his protections.

This was a Ring of Siphon Barriers. Or something more impressive-sounding. And right now?

Yvlon had all the power of the Coliseum of Monarchs’ barriers protecting her.

They didn’t understand, not at first. A second and third arrow struck Yvlon in the temple and a gap between cuirass and arm where only her underarmor protected her. They snapped before even hitting Stalker’s hide armor, and the pieces pinwheeled away. She’d actually been hit several times by arrows from the [Archers] above; they must have thought they’d missed.

“Pisces! Keep hidden!”

She roared up at the 1st floor balcony and charged across the sands again. Straight at Lenxiol, hoping he’d take—no, he used the spear like a vaulting pole and soared away. Yvlon cursed, then swerved left. Straight into more [Gladiators] who came at her.

“[Free Blow]!”

“[Spear Art: The Sandstorm of—]”

“[Poisoned Jab—]”

They were good. Even if she’d been weaving, Yvlon would have taken hits meant to slow and wound her. She’d known the risks, which was why she’d only dared this with the ring. But with it—

She ran straight into the enchanted spear, and the [Spearmaster]’s eyes went round as he saw his blows weren’t slowing h—

Her fist left a dent in his armor as Yvlon seized another fleeing [Gladiator]. Her hand turned into razor blades, and she ripped a stitched arm off. Fight. Fight—but she was still not raging.

This barrier wouldn’t last forever. She had no idea if it had a time limit or if the ring could contain all the magic it had absorbed. So she hurled the screaming [Gladiator] aside.

“Lenxiol! Face me!”

His reply was a spear that struck her shoulder and actually sent her staggering back a few steps; the impact was from the Skill. She brushed the deformed metal spear away and saw his eyes narrow.

Damn, he’s no fool. She spun on her heel; there had to be an end to these damn [Guards]! The archers on the second floor—she couldn’t reach them. But when she ran at the next group of [Guards], they began to flee. Take out the supporters and [Gladiators]. Then—

Yvlon had a moment’s warning before the angry Manticore leapt and knocked her flat. It bit her with its lion’s head, stinging repeatedly with the scorpion’s tail as the goat’s head baaahed encouragement. The monster bit and bit—and then developed a confused, worried expression as it realized it wasn’t actually biting this hard object that—

Yvlon’s arms exploded like a ball of needles in the lion’s mouth, and both heads shrieked in agony as it collapsed, pawing at its mouth. She kicked her way free, wiping drool clinging to her barriers, and saw the second Manticore from yesterday snarling at her.

“Monsters now. Right.”

Can’t take too many hits. She’d told Pisces to stay [Invisible]—he didn’t have her protections. Not that she’d really expected him to stay hidden. She heard a scream behind her as she advanced on the second Manticore.

“Undead! Undead in the—”

That reckless hero. Yvlon Byres grinned. And he called himself a coward. She had a magic ring.

He was just brave.

——

“You knew what that ring did.”

“I have seen its like before. The conclusion was natural, especially given the evidence.”

Cognita sampled a piece of popcorn as Barelle figured out what was allowing Yvlon Byres to walk away without injury. He shook his head ruefully.

“She fooled even her teammates. Myself, I thought she was merely claimed by a fury Skill.”

“Yes. Artificial women such as myself, and to some extent her, are often underestimated mentally.”

Barelle half-twisted. He’d never heard Cognita group herself with anyone else except her lost sisters. Not even other Golems. His head snapped back around as he realized she wasn’t just watching Yvlon.

There was more than one adventurer in the Horns of Hammerad that Cognita followed no matter how much she might deny it. Her eyes were locked on a seemingly-innocuous patch of air where [Mages] were gathered on the 2nd Floor balcony.

“They’re going to try and dispel or use [Barrier-Piercing Arrows] on her.”

“Yes. That is a predictable action. As is his. Nevertheless, I am slightly entertained. He reminds me of Archmage Chandler’s lessons in combat.”

Another astonishing statement. But when the [Necromancer] reappeared, Barelle saw it. What they seldom said of the Archmage of Death was that he had been daring. Not craven, hiding behind his undead, but a duelist.

He had never been good at armies, ironically. Barelle’s lips moved.

“Once again, a [Necromancer] draws his sword in morality’s name.”

——

“I’m sorry.”

He was ashamed for the sneak-attack, but the [Mages] were trying to lock down Yvlon. So he cut one arm off and then both legs before the leader had any idea what was going on. Kicked another off the balcony and slashed the third’s hand off as they whirled.

No barrier spells. They hadn’t thought anyone was going to threaten them. Pisces pointed his finger, which glowed with green magic.

“Don’t—”

He saw the magic flickering in the eyes of the fourth [Mage] and fired the [Deathbolt]. Saw the life drain out of the Stitch-woman’s eyes, and he stood over her as she fell.

Almost, Pisces bent down to check her pulse, but he knew she was dead. She must have been under Level 20. She should have…

Guilt. Followed by action as the [Mage] he’d delimbed started screaming. Pisces whirled; Bnirm’s [Bodyguards] and more of the staff were in the hallways, trying to find him.

“Close your stitching. Run or I’ll kill you.”

He spoke to the first [Mage], and the second raised her bloody stump of a hand.

“I—I—I—I—surrender! I swear it on Nerrhavia’s bones! Don’t kill me, Scourge!”

Who? Then Pisces remembered his nickname. He put one foot on the balcony’s ledge and gazed down.

They were still coming at Yvlon. Someone was ordering them about. He heard a voice from the speaking stone.

Lenxiol. The Champion of Monarchs had taken over.

“All [Warriors] will engage her below in squads of twenty! [Mages], dispel that damned ring! Those above—find her comrades. There was a Human—take her hostage!”

Elena! Pisces swore, but he saw more [Soldiers] moving below. Too many. They had nets; even if Yvlon was temporarily invincible, they were going to web her down and stab her until she was vulnerable.

No helping it. Pisces threw his bag of holding’s contents over the balcony. Then leapt after it, casting [Featherfall].

—He landed behind a group of [Soldiers] as they flinched. Strange objects were landing around them. What—one caught a fragment of bone falling and then saw the [Necromancer] dropping.

“The Scourge.”

One of them threw away their blade and held up their hands at once. The others drew back, as if he were more terrifying than Yvlon. What kind of stories were they telling about…?

The [Necromancer] raised his hand, and his voice boomed as he amplified it.

——

“Arise!”

The Scourge of Roshal lifted his hands, and his eyes flashed with green magic, and the dead rose. Bones clattering upwards, Skeleton Champions seizing worn blades.

Not just from the bones around him, but in the sands. Lenxiol leapt away as a half-rotted body of Hemp rose from where it had been buried by the sands. He cut it to pieces with a shortsword, cursing.

The Coliseum of Monarchs had seen endless death. It had disposed of many bodies, but how many fragments of bone and bodies had been missed…?

“Undead! Undead in the arena!”

Panicked voices rose as the audience gasped and screamed, but these were Stitch-folk watching a famous [Necromancer]. Not Izrilians or Terandrians who would have fainted. The [Necromancer] was dueling the [Guards] that still fought—then surrendered as his Skeleton Champions cleaved through them, almost as fast as the adventurer himself. Lenxiol raised his spear to throw—but cursed.

