Chapter 15 - The Golden Ogre

At first, Gustav had intended to walk to the Heroes' Hearth. Kashan didn't say anything, but from his expression, I could tell that he wasn't a fan of the idea.

Wolfgunblood had simply smiled. It was a cool, somehow superior smile - "I think we can do better than that," he'd said, and a carriage had been called for. Six horses, snorting and bridled, teamed to a stately coach; All in the livery of the Adventurer's Guild, I couldn't help but notice.

The carriage started off with a whipcrack, and we rambled through the streets. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones, all four of us swaying lightly with the jolting of the carriage.

At night, the true beauty of the capital emerged. There was something reassuring about the lights in every window, at each street - It covered up the city's blemishes, the crumbling building and the half-rotted facades of shophouses. Made it look quaint, almost charming; Somewhere, we could hear singing coming from a tavern, as we skirted around a torchlit procession.

"What are they celebrating?" Gustav wondered, aloud. He peered out of the window, as flags and streamers flapped in the night wind.

"The royal anniversary, milord," came the answer from up ahead. "'tis the fortieth year since King Ramposa's ascension to the throne - May he rule for forty more!"

It'd been hard not to notice the widened eyes and slack mouth of the driver, when he'd seen Wolfgunblood. Something told me he didn't have adamantite-ranked adventurers in his carriage, often; I wondered what he'd have done if he knew the truth.

With an embarrassed cough - clearly, he hadn't intended to be overheard - Gustav reached out to shut the window. "A cold night," he said, looking a little self-conscious. By some unspoken agreement, we were seated together, facing Wolfgunblood and Kashan. The former's pale, soulful features were set in a tranquil mask of contemplation, his arms folded across his chest; the latter kept sneaking glances to the side, as if marveling at how he was this close to a living legend, in the flesh.

None of us spoke. Gustav and Kashan were too intimidated; My attention was elsewhere, centered entirely on the blade that lay across my lap. Not the Interfector, which still rode high on my hip - At least for now.

Not the sword that Samuel had been wielding when he'd reached the top of the Platinum Spire, a simple straight sword - broad blade, solid crosspiece, weight pommel - forged entirely from dark-blue adamantite. (In my inventory, it had been named Gnosis, and bore a silver query near the hilt. The significance, if any, was lost on me.)

The weapon I held was of a different class entirely. Etched and engraved for the hand of a master swordsman, the hilt and cross-guard was crafted from gold and polished ivory, the blade itself forged of star silver - A metal that I hadn't even known existed. Runes hand-scribed along the weapon's length detailed (presumably) a long and illustrious lineage of fallen foes, glowing faintly even when sheathed.

Daegal, the inventory screen had called it. A custom item, created by someone called Amanomahitotsu. A labor of love, forged to exacting specifications. It was, in every way, the sword every fourteen-year-old - Gawky, gangling, running after a brother two years older, stronger and wiser in every way - dreams about.

But I didn't care about that. It was the description - in a neat, small-type font - that had captured my eye, that broke my heart.

The blade of a forgotten hero, long vanished from the world.

One day, he shall return, and all will be put right.

VENIAM UMBRA TAMEN CREDO: Come the darkness, I still believe.

Already, I had read it more times than I had cared to recall, each time hoping that I'd see the intent, the meaning, that never made it onto the page.

"Sir Samuel? Are you well?"

Kashan's voice was cautious, but not overly solicitous. He'd given me a puzzled look when he'd seen the second sword I carried in one hand, my knuckles white against the black binding of the scabbard, but he'd known enough not to ask.

"I'm fine," I said, wiping my eyes. My voice was a little hoarse, now - I swallowed, put some strength into it. "-Just tired, that's all. It's been...a very long journey."

I would put it away, later. No man needs two swords. But - for now - I gripped it like a talisman.

The smuggler nodded, looking relieved. Gustav cleared his throat, glad that someone had broken the silence at last; "Ser Wolfgunblood, I've been wondering," he said, glancing down. "That weapon of yours - I've never seen anything like it before. Like a crossbow or a wand, but different...What is it?"

Wolfgunblood didn't move an inch. For a moment, there was only the sound of the carriage's wheels, the faint jingle of the reins. Then-

"It has no name," he said. "I know it by the sound it makes, when it claims a man's life."

