Lucian ran forward as fast as he could and slammed his Inquisitor’s Spetum against the shield that Rowan had claimed from Saltbelly. The protagonist was forced back a few steps, but eventually managed to get his footing and hold firm. He slowly began to win the contest of strength, and swatted Lucian’s spear aside. That said, Lucian didn’t feel that the difference of power between them was overwhelming.
“Heavens… you did get stronger.” Rowan waved his shield-arm as if it hurt. “That was Charge, right? Does that mean you finally figured out internal energy?”
Lucian nodded, a little breathless. He planted the bottom of his spetum on the ground and looked up.
It had taken a fairly long while, but Lucian had managed to fully recover from his wound to the soul. Not only that—he’d returned to fighting form. The issue with the internal energy for skills had been less complicated than Lucian anticipated.
It didn’t work the same as magic, where he needed to weave it into the spell. Instead, he needed to convert the Formless Essence into internal energy long before he performed any skill. He needed to have gas in the tank before he attempted the skill, not while trying. It was yet another thing he had to pay attention to, and it was still slower than normal. However, no functionality had been lost.
Lucian didn’t have any regrets about getting the Formless Essence. It was a learning curve, but it would become muscle memory as he did it more and more. He’d been slow and useless when he started training with polearms, after all, and he got better. The Formless Essence gave him new abilities, but it also combined his pool of internal energy and magic into one, effectively allowing him to cast spells longer or use more skills before becoming physically exhausted.
There was one more thing that he thought might be possible: transforming into a divine beast.
Lucian had experienced the sensation of transformation when he peered backward through time with the help of the Jeweled Eye. It was an energy welling from within, just like any other power that he’d been able to call upon thus far. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to imitate it. He wasn’t quite sure if it was worth the time to study further.
Lucian’s gut told him that he could. He just needed to figure out how.
For now, he was ready to return to the Collegium before he lost the advantage he’d gained from storming the Hells.
“Maybe we should have a real match,” Rowan proposed, drawing Lucian from his thoughts. “Find someone to use Phoenix Watch on us.”
Lucian shook his head. “Let’s leave a little mystery.”
Rowan sat down on a bench in Charlton’s test room. This was where the alchemist experimented with particularly dangerous compounds. Naturally, it fulfilled many of the same purposes that a training room did.
“So… you’re positive the portals were where you said?”
Lucian nodded. “I am.”
“Then the demons are closing all of the portals to the Hells,” Rowan said, thinking aloud. “On top of that, the other figures you identified… they’ve gone missing.” He bit at his lip, eyes peering off into space. “Are they really retreating? All at once, just like that?”
Lucian walked up to him, silent. He didn’t voice this thought, but he was a little glad. He didn’t share Rowan’s enthusiasm for an all-out war. The First Emperor would take the time to put his house in order, and in the meantime…
“It gives us time to handle the situation between the four great powers,” Lucian said. “Not to mention gaining the blessings I know about.”
“Fighting the Hells was the way to handle the situation,” Rowan said bitterly. “Unite everyone against a common foe. It’s easy to get people to agree to something when they’re fighting side by side. The devils chose the best possible method to stall the momentum we’d gotten. Strategic retreat… it hurts to let them slip away.”
Lucian fiddled with his fingers. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would have been better served keeping this secret to himself longer. But… after losing both Metterand and Vivari, a major recalibration on their end was probably inevitable. He’d done major damage to them, at least.
“At least the situation in Riverra seems to have cooled,” Rowan said optimistically. “The purge in Verne was like a bucket of cold water upon tempers. Now, provided it stays cool… the situation in the empire should resolve itself. I’m optimistic about the future for the empire.”
***
Emperor Condar of Riverra sat on his throne, dead. All of his body save the face had been mutilated beyond recognition with repeated stab wounds.
Prince Algard stood before him, arms crossed. He was positively soaked in blood. He had skin as fine and pale as porcelain, and a face that women would die for. His luxurious black cloak was stained a strangely fitting red, along with the rest of his dark outfit. His maroon eyes, infinitely more predatory than Denzel’s, stared at the corpse.