The [Necromancer] had already vanished. However, his undead had not, and they were peculiar indeed. Lenxiol had fought lesser undead before, even a mindless Draugr for sport. But these…

A Skeleton Champion with a greatsword planted the blade as it adjusted its helmeted head. Its eyes flashed blue as it made a gesture at a [Gladiator] across the arena. It advanced, swinging the blade onto one shoulder. Gladiator Nimble, known as the Acrobat’s Blade hesitated, facing a challenge from an undead. He tried to advance confidently, flicking his own rapier and throwing daggers up. He threw twice; the Skeleton Champion didn’t even slow as the daggers hit its forehead and shoulder.

The Stitch-man paled and leapt backwards. He screamed as the rotating blade-trap cut him off at the legs. The Skeleton Champion with the greatsword paused and stared at the trap that had unburied itself from the sands and struck the unlucky [Gladiator]. It searched around for another foe, clattering its jaw in annoyance.

The traps? Lenxiol sensed the sands warming and remembered that on the edges of the arena—he leapt aside as a jet of flames roared up.

The arena’s traps! But how…? Bnirm had the keys to activate them, and Lenxiol hadn’t seen that blade-trap before. He’d heard they’d been damaged and never repaired since before Mars’ time.

The clue was when he saw the bone fusing the spinning blades together. Then the Champion of Monarchs felt a shiver run down his spine.

He’d reanimated the coliseum? Lenxiol cursed, then drew an enchanted bow from his bag of holding. He sighted on the Silver Killer and fired the first arrow he had: an Arrow of the Glacius.

The frozen pillar of ice stopped her, frozen within the ice. Lenxiol drew his real weapon, an enchanted shortsword, as he stalked forwards. He had to end this now…!

The iceberg cracked before he was a dozen steps forwards. Lenxiol thought the Silver Killer had broken her way out of the ice when he glanced up. An [Ice Lance] missed him as he dodged left.

They were standing on the walls! Ceria Springwalker conjured a ramp of ice and began sliding down as Colthei fired an arrow back at Lenxiol.

The rest of the Horns of Hammerad had arrived. The Stitch-man roared into the speaking stone.

“Take that Human hostage! Now!”

Then he was sprinting backwards—the Silver Killer burst out of the cracked ice and came straight at him. He fired the second arrow, and a storm of light arrows burst from his bow and slammed into her.

She kept coming—

——

“Colth! Take out their leadership! Link up with Pisces and cover him! I’m freezing the [Archers]!”

Ceria screamed at him as she focused—not on the [Archers], but the strings of their bows! They snapped as they were flexed, and she and Colth slid straight into the fighting. It had taken them too long to get into position, but they’d realized the same thing the audience had: Yvlon was using the barriers!

Screaming, cheering. In any other moment, the [Prankster] would have been showboating for attention, but she just fired a barrage of [Ice Spikes] down fast as she could, reinforcing her own [Ice Armor] as arrows cracked off her.

Colth didn’t hesitate; he shot towards the tunnels heading downwards, his baneblades drawn, and vanished with his armor. That left Ceria Springwalker dueling all the [Guards] on the upper floors.

Most of them just had bows. She had ice armor. Ceria kept skating, letting arrows glance off her protections—it was when one of the arrows cracked her armor and sent her spinning that she swore.

“[Sharpshooters].”

Two could play that game. One of the figures dove as she replied with an [Ice Lance]. Ceria’s circlet glinted as she drew on its magic—

“[Speed Spell]. [Lightning Bolt].”

The crackle of accelerated lightning blew one of the [Sharpshooters] off their feet. Ceria glanced left; a group of [Guards] were waving swords and charging out of the lower tunnels at her.

“[Ice Wall]. [Adept Iceform]. Spikes.”

She didn’t know if it skewered them; she was too busy spinning to focus on more of them. The [Cryomancer] glanced downwards. That damn Champion of Monarchs was blasting Yvlon with everything he had, a full grab-bag of tricks.

I have to get down and stop him. She shot another [Archer] through the chest with an [Ice Spike] and shouted.

“Run or I’ll kill the lot of you! I’m a Gold-rank adventurer, you idiots!”

None of them ran. She just wasn’t as intimidating as Yvlon or Colth by nature. But even so, why were they still fighting? Against just Yvlon and Pisces would make sense, but…

Then Ceria heard a familiar voice screaming her name and realized what they were up to.

“Ceria! Help!”

This was what came of having people attached to the team. A group of [Guards] was pursuing Elena as she ran, clearly intent on capturing her. Ceria aimed her wand at them—an arrow knocked it out of her grasp.

That second [Sharpshooter] had just sped up the part where they died. Snarling, Ceria tried to conjure an Ice Elemental on their heads and saw a [Guard] grab Elena’s arm as the half-Elf hunted for her wand. Elena slashed desperately with a dagger, and the [Guard] raised the hilt of a sword to club her down.

That was when Trainer Delitandra executed a flying jump-kick that launched the Stitch-man down three rows of seats. She disarmed the second [Guard] in three strikes as she parried two blows and swept the sword from the woman’s hands. Another of the Heromakers of Hraace kicked the legs of one of the [Guards], and a third just ripped a seat off its hinges and tossed it at the others.

“Oh. Huh.”

Ceria rolled to her feet as Delitandra shouted, posing with the rest of her group.

“Holding a valued ally hostage is a classic scenario facing any good [Hero]! We, the Heromakers of Hraace, teach style and grace under form. Like so—”

She spun and kicked another [Guard] coming up the stairs, and her cohort spread out around Elena, blades drawn. Delitandra pointed, and they fought rightwards.

“—keeping any valued personages safe while letting the enemy think they have an advantage and overcommitting to their plans—”

Ceria wasn’t really listening, but she grinned, for once in the mood to hear the preachy [Trainer] talk. She swept her wand up, and an [Ice Wall] angled at a forty-degree angle shot forward from the floor, tossing the [Guards] coming at her over the balconies.

——

“Ancestors! That was horrific! Stitch-folk or not, that had to be a drop of—they’re dead. Aren’t they dead?”

Sir Relz grabbed at his neck spines as he saw Ceria tossing the group of Stitch-folk. He was on Channel 1 News. Drassi was on Channel 2, shouting.

“Get ‘em, Ceria! Who’re those guys who saved Elena? The Heromakers of Hraace? Good for them! Where’s Pisces? Zoom in, zoom in on—”

Chaos. Was this good commentary? Absolutely not. Drassi and Sir Relz were just reacting to the battle in the Coliseum of Monarchs like ordinary people.

If you flipped to Wonders of Nerrhavia’s channel like a certain Molen might, then you got a markedly different experience. They had no high-level [News Anchors] and no better perspective on the Coliseum of Monarchs than anyone else; everyone was just using spells from inside the arena.

Instead, the news crews there had found two special guests who weren’t panicking or shouting. Indeed, they were levelly sipping glasses of water.

“Another group has died to the Ice Squirrel. The Silver Killer pursues the Champion of Monarchs, but thus far, she has not caught him. Surely, her magical protections will wear off soon.”

“This is truly said, Rexel. However, if Yvlon Byres catches him first, he is a dead man, the great desert be my witness.”