His crimson eye glittered with pitiless light, and I distinctly heard Gustav gulp. Kashan's eyes went wide, as - ever-so-subtly - he shrank away from Wolfgunblood's forbidding figure, wedging himself into a corner.

For fuck's sake, I thought. My eyes squeezed shut for a moment, as I felt a migraine pulse at my temples. Did he have to be so, so…

A thought occurred to me, and I drew a steadying breath. Sat up a little straighter.

"...You have fought beastmen before, haven't you?" I asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than I meant to. Gustav's face was positively grey, as he gave me a frantic look - In the name of the Four, what are you doing? it said, but he didn't know the truth.

In the entire city - maybe the entire world - I was the only one who did.

Wolfgunblood smiled, thin-lipped. He brushed my question aside, with a negligent wave of his half-gloved hand.

"I've slain beasts. I've slain men. I've killed everything that walks or crawls on this earth." He tipped his hand, a dismissive slight turn of the wrist as if he was spilling out a handful of sand. Wolfgunblood met my gaze, his mismatched eyes narrowed to slits. "Sometimes, it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins."

I had to admit: I was slightly awed, now. I'd never seen someone so committed to a role, before. He was loving every minute of it, I could tell. Well, if that was how he wanted to play it, I wasn't about to get in his way.

Gustav and Kashan looked suitably awed. It was the former who - sweating nervously, now - tried to get things back on track. "It may be...a while before we can depart for the Holy Kingdom," Gustav said, carefully. "Your presence is greatly appreciated, but...If it's an imposition-"

Wolfgunblood shook his head. "It's of no matter," he said, with a careless, almost theatrical frown. "Fate takes me where She will. I am but Her instrument."

I swear my eyes nearly rolled all the way back into my head. I coughed, lightly, into a closed fist - "Be that as it may," I said, "We've got things to tend to, in Re-Estize. It may be a few weeks."

"I can wait," Wolfgunblood said. His gaze dropped to the Interfector, and the corners of his mouth curled upward.

"-I've got all the time in the world."

You have to understand: I didn't give up the Interfector lightly. I knew, without a doubt, it was the single most powerful thing I possessed - Maybe more than all the rest put together. But when I weighed it against the Holy Kingdom, against the help we so desperately needed…

I suppose the question is: Would I have given up the Interfector if it'd saved Pavel's life? Orlando, Ran, Heiter, Roelle and all the rest?

I like to think I'd have said yes. But even now, I wasn't sure. All I knew was that this was my chance to avert immense amounts of suffering, to save thousands - maybe millions - of lives. And, despite what Wolfgunblood thought, I couldn't do it by myself.

Or rather, I wasn't certain that I could. I was fumbling my way forward, learning as I went: Between the two of us, only one really knew what he was doing. That counted for a lot.

Wolfgunblood had been willing, even eager, to share his knowledge. He was, I think, lonely; there was no-one to celebrate his new status with, no-one he could confide in. In this world, where the inconsequential and the ephemeral had abruptly become a matter of life and death, he'd been more than happy to root through the treasure trove I'd been - unknowingly - carrying with me.

He'd been the one to tell me that the heavy iron ring in my pouch generated a thundering blast of force ("It's a Gatebreaker Ring. How cool is that?"). That the emerald-studded amulet I'd been carrying around the entire time would let me keep moving, keep fighting - that it would fill me with vigor, no matter what ("Nah, you keep it. I've got, like, four of them.")

All the myriad subtleties that I had been completely oblivious too, that I would have missed on my own.

If not for him, I wouldn't even know how to open my Item Box.

When it came to the Interfector, I think he wanted it simply because it was there. Not because he had any particular use for it (Besides the obvious, of course), but because having two World Items would be quite the thing. I'll admit: If he'd been older, more serious, I would have been warier. But in the face of who Wolfgunblood was, it was hard not to let me guard down.

Just a little.

Truth be told, I wasn't sure what else I had to offer him, and I'd wanted to make sure he was with us. To turn his 'maybe' into a 'yes'. More importantly, I wanted to be certain he would stay the cause: I didn't believe that he was as effortlessly callous as he claimed to be.

Not for a moment.