Dozens of nobles stood around this scene. Algard turned around and looked at all of them, and they froze where they stood.
“I found him like this,” Algard said. They all looked between each other, sharing tacit words. “Upon doing so, I was overcome with emotion and took my father into my arms.”
The courtiers continued to stay dead quiet, none of them sure what to do first.
“I believe you offer condolences in this situation,” Algard said, his voice hinging on anger.
All of them became a heap of words falling over one another, belting out some manner of, “My condolences, Prince Algard.”
“Prince.” He smiled, then muttered under his breath, “Prince. They just called me… prince,” he said, walking around and muttering in disbelief.
One of the more quick-witted courtiers darted forward and knelt. “My condolences, Emperor Algard!”
“He gets it!” Algard shouted immediately, hands held wide in celebration.
All the rest of them quickly followed suit in paying homage to the new emperor.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Now… smart one,” Algard said, wrapping his cloak in his hand so he could kneel without it spilling across the ground. “Who killed the previous emperor? Guess right, you might get a county.”
The man looked around, glancing at the emperor’s corpse. “Uhh… it was demons, Your Hi—Your Majesty.”
“Demons,” Algard said, snapping a finger and pointing. “Unoriginal, but probably right. Demons, after being exposed, retaliate against the Emperor of Riverra just after Denzel’s patron succeeds in reinvigorating his fading prestige. Just after Denzel… achieves significant legitimacy,” he said in a low voice. “Troubling.”
“I’ve heard enough,” a deep male voice sounded out.
Algard rose to his feet, watching as the leader of the imperial guard walked from the back of the crowd. He wore armor seemingly carved of ivory—in reality, it was the Titanbone from the skeleton surrounding Golvenne.
Imperial Guard-Captain Reinhardt looked at Emperor Condar’s corpse, then at Algard. “I always thought that you were a lowly creature, Algard. But this?”
“A flagrant disregard of imperial etiquette? How disrespectful… but tempers are hot when people are grieving, so I’ll be merciful. I told you, I found him like this,” Algard insisted. “I use my fists to fight. He’d be bludgeoned, not stabbed, were I responsible. Age has weakened my father, but not to the point I could beat him.”
Reinhardt placed his hand on his sword. “I see you’ve thought it out.”
Algard pursed his lips. “Yes… I have. I always think about whether I can beat someone. And I know I could beat you,” he said quietly. “Tell me… what’s the point of an Imperial Guard-Captain that I can beat to death myself?” He took a few steps closer.
Without delay, Reinhardt pulled out his sword and swiped it. Algard elegantly weaved around it as the courtiers cried out in fear and backed away. Algard’s body moved like a snake, weaving around the powerful slashes of the guard-captain’s blade. When Reinhardt overextended, Algard slapped the flat of the blade and sent it sliding away.
Reinhardt raised his fists to continue the fight, protecting his helmetless head. Algard moved forward slowly, gracefully, his feet sliding across the marble floor soundlessly. Then, his first erupted out violently and struck Reinhardt on the stomach. The guard-captain immediately hunched over, spitting blood.
“So proud of your Titanbone… but armor is all but useless against fist techniques,” Algard said, red eyes staring into Reinhardt’s as he died. “You told me to take up the sword when I was a boy. Do you remember that? What a ridiculous suggestion.” Reinhardt slumped back against the ground. “I’m glad I never listened to you.” He stared for a long while, watching the guard-captain die.
When Reinhardt stopped moving, Algard looked back at the courtiers.
“You found the Imperial Guard-Captain like that,” the quick-witted one said. “You didn’t do anything to him.”
Algard scoffed. “No, I killed him with my bare hands.” He looked between them. “Don’t tell me… none of you believe I didn’t kill my father? Next you’ll tell me I’m possessed by a demon. Ridiculous.”
Emperor Algard walked up to the throne, looking down at his father.
“You died at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way,” Algard said to his father grimly.