Rexel and Leprel, advertised as ‘veteran gladiators and former comrades of the Silver Killer’, sat straight-faced in two plush chairs with the screen positioned just behind and above them. A completely different atmosphere. Rexel took a measured drink from her waterglass as she nodded.

“Quite, Leprel. Having fought with the Silver Killer once myself, I do not think it matters if her barriers run out. The Champion of Monarchs will have to stab her even if he puts a hole in her face.”

“Yes, her teeth will be buried in his arms even if he somehow kills her. I am merely astonished any stand before her. It is well-known the Silver Killer murdered a thousand Stitch-folk before being apprehended—and this was when she was wounded and sick! But then, is there anywhere in Chandrar one could escape her, Rexel?”

“Nowhere, Leprel.”

The two bandits-turned-gladiators that had once followed Yvlon—unwillingly—through her gladiator debut were making the most of their moment in the limelight.

However, none of it was quite what you wanted. No voice on the news was actually part of the action, just spectators giving their opinions as well as any [Armchair Viewer].

—That was until someone began shouting in the Coliseum of Monarchs itself.

——

The safest place to be in the chaotic arena was, of course, the [Announcers]’ booths. It had doors. It could be held by a small group like, say, the Heromakers of Hraace, who fought their way to the abandoned rooms overlooking the coliseum and barred the entrances.

Several of the [Trainers] had bows and wands they used to keep anyone from breaking down the doors, and Delitandra searched the rooms and seized the ‘microphone’. She spoke into it with a flourish of pure delight.

“I am Delitandra, Hero Trainer of Hraace! It is my honor to proclaim that the Horns of Hammerad face the entire Coliseum of Monarchs! Below me, Ceria Springwalker herself has cleared the stands of [Archers]! She fights with the aplomb and skill of a true [Cryomancer], and her skin is ever-frozen, that of a species unknown to all but those familiar with half-Elves. A Boreal—”

She was giving valuable context and insights to the audience roaring and shouting at the multi-faceted battle. However, Delitandra had never actually done commentary work of this kind—Ceria was already skating towards another group of foes as Delitandra tried to explain her species, which of course she knew.

So, like last time—Elena grabbed the microphone and screamed into it.

“GET THEM, CERIA!”

The shriek of noise shocked Delitandra and the entire audience. Delitandra recoiled, then realized it was happening again and tried to grab the microphone, but Elena just leaned over the balcony.

“They’ve got the [Archers]! I think I see Colth down there! Look! By the fortress!”

Parts of the coliseum were rising, traps going off. Elena pointed, and everyone looked; they saw the [Ultimate Supporter] had appeared, and an entire group of [Gladiators] were fighting from the fortifications.

“He’s rallying the [Gladiators]! The criminals and [Slaves]—and Pisces’ undead are everywhere! I don’t see him—he must be taking out [Mages]. You hear that, you idiots? Run! What are you doing fighting Gold-rank adventurers? They already killed that horrible stupid [Manager]—are you fighting for money? You’re not getting paid.”

Elena’s voice crackled over the speaker systems, and some of the [Guards] glanced up and heard a counterargument to the voice of the Champion of Monarchs shouting at them. Their instinctive obedience and sense they could control the situation wavered. Manager Bnirm was dead?

The [Beautician] was fighting off Delitandra, and the other Heromakers were helping her as she kept shouting.

“If that doesn’t sway you, then think about this: Yvlon is going to mince you into itty-bitty pieces! She’s taking out the last of the [Gladiators] fighting her! Look! That poor Centauress is two seconds away from being glue!”

Said Centauress had been taking potshots at Yvlon, but the Silver Killer was almost on top of her, and Elena’s words made the horse-woman panic. Elena winced.

“Oh! She might not be dead? Who was—”

Delitandra had grabbed the other microphone rather than continue battling Elena.

“Centauress Thilvetames, of Maelstrom’s Howling—”

“What are they doing down there? There’s another one who thinks he’s got a chance—oh, he cut her!”

The sword had gone through her barriers, and Yvlon twisted as Elena screamed.

“She blocked it on her armor. And now he’s dead.”

“That was Mageblade Noix—”

The [Gladiators] weren’t blind, and with Elena’s commentary, even the best fighters took a glance at Yvlon’s bloody swathe through them and the odds, decreasing with every [Guard] who decided to flee or [Gladiators] joining Yvlon’s side. One tried to escape, and a spear took them through the lower back.

Lenxiol stood in the stands, aiming at more running figures. He glanced up as Elena shouted down at him.

“He’s right there! The Champion of Monarchs! I’d surrender if I were you—aah!”

Delitandra had grabbed Elena just before the spear blew out the enchanted glass of the booth they were in. Elena’s head poked up as she shakily shouted.

“He’s the highest-level person left. Someone get him, please?”

Yvlon had spotted Lenxiol’s throw and was coming at him again. He whirled with a snarl and threw his last javelin. It snapped on her body. His arms blurred—

[Storm of Daggers]! The enchanted daggers flashed every color of the rainbow, striking her. He hurled a satchel of flasks and kicked backwards. [Explosive Stepback]. The Champion fired an arrow from his enchanted bow, aimed a wand and let loose a bolt of [Grand Lightning]. Watched the Silver Killer run through the trap runes he’d baited her into. Ignore the [Cutting Windslash] from his shortsword, take the pair of bolas he tossed and ignore the white-hot glow of their burning heat—

A speeding boulder of metal coming at the Stitch-man who stood, drawing a buckler with his other hand. He cracked it across her face in an explosion of sparks, and she swung a fist; his blade met her arm, and they locked together as she strained, heaving. The enchantment gave—he leapt out of the vortex that nearly sucked his arm into nothingness. It took the buckler as Yvlon stumbled. She raised a fist and threw a punch as he snarled.

He threw a punch as she instinctively guarded. There was a moment of silence as the breathless audience watched him leap backwards. And Yvlon Byres—

Stumbled.

Glanced down at her metal arm. The imprints of a fist were visible on the metal. Her punch had missed. She leapt forwards in another swing—

His kick tossed her off her feet. She landed on her back, blinked, and rolled out of a stomp that tangled in her hair. Strands tore out as Yvlon rose—the uppercut he gave her sent her reeling. She spat blood, her arms turning into spikes that shot outwards as she retreated.

The barriers—

Lenxiol snapped one of the metal spikes shooting for him with one hand as he dodged around them. His eyes were locked on Yvlon’s. She bared her bloody teeth at him as he drew another fan of throwing knives and a mace.

Elena breathed in the sudden silence.

“Oh no. Yvlon—”

The Silver Killer spat onto the sands as she grinned at the Champion of Monarchs. At last.

He’d stopped running.

——

Her Ring of Barriers was down. Yvlon was vulnerable again. And the Champion of Monarchs—

Too fast. Even as Colth leapt off the tower and shouted into the speaking stone he carried, he saw them trading punches. Or Yvlon was trying to.

Lenxiol leaned out of the way of a swing, then snapped forwards, suplexing her before she could tackle him. Her arms exploded in that pincushion trick; he was already behind her and delivered a hammer-blow to her back that bent her armor in.

She was tough, but that hurt her. She grabbed one leg as he stomped on her arm; her razor-fingers scratched him. He leapt back again, resetting his distance, and tried to pincushion her with daggers.