He might have killed monsters and the occasional bandit, before. But a war is a very different thing, and I wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

I wasn't sure I was.

I supposed that we would find out at the same time as everyone else.

When it was too late.

When the carriage swept in under the rain-proofed portico of Heroes' Hearth, servants were waiting for us with brass dishes of clean water, to wash away the dust and dirt of the day. It was Wolfgunblood who drew all the looks, however; when he descended from the carriage, there was an audible murmur as heads turned, eyes widening all around.

Inside, lamps cast a shimmering yellow light over the polished oak beams, trench tables and whitewashed walls. It was clear that this inn was for a higher class of visitor, mostly foreign dignitaries, richer merchants and the slightly lower rung of nobility - the ornate furniture and liveried staff gave it the feel of some kind of gentleman's club, the kind corporate executives and stockbrokers would frequent.

Still, the glow of fire and heat, the smell of roasting meat and the sound of good cheer….All of it was a welcome relief from the night's chill. The inn's sigil - a sword planted point-first in a stylized campfire - featured prominently over the crackling hearth, the wall lined with landscapes depicting great moments in Re-Estize's history.

It's surprising how much of them involve planting a foot on the defeated, and thrusting a sword triumphantly at the sky.

More murmurs, as Wolfgunblood strode through the doors. His spurs jingled against the black tile floor - I don't know how he didn't get them caught in the carpet of woven silver thread, but he managed it, somehow.

Absolutely everyone was looking at him.

A slender, top-heavy brunette in pale lace was entirely distracted from her colorfully-clad dining partner, her eyes settling on Wolfgunblood as if glued to him. A heavyset man - in the act of filling his flagon - stared, and kept staring until ale sloshed from his overfull flagon and over his lap. A servant bearing steaming plates of meat and vegetables on a tray stopped dead in his tracks, only to stagger away when someone yelled at him to keep moving.

For his part, Wolfgunblood looked neither left nor right. He just kept walking, that measured, stately stride. Letting his presence speak for itself, as we hurried along in his wake.

I had to hand it to him - He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Wolfgunblood-"

"...the one who saved E-Rantel?"

"-really him!"

"-said he killed an Elder Basilisk-"

You wouldn't know it from looking at him, but I could sense (more than see) the little twitch of Wolfgunblood's smile, as he swept majestically forward. He was enjoying every moment of this, and why not? His adoring public was hanging on every moment, every crumb of his presence.

"...he doing here?"

What was he doing here?

That was the question they were asking themselves, really. What had brought him here, now, in our company? I could feel curious eyes settle on me, and felt my skin itch beneath their regard - Stay calm, I thought, as I did my best to look like the knight I was supposed to be.

Too late, it occurred to me that we should probably have made a more discreet entrance, rather than swaggering right through the front door. Then again, something told me he wouldn't have settled for anything else.

I fought down a sigh. When I stole a glance at Gustav, he had one hand on his stomach, grimacing as if his acid reflux was flaring up all over again. I knew how he felt: In hindsight, I was beginning to wonder if this had really been a good idea.

It was too late now, though. All I could do was grit my teeth, and hope that he'd have the sense to keep his mouth shut around Kelart.

I had to admit - the Inn lived up to its cost. Kelart's suite was an expansive one, fit for nobility: heavy chairs of dark wood with delicate carvings, thick hangings on the walls showing woods and hunting scenes. It reminded me, somehow, of a story I had read a long, long time ago. Knights and a King with a magic sword and a beautiful sorceress who dwelled beneath a lake. A fragment was all I could remember now, but I had always wondered what happened to them in the end.

Perhaps, like with all dreams, someone had eventually woken up.

It was late, but there'd been no hesitation when we knocked at the door, just a firm "You may enter". Kelart stood, the room illuminated by the light of a single lamp, as precisely poised as if she'd been waiting for us all along. She'd been contemplating the icon of the Four, her head bowed in prayer - When she turned towards us, I saw the faint signs of exhaustion on her elegant features, replaced by a flicker (quickly muted) of surprise.

"Lady Kelart Custodio," Gustav said, formally - sounding somehow shakier than usual - "I present to you...Wolfgunblood, of Endless Crimson Rain."

There was a soft hiss of indrawn breath. From whom, I couldn't say.