He reached out and closed his father’s eyes. As he did so, he noticed a black cloth clutched in his hand. He pried it free, holding it up in the air and studying it. It looked well-worn. Beyond that, it had no identifying marks.
“We need to seal the palace,” Algard declared, turning around and stuffing the cloth in his pocket. “We need to properly choreograph the succession. If we do this right, it could be weeks before the commonfolk learn. But… if this leaks early, you’ll experience something called collective punishment. Are we clear?”
They all gave some form of ‘yes.’
“Yes,” Algard said. “Yes…?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” one finished, kneeling.
Algard smiled as they all followed suit. “I’m sure you’ll relearn proper imperial etiquette soon enough. It’ll be instinct beaten into your bones.”
***
Lucian walked back into the Collegium. It felt like a lot longer than it had been. And from now on…
I can learn every spell, Lucian reflected. I can make combinations that weren’t possible without cheats—hell, even with cheats. A lightning spell that restores health like holy magic. Healing spells that can be cast as area-of-effect spells. I’m the avatar, man. He smiled faintly.
There was no denying it. The Formless Essence had been every bit as potent a buff as he was hoping, even if it wasn’t without its own complications.
“You’re slower than me,” Miriam said, hobbling up to stand beside him. “Don’t tell me you’re dejected like Rowan. He’s so sad that he won’t be able to go into the Hells. I keep telling him that he wasn’t there, that he doesn’t have any idea what it was like, but…”
Lucian shook his head. “I’m far from dejected. This is still one of the best victories we could have asked for. Espionage that took them decades to set up has been unwound. We’ll have the opportunity to get properly powerful before the next time they strike. And… we might not lose good men on fruitless wars between the four great powers.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Miriam said. “They’re disbanding the Student Ambassador program, apparently.”
Lucian nodded. They did that in War of Four, too—Rowan started holding the meetings in the Crossing Pub. He assumed that’d be the case here, as well.
“And they’re bringing in more chancellors, right?” Lucian finished, walking with her into the school.
“A future you know?” Miriam guessed.
“Yeah.” Lucian glanced over. “I’m not required to attend my evidentiary hearings, and I’m not restricted on account of my nobility. Rowan and I have discussed going on expeditions to claim blessings.”
Miriam looked over. “Is that an invitation?”
“It is,” Lucian confirmed. “It’s important we prepare. The old generation—people like Christoph, Dean Mortimer, Lorenna—are powerful, but they never dealt with monsters and demons on the scale that’s coming. Cyril is powerful because he’s one of few that saw genuine combat. Age has weakened them all. We’re in the prime of our lives, and we have to surpass them. If we can’t claim blessings and purified essence, I don’t think we can stand up against what comes.”
“…surpass gold-ranked instructors?” Miriam questioned. “Just like that?”
“Retreat doesn’t mean defeat,” Lucian said simply. “The First Emperor and all of his servants are still active, still potent… and still poised to strike.”
“Fair enough,” Miriam said.
Lucian walked a few more steps, debating whether or not he should say something more. “Listen… what I’m going to tell you is just my theory. I have no concrete fact. Like I told you, my knowledge ends after the First Emperor ends.”
“Okay…” Miriam said, her brows furrowed in worry.
“I don’t think the First Emperor is where this ends, though,” he said. “He’s only the Hernán Cortés.”
Miriam thought, blinking. “Is he another like Belcourt I should know?”
“No, I’m just…” Lucian said with a shake of his head, frustrated he couldn’t use that analogy—it fit perfectly for what he envisioned. “I think that more tragedy will follow him.”
War of Four had an upcoming sequel, after all, and Rowan featured in it. That was the extent of what Lucian knew.
Miriam considered that. “Okay. How do you think we prepare, then?”
“Rowan wants to make use of the Student Ambassadors to form a team. He likes them, thinks they’re reliable—I do, too,” Lucian said. “It’s early… really early… but if Rowan can get everyone else on board, I think we should seek out the eight dragons.”