“Horns, on me! [Hex of Maligned Aim]!”

Colth flung the hex, but he wasn’t sure if it was the hex or just Lenxiol’s reactions that threw the hail of darts off. Yvlon had formed shields from her arms and was up as he charged forwards.

“Leave off, Colth. I can—”

“Shut up. Pisces, where are you? Get him!”

Ceria. She came sliding down a ramp of ice from overhead, circling downwards. She cursed; a spear from below blew the ramp to pieces, and she was falling. Easy target. She shielded her face with her arms as Lenxiol flipped up another spear—glanced sideways—

Slashed through a Skeleton Champion, shredding the [Invisibility] spell that Pisces had cast. He leaned under the stab from the [Necromancer] and swung his spear at Pisces’ chest. The [Necromancer] flash-stepped backwards.

Colth fired an arrow from his shortbow. [Homing Arrow]—he curved it where he thought the Stitch-man would be, and Lenxiol caught it.

“Damn. I hate people with diverse Skills.”

Anyone like him, rather. The [Ultimate Supporter] saw Yvlon rip a healing potion from her belt and drink it.

Lenxiol snarled at the potion, and Colth thanked the King of Medain for that. Not many healing options for either group. Yvlon had her ring. After that…

Ceria landed next to them and spoke over her speaking stone.

“He’s way too fast. Over Level 50. We hit him together, Bograms-style. Ready?”

“Ready. [Team: Coordinated Assault]!”

Colth raised his hand and thought to them—now. The Champion of Monarchs was tensed, wary. A cornered beast. But he wasn’t prepared for the Horns to just start running at him.

Oh, but he was quick. He lunged away, trying to sprint towards the fortress so he could place it at his back, but he didn’t expect Colth to throw a net at him. The damn slave-carriers of this continent had tons of them, and they were free if you left the slavers choking on their own blood.

[Capture Net]. Colth gave him a Demon’s smile as Lenxiol chopped through the net with a snarl, and then his foot caught in the sands.

Frozen in ice. His eyes widened in alarm as Ceria Springwalker burst out of a cloud of ice spraying to his right, cutting him off. She appeared, morphing out of the snow, and screamed.

“Now! [Ice Lance Barrage]!”

Four [Ice Lances] hit the Champion of Monarchs straight-on. Yvlon Byres was right behind the barrage of ice as Lenxiol reeled. Her arm extended, and she screamed.

“[Sword Art: Curve of the Moon]!”

Colth was on Lenxiol’s other side and saw the [Gladiator Champion]’s bulging eyes.

“[Copy Skill]. [Crosscounter Strikes].”

The two hit Lenxiol at the same time, and the explosion of dust drowned out all sight as the audience screamed, on their feet. Ceria howled.

“Pisces!”

“Oh, uh—[Shatterbolt]! [Deathbolt]!”

He flicked his ring-hand and fired the spell off his ring, then fired the spell with his offhand. Without any other readied magic, or a blade art, he came to a halt as Colth and Yvlon stared at him. Yvlon raised a fist—and Lenxiol punched her backwards a dozen steps. Colth was clipped by a foot and did a [Double Backflip] to avoid another blow.

“Huh?”

They had to have hurt him! What was—

Then the dust cleared, and the disbelieving audience of the Coliseum of Monarchs recalled his name. Lenxiol stood, skin undamaged by the combination of attacks, his clothing torn off, revealing a muscled abdomen, tanned skin flexing in the sun as he posed.

Lenxiol the Invincible.

Champion of Monarchs. 

[Pride of the Arena: Your Greatest Blow, Worthless]. A Level 50 [Gladiator Champion]’s Skill.

Lenxiol smirked, letting his blue-green hair brush over his eyes, his body unblemished save for one leg where Yvlon had cut him previously.

The Horns of Hammerad glanced at each other in sudden silence as he waited for them. Ceria Springwalker spoke coolly as she nodded.

“Cute trick. I bet that was his best one. Hit him again, harder!”

“I have it this time—[Flame Rapier]. [Bound Spell: Spear of Light]!”

Pisces flicked his rapier out, and it glowed as he bound a glowing spell to the tip. Colth grinned at Lenxiol’s face as the air around Ceria grew colder.

“[Imitation of Might: Jaganismet].”

He sheathed his blades and activated his other best Skill. Pisces was [Flash Stepping] left as Ceria’s magic swirled around her.

“This time, I’m going to put a hole in this guy. Colth, cover me.”

“You got it, boss.”

The Champion of Monarchs was more disconcerted by the Horns’ reaction than anything else so far. Because, of course, he was used to fighting fellow [Gladiators] in this lovely little arena. Special attacks? Final moves? Ultimate, battle-ending blows that could turn the tides?

They didn’t have any. Well, the Horns of Hammerad didn’t rely on such things. They were adventurers. If you kept moving after their finest blow, they hit you with the second and the third.

Until you were dead. Lenxiol’s eyes were flickering from Ceria’s spellcasting to Colth to Pisces and the undead advancing from behind him when Yvlon’s gravelly voice interrupted them.

“Wait. Let me face him alone.”

She held a silvermetal hand in front of Ceria, and the [Cryomancer] stopped chanting ominously. Colth half-turned.

“Yvlon, you’re underlevelled.”

“Just keep him from running. He’s out of ranged weapons. I started this; I’ll end it. There’s no glory in beating down the Champion of Monarchs together. He wanted the Silver Killer. Here I am.”

She was panting, but as Colth inspected her attributes with his own [Teammate] Skills, he realized she was just tired from fighting. She hadn’t taken much damage until now. Yvlon drank a stamina potion as he tossed it at her; Ceria was hesitating.

“Captain, please. Trust me.”

The half-Elf locked gazes with Yvlon, and then her lips twisted.

“Aw, damnit—the circlet thinks you’re stupid, and I agree. But what do we know? Get him. You’d better not lose!”

She backed up and glanced at Colth. He received a [Message] spell.

If he’s winning, get ready to stab him in the ass.

Colth kept his face smooth as he stepped backwards. Lenxiol was grinning as Pisces lowered his rapier after saluting Yvlon. The Champion probably thought he could beat Yvlon and take her hostage—or at least escape or beat the rest of them if he took out their [Warrior].

All valid concerns. Assuming he won. Because Colth was thinking the same thing as the rest of the Horns as the audience cheered the Silver Killer meeting the Champion of Monarchs. Faster, higher-level, more experienced…

Lenxiol’s cocksure grin wavered as Yvlon Byres stared up at the sky, then closed her eyes and exhaled. Like the rest of the Horns, she didn’t have many powerful Skills to end fights.

She’d used her [Aspect of Silver] and her [Sword Art: Curve of the Moon]. But there was one thing missing from their teammate’s fighting style that they hadn’t seen recently. A sign they were truly cornered or that the moment called for it.

Yvlon Byres opened her eyes. And then she began to tremble slightly. A smile edged over her face unlike the other ones, and her blue eyes, when they focused on Lenxiol, were a bit…wild.

“I’m losing my temper.”

Lenxiol’s brows creased in sudden alarm. Ceria edged behind Colth. For his part, the [Ultimate Supporter] blinked. He had [Berserker] Skills, of course. He copied everything. But he supposed Berr taught better berserking than Colth had expected.