"Be welcome, Wolfgunblood," Lady Kelart said, her voice softer, warmer, than I'd ever heard before. She looked perfectly composed, perfectly poised, but there was something of the ingenue in her now as she glided closer, offering her hand to kiss. "-It is a rare honor to meet an adventurer as illustrious as yourself. Truly, you were sent by the Four in our time of need."

Wolfgunblood bowed, low. Half-gloved fingers took her hand, his lips brushing the smooth skin.

"The honor is all mine, Lady Kelart," he said. Smoothly, as if he did this all the time. "Sir Samuel's account of your plight moved me to the core; Yet, he neglected to mention your beauty."

His voice deepened, as he raised his gaze - those mismatched, yet mysterious, eyes meeting hers. "Forgive my presumption - For a moment, I mistook you for the Holy Queen Herself."

Oh, Jesus, I thought. Gustav winced. Right then, I knew how he felt.

With a deft grace, Wolfgunblood reached into the folds of his coat, and pulled out a rose. It was perfect, made of gold, just budding and faintly edged with electrum. The silver stem was stiff, shorn of thorns.

Had he been carrying this around the entire time?

Kelart colored, faintly. She smiled, as if she'd never been treated to a gesture this gallant before. As she took the golden rose, their fingers brushed, and she lowered her gaze demurely.

"I shall treasure this, in the spirit it was given," she said, stroking the petals lightly. "-It's beautiful. Thank you."

As Wolfgunblood straightened from his bow, he pressed his hand to his chest, making each word a heart-truth. "Any doubts I might have had are now fully assuaged," he said. "My sword is yours, Lady Kelart - Command me as you will, and I shall obey."

That was what she was hoping to hear. Kelart's smile became a fraction warmer, a fraction more earnest; "Gallantly spoken," she said. "Rest assured; When the time comes, I shall have need of your strength." She reached up, and - with a measured elegance - slipped the flower into her hair, the golden rose shimmering lightly against her glossy brown tresses.

"Now, Ser Wolfgunblood - If I may speak with Sir Gustav and Sir Samuel…"

"Of course," he said. Boldly, as if he'd agreed to undertake a valiant quest. "I shall await you upon the morrow...My Lady."

And then he was gone, his black coat fluttering behind him. The sounds of music and revelry lingered for a moment, then faded as he shut the door behind him.

A beat, as even the echoes faded. Then Kelart crossed over to one of the cabinets, where a carafe of wine stood. Liquid sloshed, as she poured three glasses of a deep red spirit from the decanter - Brushing her hair out of her eyes, as she handed one to Gustav.

"I had hoped that our message would reach you in time," Gustav began, and she nodded. A glance to the side, where a scroll of vellum lay on a round table. "It did," Kelart said. "Less than an hour's warning, but time enough - I appreciate your effort."

Gustav sighed - Relief, I think - and knocked back his drink. It didn't seem to do him much good.

"What do you make of him, Knight-Captain?" Kelart asked, her voice thoughtful now.

A pause, as Gustav considered this. Then...

"-He's a grim one, isn't he? You think the stories are exaggerated, but then he looks at you and…" The Paladin shuddered. "I wouldn't want to be his enemy, that's certain."

She glanced at me. "Can we trust him?"

I thought about it. "Up to a point," I said, and she raised an eyebrow, signalling for me to go on.

"-Until things cease to interest him," I clarified, and Kelart nodded, slowly. Fatigue radiated from her features. "As I thought," she murmured, almost to herself. "Knight-Captain Gustav...Can I trouble you to speak with Wolfgunblood? Keep him, as they say, interested and motivated. Play to this ego," she added, with the rare flash of a smile, "-it shouldn't be hard."

"As you wish, Lady Kelart," Gustav said, with a brief inclination of his head. "Good night, Sir Samuel."

The door shut behind him with a click, and we were alone.

At last, Kelart exhaled. Slowly, her shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly. I could tell that she hadn't fully recovered from her week-long vigil, yet; Mediating in shifts, casting the same spell over and over again - that was the kind of exhaustion that stayed with you, I didn't doubt.

She sipped her drink, more to moisten her lips than anything.

"Quite a character," Kelart murmured. "Tell me...Is he all he claims to be?"

