(AN: Someone asked how it was I've been churning out so many chapters this week. Over the weekend I stubbed out this arc, and had it about 70% done. Combine that with some weather-related downtime, and I was able to write out as many chapters as I've had this week.

So I lied, this chapter is more exposition. And it's short. And this part is a flashback, I was going to make this the previous chapter but I decided against it since it has spoilers. This takes place in Albion just after Konrad and co. left Albion.)

(12 hours earlier, in a remote estate in Albion)

Dark figures glide through the mist-covered grounds of an old estate. The mansion is dark, and appears abandoned. These figures drift towards a side entrance of the mansion and enter the door. Inside, a darkened stairwell leads to cavernous room, lit by a fire in a brazier. In the center of the room is a throne, with a large firestone crystal next to it. A figure wearing a mask is seated in the throne. This was the secret conclave of the Reconquista.

When the last two figures entered the room, the person seated in the throne spoke.

"Sheffield, you were almost late. I trust your expedition to Tristain was fruitful?"

"It was, I was able to acquire an asset that will help us in our endeavors."

The speaker named Sheffield was female, and removed her mask, revealing a dark-haired woman with unsettling violet eyes.

The seated figure removed his mask, revealing an older man with a scar on his face. The one called Sheffield spoke.

"So, the prince is away?"

The man nodded.

"He is on an airship on his way to Tristain as we speak, he should arrive in the morning."

"Then our trap is sprung, Cromwell. I hope you know what you're doing. I'm taking an awful risk letting the prince slip out of our grasp. This had better work."

"It will work, I have the perfect man for the job. Someone the princess implicitly trusts."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The princess has a best friend, someone who attends the Academy of Magic in Tristain. And our man is that girl's fiancé."

"Perfect, then nothing can stop us."

One of the other masked persons spoke.

"What of the bodyguard? He is a threat."

Cromwell waved his hand.

"No, I think not. I believe he will be no match for the count."

A new voice spoke up in the darkness.

"Count Wardes is a fop and a fool. He will underestimate the brat's bodyguard, and it will cost him his life, mark my words."

Sheffield gestured to the cloaked newcomer.

"This is the asset I spoke of, one that I sprung from prison. May I introduce the thief Fouquet, of the Crumbling Earth."

The newcomer pulled her hands from the folds of her cloak, revealing fingers that were bandaged together, and removed her mask. The woman's eyes burned with hatred.

"I, too, underestimated this man; I thought he was a mere commoner, a soldier no different from the ones that inhabit the ranks of our military. I know what sort of man this Crosby is; he is no mere knight or mage. He comes from another world, and wields weapons that render all but the most powerful magic useless. I vowed that the man called Crosby would rue the day he spared my life, I will help you with your petty goals of invading Tristain, if it will allow me to take my revenge against the man who maimed and disgraced me."

Cromwell rubbed his chin.

"What sort of man is this Sir Crosby?"

"I believe I can answer that, Sir Cromwell."

The owner of the new voice removed his mask and spoke.

"I met this Sir Crosby at the festival, and at the time I knew there was more to him than met the eye."

Sheffield glared at noble.

"If you had suspicions, Sir Percival, why did you not act upon them?"

Cromwell waved a hand.

"Peace, Sheffield, let my friend speak."

Sir Percival nodded.

"I believe this Sir Crosby is the most dangerous sort of man. He permanently lamed one of my toughest mercenaries, and did so to protect the princess's best friend, posing as his daughter. This girl, if the stories are to be believed, is nothing more than a spoiled brat from a wealthy family. And yet he risked his life to protect her."

He shook his head.

"In speaking to him I believe him to be a good, honorable man. Brimir help me, I know him to be. If I had men like that under my command, we would be unstoppable."

"But we can't."

He smiled at Sheffield.

"No, we can't. As I said, he is the most dangerous sort of man, someone who is ruthless without being blinded by ambition, with skills honed in the fire of battle that make him powerful but bound by his conscience, and an undying loyalty to those close to him. Someone who can never bought, and can't be blackmailed."

Sheffield sniffed.

"In short, the insufferable sort of person that ends up becoming the hero of an epic tale."

His smile vanished from his face.

"Yes, and I sincerely thank Brimir every evening that there is only one of him, for the sake of the Reconquista. If there were even two such men in Helkeginia, that would spell our doom."

There was a rumble like thunder, and the fire in the brazier winked out. The firestone glowed an evil blood red, like magma. A voice like continents crashing against one another issued from the glow.

"Foolssss. Foolish little men who whimper in dark places like whipped dogs at the threat of one man, when you realize there are not one, but several who joined him. There are even his kind within your own pathetic little island."

Cromwell looked shocked.

"What? How?"

The voice continued.

"Little importance to anyone but little men. The thief is correct, these men are soldiers, killers who come from another world, a world of violence, glorious violence…and weaponsss….ahh their world has weapons that make your petty elemental magic look like parlor tricks…weapons of fire, weapons that burn, maim, and kill hundreds, thousands, even one that can kill millionssss in one ball of fire. These are the men that you face. But I can provide asisssstance."

Sheffield was the only one brave enough to speak.

"W-what sort of assistance?"

"There was another soul that came from their violent world, one that was consumed for vengeance, one that I was able to ensssnare. I remade him in my image, he is my First, my Nahkriin, which in our thu'um means 'Vengeance', and I offer him to you, if you promise to releasssse me."

"How?"

"Unimportant, I will provide you with the knowledge and meanssss to release me, you must agree to serve my ends."

Sheffield looked back to Cromwell and the members of the Reconquista's inner circle. All nodded in turn, only Sir Percival averted his eyes and abstained. She turned back to the firestone.

"We agree, Lord Alduin."

"Very well, I offer my First to you, do not squander this gift I have given you. I will be most displeassssed if you fail."

(AN: Oh, come on Cromwell, you don't make deals with fell entities like dragons. Especially ones whose name is 'World Eater' in Dragonish. To them, you're little and crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

Soooo remember how the Dragonborn destroyed Alduin in Svongaard? Well, he kinda didn't completely destroy him, just banished him to the Dark Realm. Where he could tempt lost souls who died violent deaths and led less than nice lives to become his Dragon. And tempt villains clutching the idiot ball into unleashing him on their world. And became an even larger Ham in the process.

Hope you enjoyed it, next chapter, aptly titled Intel Operative will have the Radioman trolling Cromwell.)