The steam was new.

——

“You’ll rage a bit differently after my tutelage, Yvlon Byres. Don’t be alarmed…eh, tell your team not to be alarmed. Keep it in. All your anger, your rage, the little and big things. Until you need it. Then unleash it. Fear your rage. I fear myself when I am angry. That is a good thing to have.”

—Berr the [Berserker], Year 1 of the Journey of the Living.

She was hot. The woman screamed with relief. With fury. With sorrow for her friends who she had abandoned and let down.

At this man, who she knew could kill her. She didn’t care. She unleashed the only thing she had on him: her rage.

After so long, she let it out. Not the battle at sea nor even Bograms had seen her use it fully. This?

This was the moment. 

It was the same fury that had seen her go against the Adult Creler. She was just as angry. Angrier. It burst out of her until her heart was beating what felt like a thousand times per minute. Her body was unbearably hot. Steam—steam was rising from her sweat and the blood that had splashed her.

The heat of her body alone caused a burst of steam to rise, but she lunged out of the cloud before anyone could react. Mouth open, screaming, because she had to scream—fists swinging for him.

No blades of metal. No tricks. Just—

Hit him.

He was strong. He was fast. His blows dented her arms as she reached for him. Struck her armor and kissed her ribs in agony.

She didn’t feel it. But she did slide under a blow. Dodge. You had to d—

Knife in one hand slashing across her face.

She ducked it as her master had taught her. Exploded upwards with an uppercut. He dodged it, but she brushed his chest. The edge of her arm turning into razors sliced his skin open. Just a line, but she touched him.

“Damned brute of—”

He spoke, wasting his mewling breath. But then she was screaming. She grinned as she lunged again. Block—

His punch was the hardest yet and dug her feet into the dirt. When she saw him recoil, her arms were dented together.

Just like Mars, he could punch so hard he made her arms deform. But unlike Mars, it wasn’t easy for him. His fists hurt. He wavered. Sprinted backwards—

The [Necromancer], her [Necromancer], appeared, flaming blade in hand, and pointed.

“[Deathblast].”

The [Champion] barely dodged it and tried to seize him, snarling. The brown-haired man’s eyes were wide—but not for fear of the Stitch-man. He threw himself aside as Yvlon leapt.

This time, she caught Lenxiol. Faster than even he expected. She kneed him in the chest and felt him exhale hard. He punched her in the throat. She had his arm.

Her fingers ripped pieces out of his arm as he tore it away, and he cried out, feeling at the bloody grooves in his arm. He backed up— walls of ice rose, blocking him in. The Squirrel, cackling as she sat atop them.

A grinning Demon barring the other direction. To get away, he had to go through—her.

He tackled her back. Threw her with a twist—ducked the noose of metal she had tried to twist around his throat, a garroting line that would have beheaded him, with an oath.

Rattled, he whirled back. She rose, chuckling.

Tricky. Tricky—be tricky even in rage. Or you’re too simple. Now—kill him.

A voice was growling in her ears. While he waited for the trick, she sprinted at him. Feinted with her hands. He threw a punch, backstepping. At last—she hit him in the ribs and felt one break. Now throw another punch. And another. Another, another, anotheranotheranotheranotheranother—

——

“She’s too fast.”

That was Flos Reimarch’s only comment. He sat as Mars the Illusionist drank water and eyed the siege. She was disinterested, but she humored her liege and shrugged as Flos’ voice made the others turn to him.

“She’s berserking, Your Majesty?”

“No. She’s faster than even that.”

The King of Destruction said simply. He watched as the Champion of Monarchs tried to get away, and she caught him in another flicker of movement. Mars spat.

“The current Champion of Monarchs is a showoff. I heard he had few worthy challenges; he’s good enough with his fists, but he hasn’t had to bleed for his title in a true match in years. She’s out for blood. As for speed, well, I suppose I noticed that.”

“She has galas-muscle before Level 50. Much more than most warriors.”

That was what it was. The other [Soldiers] started as Flos Reimarch frowned. Mars shrugged innocently.

“Perhaps I helped it along. More likely, she’s got no muscle in her arms. So it’s concentrated.”

The King of Destruction grinned. This time, Lenxiol met Yvlon in a collision, striking her, hammering her side, trying to get an arm around—

——

The howl from the Stitch-man as he leapt back revealed blood. Barelle wasn’t surprised. Lenxiol’s first mistake was trying to stay when the Horns assaulted the arena. The moment Bnirm died, he should have fled.

“She bit him.”

Trying to grapple with a [Berserker] was a foolish move. The Silver Killer spat blood and flesh onto the ground as Lenxiol clutched at his bicep.

“The Coliseum of Monarchs has become a genteel arena if their Champion is unused to such actions.”

Cognita Truestone was watching with mild interest. Barelle turned to her as the Silver Killer advanced, punching and striking. If not as fast as Lenxiol—her arms hit him harder than he hit her, and she didn’t seem to react to the damage.

Barelle well knew how dismaying it was to face an enemy who didn’t seem to be taking damage.

“Cognita, your verdict on who will win?”

“A Level 40 warrior is facing a Level 50 hybrid bereft of items and backup. The conclusion is evident.”

“Speaking as another hybrid, if not of those levels, he might surprise you.”

Barelle spoke in offhanded defense of Lenxiol. Cognita sampled another popcorn piece.

“Doubtful.”

——

He bled. Yvlon Byres felt her rage running hot and pushed more through her body. It was not unlimited. She felt a limit on how much she had—and perhaps how much she could withstand—but she could intensify it and catch him.

Her legs were burning. He was panting. Bruises mottling his flesh, dark and heavy. She knew she’d broken ribs.

She wanted to break those legs. She almost threw herself at him again, but forced herself to stop.

More lessons from her master, and they were important. She was a good student. She had always been a good girl…

Pause. Assess. Do not be predictable. If you are winning without, press—but throw his tempo off.

She stopped, breathing in and out smoothly, then tilted her head. Tilted her body until it was a sideways stare at the Stitch-man. Her eyes were wide, her face expressionless as she saw how he favored his left side.

The Silver Killer had no notion of how she seemed, a blank-faced woman with blood running from her mouth, steam rising from her body, as she inspected the Champion of Monarchs like prey.

——

“Master! Master!”

Berr hit one of his apprentices who kept shouting in his ear. He was trying to watch. He was grinning though.

“Shut up.”

“But Master—you taught her your Look?”

All the little cub-warriors were howling and running around in excitement. Berr sipped from his cup of Velrusk Claw, chuckling.

“I did not. And it is not a Skill no matter how much you all whine it is. She is just a natural student.”

The Look was just intimidation. A wide-eyed [Berserker] studying you in the middle of a battle, suddenly silent and calm, would throw even a seasoned warrior off. It meant nothing if your heart was steady.

This Stitch-man’s was not. She came for him, and Berr laughed.

“Get him.”

——

He didn’t know she wanted his leg until too late. Punch it. Punch it again. He kept kicking her with the other, so punch that out of the air. Punch his stomach—when he tried to force her back, strike up with all her strength.

Until she saw the stitches on his shoulders stretch and a few snap and his neck almost elongate. Almost—but punch that damned running leg.