If only you knew, I thought. "Definitely," I said, without hesitation. "-Never doubt that. He's exactly as powerful as the stories say he is. More so, in fact."

Now that made her blink.

"-You sound very certain."

"I am." I hoped she wouldn't ask why.

Fortunately, Kelart didn't press the issue, the hem of her robes rustling faintly as she sank down into the chair. I could almost feel the unseen weight that lifted from her, like an invisible vise loosening; "One less thing to worry about, then," she said, mulling over it - "In all honesty, I didn't think it'd be that simple." A sidelong look. "How did you get him to side with us? What did you offer him?"

A bitter taste filled my mouth, so abruptly that I had to take a hearty swig of the wine to wash it away. It was very rich, very sweet, but it did nothing for the sensation that welled up from within.

"It's nothing," I lied. "We have an understanding, that's all." I cast around, looking for a way to change the subject. "In truth, I was wondering what you made of him."

Kelart must have sensed the lie, because her features darkened, ever-so-slightly. But then she smiled, and the moment passed. "Well," she said, toying with her wineglass. "He's an enigma, really. Courteous enough, certainly, but all that 'At your command, my Lady' and 'Your humble servant'...It's a facade, of course, but what could it be concealing? And why?"

Her slim fingers rose, absently, to the golden blossom in her hair.

"Yet - I can't help but feel that was the most genuine thing about him. Nothing about him rang false, but he struck me as a man with secrets of his own. It's all so very mysterious, isn't it?" A soft chuckle. "No wonder he's so popular. A handsome stranger from distant lands, noble in countenance and bearing, whose past is a mystery...It's the stuff epics are made of. I'm sure it makes all the maidens swoon."

I made a noncommittal sound, almost a grunt. I'd have poured myself another drink, but it'd have been wasted on me. Good for him, I thought - perhaps a little sourly. I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if our positions had been reversed. If I'd arrived in Re-Estize, and he'd been the one plunged into the beastman camp.

Then again, Wolfgunblood was just a kid. It shouldn't have irked me, but it did.

Just a little.

I realized, then, that Kelart had been watching me the entire time. Gauging my response. The corners of her mouth had turned upwards, in a faint - almost secret - smile.

"You don't like him, do you." It wasn't a question. Her big brown eyes settled on me, a coy lilt to her voice as Kelart rested her chin on her hands. "Are you jealous, Sir Samuel?"

I nearly laughed, but I knew she wouldn't have taken that well. Instead, I met Kelart's gaze, just for a moment. "-Should I be?" I asked. Softly, now. Serious.

When she looked away - points of high color in her cheeks - I couldn't help but feel like I'd scored a point. "On to other things, then," Kelart said, as if she hadn't heard. "What do you know about Crown Prince Barbro?"

"Only what I've heard," I admitted. "'The Golden Ogre', right? Kashan thinks he's a straight edge-"

Kelart sniffed, a distinctly unladylike sound. "He's a fool and a thug," she said, scorn in her voice. "He might just be the most desperately insecure man I've ever met. Do you know what he's done? He's declared a royal ball on the same day, so he can bask in the adulation of the nobility. Here."

She flicked a white card onto the table. I turned it over in my hand, noting the royal seal and the elegant, flowing script.

"Isn't it the anniversary of the King's ascension to the throne?"

"You'd think that, but apparently Crown Prince Barbro has seen fit to steal his thunder. To let all know that he will be King, and soon - Not that he'll have to wait much longer, of course." She grimaced, her bangs swaying as she shook her head lightly. "Some might call that opportunistic. I just call it distasteful."

I mulled over this. "-What will you do?" I asked, at last.

"Attend, of course," Kelart said. "What else can we do? All of the nobility will be there. Crown Prince Barbro wields the greatest influence, if only by sheer brute force. If we hope to receive any aid from Re-Estize, he's the one we have to convince."

That didn't bode well.

"Couldn't we petition King Ramposa directly?" I asked, and Kelart shook her head. "The King is a spent force," she said. "He rarely leaves the royal compound, now - This marks the second year since he last rode at the head of the anniversary parade."

She paused, lowering her voice. "The High Priest of the Four has informed me - in strict confidence, of course - that the King is reaching the end of his allotted span. The flame of life flickers dimly, within him. He has three years left, at most; Some auguries place it at one."