Then it snapped. She was not fooled, of course. She was ready for the real fight now. His leg breaking wouldn’t—

“—cy—”

He didn’t get up. So she lunged at him and punched and punched—until a foot kicked her off. Then she rolled upright, shedding the armor crushed against her chest. Snarling. And saw only his mouth moving.

“—Mercy. I surrender—”

Yvlon Byres’ haze of fury cleared slightly. He wasn’t getting up? He…

The Champion of Monarchs lay there, leg broken and lying at the wrong angle, panting, holding his hands up. Yvlon was suddenly conscious of her own broken ribs. The pain radiating from her body.

She heard again, over the roaring of the crowd, Elena’s voice for some reason. Staggered.

“Mercy?”

He had crossed his arms, and there was fear in his eyes. The Silver Killer waited for the trick. She knew he could still fight. But she realized—

He didn’t want to. His hands were hovering near his bag of holding. He had weapons. He had tricks. But—

“Face me, Champion of Monarchs.”

He shook his head as she mumbled the words at him. Yvlon was drooling blood. She wobbled, but the fury had left her weak. Dangerous…she cast around. And realized he was done.

So she’d won? She’d been ready to face more. Mars…

He was no Mars. She wobbled as she tried to pivot on one leg, and it sang agony.

Colth was beside her in a moment.

“Just keep standing, Yv. Just turn around and walk away. You got him. Good job.”

He was whispering as he supported her, and she felt her strength return as her fury left her. She stood, breathing in and out.

“The [Guards]—”

“They ran. Mind you, we have a small problem: someone reactivated the barriers. They’ve locked us in.”

Colth nodded upwards, and she saw the shimmering forcefields had been reignited. Yvlon fingered her ring. It felt cold—

“I don’t think my ring—”

“Don’t worry. Just look good as you walk off. We’ll patch you up, and if there’s more trouble, we’ll clear this area first. Pisces is working on something, anyways.”

The [Necromancer] was scratching at the ground with his rapier, and a bunch of skeletons were helping him. Yvlon looked around.

“My friends. Where…?”

There. There were Mectail, Thexca, and Vitte. She stumbled towards them as Vitte drew back. But Thexca just reached out, then hesitated. They were all hurt. Mectail had a terrible gash down one leg, and Thexca had two arrows sticking out of her shoulder, but they were alive.

“Mectail. Thexca. Vitte. Thank goodness you’re alive.”

Yvlon spoke automatically as Colth helped her come over. She saw slave and criminal gladiators staring at her from the fortress. When she glanced up, they drew back.

“Y-Yvlon?”

Thexca was hesitant as she stepped forwards. The Silver Killer of Izril brushed at her bloody hair. Then she smiled, relieved.

“I’m so sorry I took so long. Are you alright? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

The raging woman who had bested the Champion of Monarchs stood there, and it was a pure expression that crossed her features. Like a girl concerned for her friends. An innocent smile for friends she had been worried for.

The [Gladiators] gazed at her, each one silent for different reasons as Yvlon turned. She saw a few [Guards], the [Gladiators] who hadn’t yet surrendered or played dead, gathered on the far end of the arena. Or above, watching from outside the forcefield they’d erected to contain her.

In a more normal tone of voice, she continued.

“I’m relieved. Now, let’s get you out of here. On my vow as a Horn of Hammerad, I promise—no one is going to harm you.”

Her voice rose, and she shouted it at the enemy, who flinched.

“Silver and steel be my guide! Everything dies! EVERYONE DIES.”

They ran. Very refreshingly. Yvlon turned back to the others and winked.

“That last bit is just knighting.”

Funnily, they didn’t seem to quite believe her.

——

Ceria Springwalker stood in the quiet arena, watching Pisces work. Anyone who hadn’t immediately wet themselves had thrown down their weapons and begged for mercy after Yvlon had yelled at them.

Not for the first time, the half-Elf envied her insane friend. It wasn’t easy to be Yvlon, if Ceria was right about how hurt she was. But being Yvlon felt like a winning formula in a lot of ways.

A barrier-absorbing ring, her metal arms, and a [Berserker]’s rage. She was a [Mage]’s worst nightmare unless you could fly. Ceria decided to add anti-flying spells to her research list.

She had to keep up. The half-Elf was cold; Pisces kept glancing at Yvlon, as if he hadn’t made his own impact. She and Colth were the ones who had just shown up. Who hadn’t quite trusted Yvlon.

“Well, I suppose I’m getting my just desserts. Like my team, Lenxiol?”

She turned to the Stitch-man. He was lying on his back, fumbling with his broken leg. His face was contorted in agony, but he gasped at her.

“That one is almost as mad as the Scourge. The enemies you’ve made for killing Bnirm you can’t guess at!”

“Is that a threat?”

He finally undid the stitches and lay back as the agony from his broken leg left him. Sweating, the Stitch-man found a replacement leg.

“Not from I. Did you have to come to my coliseum?”

“Well, you were torturing her friends.”

“They betrayed—I have done nothing permanent to any—enough, I am done. I shall slink off and lick my wounds. I know better than to fight a second Mars.”

Wow, he was being really good with the lipservice. She supposed a [Gladiator Champion] really was half entertainment-type Skills. She saw Lenxiol begin to tie his leg onto his body. He seemed to use thick, visible cords you could hand-tie instead of needing a needle. Very smart, that. She bet, aesthetically, it appeared weird or something.

Ceria waited until the Stitch-man had his hands full tying the cords and then fired the [Ice Lance Barrage] straight into his back.

He was fast. He almost threw a blade at her when the [Tidal Wave] washed over him and froze solid. He was gasping as he tried to break free.

“Please—”

She aimed the [Ice Lance] spell at his throat and fired, and that might have done the job. But to be sure, absolutely sure, she [Snap Froze] his head in a block of ice. Then snapped her fingers.

When it shattered into colored fragments of flesh, then she was sure he was dead. Shocked screams and voices called from around her. She turned and gave Pisces an innocent look.

“What? I’ve heard they can survive even having their heads cut off. Did you think he was going to just walk off and never trouble us again?”

“Ceria—!”

She pointedly took her circlet off her head, switching it out for the Crown of Medain. She really hoped Yvlon wasn’t going to come over and punch her, but her friend just stared at her as Colth gave Ceria a covert thumbs-up. He sidled over and began looting Lenxiol’s bag of holding and belt pouches.

She knew he’d get it. Ceria regarded Pisces.

“Lecture me later. I thought there was a non-negative chance of him stabbing us all in the back the moment he put that leg on and reinforcements arrived. My bet is Bnirm’s friends want us dead. I’d rather not sit in this barrier while they line up some [Assassins]. Are you doing what I think you’re doing to get us out?”

The [Necromancer] was pale-faced, but after a second, he seemed to compose himself and jerked his head.

“Stand back. Wall up in the [Fortress of the Ice Queen]; I don’t know if this will work. In the worst case, we’re fighting two battles.”

“Hey, great. You have a bad idea, I have mine.”

She watched him walk back to the circle of magic he was drawing. Then she spoke.

“I didn’t enjoy it.”

“A good thing you remember some morality, then.”

“They played for keeps with you, Pisces. I’ll do worse to them.”

The half-Elf’s eyes glowed with a pale light as Pisces glanced up. He hesitated.

“He wasn’t them, though.”

“Bnirm seemed close enough. Lenxiol practically runs this arena. We’ll discuss it later.”

Without a word, Pisces went back to work. Ceria saw the death magic activating and glanced up at the barriers overhead.

Yep, that’s a lot of power. I doubt we could bust through if all of us wailed on it. Even if Lenxiol had helped with his bags of holding…Yvlon’s ring definitely lost the magic it absorbed faster than he did damage to her. Still scary as shit. No wonder the adventurers carried this ring. It’s made to slay [Mages]. Steal their protections and guard yourself in one fell swoop.

She jogged off, shrugging. Pisces kept working for a few more seconds, then stood back.

“Owners of the Coliseum of Monarchs, we desire release! There is no more blood to be shed—let us out!”

No response. Ceria didn’t know who was in charge of the barrier spells, but she probably wouldn’t let them out regardless. Still…what did those above see?

The Scourge of Roshal standing there, sword drawn, in front of an ominously-glowing magical circle. Pisces’ voice was raspy.

“We have each done what we felt we must. We will not be caged again. I have warned you.”

After a minute of silence, he stood back from the circle. Ceria noted he’d already deanimated his Skeleton Champions and collected his bones. Pisces finished drawing the line in the magical circle. Made sure it was working—then [Flash Stepped] over to her where she was raising layers of magical ice.

“Wait, what’s he doing?”

Yvlon was so woozy she hadn’t really figured out the plan. Colth was grinning that desperate smile as Ceria gave Yvlon a beaming grin.

“Oh, you know. Forcing their hand. The only way we know how. You ready to keep fighting, Yvlon?”

“You killed Lenxiol. Fight what?”

Pisces appeared next to them and dove into cover as the other [Gladiators] drew back from him. He popped up, and Ceria raised a triple-thick layer of [Ice Walls].

“Er…remember Hraace?”

——

Just what did you think of it all?

The Silver Killer’s madness that had humbled the Champion of Monarchs. Pisces, the Scourge of Roshal, killing Manager Bnirm in a single moment before bringing undead to rout the others. The Ice Squirrel’s cold, cold killing of Lenxiol—and Colth the Rookie, who had performed exceptionally adequately, if not showily?

Yisame was trembling. She had already given orders for the army to escort the Horns back to the palace, but she knew Bnirm’s faction had to be shaking with a rage of their own. So she watched her beloved team, wishing only that Ksmvr had been there. And she wondered…what others saw.

For she saw Pisces Jealnet make his demand—then activate the spell about half a minute before a [Mage] came screaming into the Court of Silks.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

Her [Bodyguards], who felt much vindicated after all that had been seen and done, blocked the [Mage] with blades at the woman’s throat.

“Who dares interrupt the Queen?”

The Voice snapped, but the [Mage] gasped.

“I beg your forgiveness, Queen! But—but—a Death’s Door has opened up in the capital! It is unleashing death magic!”

A gasp of horror from those in the audience who actually knew what that meant. Queen Yisame was very proud of the calm way in which she lifted her head. She shifted the scrying orb so all could see the arm of the Bone Giant reaching upwards, pressing against the barrier spells.

“It seems the Scourge of Roshal fears no undead. Are the barrier spells not lowered? Assemble the royal army—to close this portal of course.”

——

An unbounded circle of death.

Just like the Hero of Zethe had told Pisces, it was possible to make if you had enough magical ability and the right conditions to allow death magic to flourish. Like this arena filled with dead bodies. Of course, he had told Pisces of the incredible danger and the potential to create an entire death zone from one such portal.

The [Necromancer] had sworn to, naturally, never create one…unless he really needed to. It wasn’t that useful, after all. Even a Bone Giant wasn’t that helpful if it was wild and rogue, and it sucked up all the death magic around, so it was a quite dubious trick.

…Unless you were threatening to unleash a Bone Giant on the city. It was swinging its arms against the barrier spells and, as of yet, not paying attention to the mortals in the cage with it. The audience was running.

Quite a gamble. Still, you had to admire the coxals on that [Necromancer] for raising the ante. The allies of Bnirm were in a quandary: let the Bone Giant rampage and risk taking some of the blame or keep the spells up and risk the Horns just blowing a hole in it anyways? And the Queen was demanding action be taken…

The question was rendered moot not by their choices, but by someone else. High above the Court of Silks, in one of the towers of Tyrant’s Rest—not the palace, but in the sprawling city itself—a person awoke.

They’d been lying abed all morning. It was, after all, barely 10 AM. The hither-to slumberer stumbled to one window.

“Eh, eh? What in Silk is that?”

His tone of ire was followed by explanations from worried, lesser apprentices and his own contacts in the city. The [Mage] shielded his eyes and hunted around his rooms.

“A Death’s Door? In my city? Foreigner-made? Unacceptable. Where is…aha!”

A window opened on the tower facing the Coliseum of Monarchs, and a staff was pushed out of it, held at the very end. It wobbled alarmingly until the [Mage] spoke.

“Pinpoint coordinates…[Meteor Storm]. There.”

He did not actually keep watching to see the clouds darken overhead and the first glow break through the skies or the chunks of superheated rocks falling. The disgruntled [Mage] of Silk, the highest-levelled spellcaster of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, went back to sleep. He tossed, turned, and was about to fire a second storm off when the portal vanished.

Then he went back to sleep. He was no [Mage] that needed or would fight the King of Destruction’s armies or these lesser wars that happened now and again. He was above the mundane politics of the Court of Silks.

Amerys would have called him a coward. He would note that of the [Mages] she would fly to challenge, regardless of their will, he was not one of them.

——

The tale of the Silver Killer’s return to the Coliseum of Monarchs was told and retold, but not at the lengths one would expect. After all, who needed a [Spinner of Tales] when they could simply rewatch the broadcast?

Much was said of the reception the Silver Killer had upon her return to the Court of Silks. Some small rumors had begun of the Queen’s behavior around her—that perhaps Yisame was too affectionate or too weak-willed towards this Gold-rank adventurer.

Such rumors were turned on their head, and one had to, in fact, admire the way the [Queen] embarrassed the faintly-blushing [Armsmistress] without fear of…well, everything. Indeed, though the allies of Manager Bnirm raged, they did so privately.

It was said that the Minister of Defense privately stormed to a meeting of his colleagues, who sat in mild apprehension of this actually dangerous team, and made a simple demand.

“Find me any team, any adventurer who can put these Horns of Hammerad to shame. [Assassins]! Poison! Whatever it takes!”

The bearing out of such plans was, of course, a later tale, but it marked the value the Horns had to the Queen and all of their allies. If the Silver Killer was to be likened to a dog at all—something that one would best do when she was asleep, far away from her, behind closed doors, in another city—then she was more bite than bark.

Nor was she that tame nor would it be wise to stray within arm’s reach of her. Even at the very meeting in which Queen Yisame forgave the Horns of Hammerad their numerous crimes and pardoned the ‘Traitorous Three’—and every other [Gladiator] who had fought with the Horns—there was a small incident.

Nothing more than two [Princes] bickering. Prince Zenol of House Isphel, who had made it known he was a great friend of the Horns of Hammerad, had led the applause of their feats, whereupon Prince Esceit of House Quarein had insulted him.

A safe action given how much stronger House Quarein was than Isphel…or not, because it was uttered in the presence of the Silver Killer. It was said she turned on the spot and challenged Prince Esceit and his escort to a duel of honor—in the very same arena still stained with the Champion of Monarchs’ blood.

Prince Esceit refused, of course, citing his unwillingness to duel over a remark, even by proxy, much less with a foreigner. It was at this point that the Silver Killer insisted that if a duel was not to take place in the arena, it might well be here and now. With the [Prince] himself.

By then, such was the understanding of the citizens of Nerrhavia’s Fallen that when word and image came of Prince Esceit running from the palace’s steps, screaming and fleeing into the city from the Silver Killer, he was judged not a coward, but a sensible, intelligent man.

Thus, the adventures of the Horns of Hammerad continued.

——

Pisces Jealnet rather liked the recounting of his team’s adventures when you put it like that. He was lounging in the open window on the second floor of the Palace, and it seemed the people of Nerrhavia’s Fallen rather had a Hraacian-like ability to tell stories.

This particular retelling of events was from one [Servant] to another. A girl telling a boy around her age the entire event, perhaps flirting as well. Who could say?

Not him, according to Colth. Anyways, Pisces was resting. Yvlon was asleep, having the most to heal, and Colth and Ceria had gone off to debrief and capitalize on their fame. Delitandra and the Heromakers of Hraace were celebrating and basking in their own fame…

He should really get to know more of them than just Delitandra by name. They’d pulled their weight in this last affray. Without them…well, Pisces just wondered what levels Yvlon would get.

Unstoppable. He knew they’d helped, but she had just done it all from start to finish with her unique style. He had to keep up with her. That final attack thing had proven Pisces needed to have one or two. Something catchy.

He was brainstorming ideas as he fiddled with some new bones he’d obtained. Not Lenxiol’s—Pisces hadn’t had the heart to loot his corpse. But he’d obtained some rather fine Manticore bones…

“Pisces? You okay?”

The [Necromancer] glanced up. Elena had found him. Her voice was scratchy from all the commentating she’d done; he’d not even heard her, he’d been so focused on the fighting. She had some honey tea in her hand, and she offered him some too.

“Heck of a day, huh? Does this happen often?”

“More than one expects, though I doubt I shall become used to the sensation. I apologize for not considering you; Yvlon was wary for me and I for my own hide, but we completely forgot we weren’t merely the four of us.”

She accepted his apology with a bright smile.

“After seeing you all in action, I think I’d better get used to stating my objections and advocating for myself. From Yvlon deciding it was time to free her friends—even if she had a plan—to you summoning a Bone Giant, you all do whatever you want!”

Pisces flushed, but she continued, voice level.

“And Ceria murdering a man after he begged for mercy, of course.”

The [Necromancer] sat up a bit, and he recalled that too. The expression on her face was so…he hadn’t made an issue of it. Yvlon had not either, but Pisces rather suspected the bloodloss had more to do with that than peace with Ceria’s decision. As for Colth, Pisces bet the [Supporter] would have done the same thing, albeit more stealthily.

His comment was simple.

“Then was hardly the time to argue. Now we are safe, we may reflect.”

“Okay. I…look, Cara’s had to do hard things, but that was something. Is it normal for you?”

“No. I think the Ceria of old wouldn’t have done that. But time changes one.”

“And the magical circlet she wears?”

“One may accept the supposition that yes, the circlet is affecting her judgment as well. Even when it is taken off, she seems to have…changed.”

Elena waited. She seemed to have expectations of Pisces’ intelligence and his own sense of morality. Rather disconcerting, that. He almost preferred to be overlooked. This Erin-like quality of perception made him fidget. Then he beckoned.

“Have a seat?”

She sat on the balcony next to him as he sat upright and gazed down into the courtyard fearlessly.

“Cute kids. If I fall, you can catch me with a spell, right?”

Mostly fearlessly. Pisces assured her that he could. After a moment, he made sure they were both [Invisible], [Muffled], and all the other spells you needed in a palace like this. And he handed her something.

It was…a letter.

Just a letter, albeit one that Pisces had taken from the pile of junk mail addressed to them and not commented on unlike Ceria and Yvlon. He rather suspected it would have found him even with the filter-system they would pay for. Elena read it as they sat together.

It was a simple missive, but he’d noticed it because it had been scribed via [Message] spell. Then paid for delivery by Courier. It read:

Dear Pisces,

The amulet that complements the circlet that Ceria Springwalker seeks is in Chandrar. The key to locating it is in the Academy of a Hundred Thousand Tomes. If you value the Ceria you know, do not let her find it.

Sincerely,

—A friend of the inn.

Elena read and re-read the letter as Pisces sat for a while.

Pondering the future.

[Silversteel Armsmistress Level 47!]

[Skill – Power Jump Learned!]

[Skill – Berr’s Stare Learned!]

[Gladiator Level 12!]

[Skill — Reputation: Unpredictable Uncertainty obtained!]

[Skill — Savage Intimidation obtained!]

[Skill — Distracting Flash obtained!]

[Skill — Convincing Feint obtained]

[Necromancer of Reclaimed Grandeur Level 43!]

[Skill – Undead: Bonerattler Charge Obtained!]

[Avid Watcher Level 26!]

[Skill – Double Screen Watching Obtained!]

[Skill – Playback: My Favorite Scene Obtained!]

[Skill – Couch Potato Exercise Obtained!]

Author’s Note:

Yvlon’s grown on me. Much like a piece of living metal. I don’t recall how I felt about her when she first entered the story properly in Volume 2 as a member of the Horns, but I don’t think she had this, uh…personality.

She’s changed a lot over the years. Yvlon, Lyonette, Ksmvr, and arguably Relc are some of the most different characters to how we first meet them. Lots of characters fit that bill of course; someone should change over the course of their lives, but Yvlon’s journey from the good, generic leader of the Silver Spears to the Silver Killer who rampages across an entire arena…

I wonder what Yvlon would think of herself. That’s a fun perspective. I should have written that into the [Palace of Fates], but oh well, I didn’t think of it.

The point is that Yvlon’s become more fun to write. She was never boring, despite what she might think of herself, but there were ways in which she was just a normal person. She had predictable reactions to certain things. Had to learn about Antinium and get over her preconceptions about Pisces.

Now, Yvlon does things that are unexpected and that’s fun because you can’t phone in her character, I don’t think. You can probably write her wrong and lean into the wrong parts of her personality, but I think these two chapters show us who she is, and that’s always fun with the Horns.

She’s deviously straightforward at times. Which you need in Nerrhavia’s Fallen! I’d love to write more and the Horns’ adventures will continue, but I promised to keep it moving. Another piece of the backlog down! Questions for the comments—do you like longer Horns arcs or is two chapters like this every now and then enough? Can one have too much Horns? Let me know and see you next week!

Duel by katiemaeve!

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Badarrow and Snapjaw by Wing!

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Toren by Ashok!

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Couriers by Octus!

Erin and Lyonette by LeChatDemon!

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Sheta vs Goblinlord by Dalin!

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