So that was what the priests had been doing. I wondered how reliable their predictions were, in the grand scale of things. To my mind, the future was a constantly changing, ever-shifting thing, with too many moving parts to ever be truly certain of. After all, I hadn't expected my life to change this totally, this drastically.

But I kept my thoughts to myself.

A light sigh, her expression troubled. "In truth, we'd probably be better off trying to convince Crown Prince Barbro. King Ramposa, the Gods keep him, always treasured the lives of his men and the fortunes of his kingdom. He's unlikely to commit himself to the relief of the Holy Kingdom - Especially with the threat the Empire poses, and the next Annual War on the horizon."

She frowned, calculation in her eyes. "He might grant us only his most sincere regrets. And that, as you can guess, would be worse than nothing."

"And Prince Zanac?"

"Even less likely. Prince Zanac is cautious. Pragmatic - Any help from him would come at a substantial cost. And, in truth, we have very little to offer him." Kelart's gaze went distant, as she bit her lip. "One wonders what concessions he might try to wring from us. At any rate, he was never particularly popular with the military. His talents lie elsewhere."

A shadow of a smile. "No, I'm afraid that if we're looking for someone to make a rash, impulsive decision against their own best interests...Crown Prince Barbro is our man."

I winced. "That bad, is it?"

"You've seen for yourself. It's not good, certainly." A pause, as she considered her next words. "Fortunately, between Wolfgunblood and the Grandmaster of the Order of Yggdrasil, we might just pique his interest-"

"Wait," I said. "Grandmaster of the Order of Yggdrasil? I'm not-"

She fixed me with a level stare. "You are the last knight of the Order, are you not? That makes you Grandmaster by default. Besides, the Crown Prince is exactly the kind of man impressed by important-sounding titles - I'm sure you can forgive me for buttressing your accomplishments just this once."

I could hardly argue with that. And yet-

"If Crown Prince Barbro is what you think he is," I said, slowly. "-are you really sure that we want the kind of help he can give?"

Kelart smiled. A weary smile, one that reminded me very much of the one I'd seen after Loyts was liberated. "Who else is there?" she asked. "You'll find, I think, that politics is a choice between bad and worse. Sometimes, all you can do is to settle for the least bad option."

She rose. "You should rest, Sir Samuel. Tomorrow will be...quite a day."

That's putting it mildly, I thought, and stood. I made it as far as the door, before she called me back.

"-You could stand to be a little jealous, you know," Kelart said. Amused, yet somehow sincere, all at once. "Just a little."

That made my eyebrows rise.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, oh-so-carefully. I couldn't help but smile, as I dipped my head in a slight bow. "Good night, Lady Kelart."

When I left her, she was still standing - turning the Ring of Providence around her finger, thoughtfully, as if lost in contemplation.

We'd started out early, and the day had been exactly as confusing and incoherent as I'd expected. Closer to the center of the city, the roads and the streets had been packed with cheering crowds, so many that they entirely eclipsed the liberation of Loyts.

I couldn't help but notice that there was something distinctly martial about the celebration. Even as I looked out of the carriage's window, a long column of men marched by, shepherded by armored guards. In red, white and brown, with distinctive padded caps in place of helmets, their long spears rose in a spiky thicket, the red-and-black banner of the Kingdom fluttering bravely overhead.

It was quite a sight, all that shining metal moving steadily in a bristling line, spear points glittering in the sunlight. Heavy boots tramping, a seemingly-endless river of soldiers. I remembered Kashan's words, and wondered how many would be left after next year's Annual War - Would there even be a Re-Estize Kingdom, after that?

Maybe this world isn't that different from ours, I thought. I couldn't remember a time when we hadn't been at war, in one way or another; On the night I'd been sent here, the Equatorial Conflict had still been raging. That, and the Bloc Wars, of course - Slow-burning, perpetual conflicts, with no end in sight.

Now and then, fragments would steal into the public consciousness. A chemical attack on a remote village. A child soldier, begging for his life. An infant being shot in the head. Burning buildings, collapsing beneath aerial bombardment.

A steady drip-feed of horror, to remind us of the single, all-encompassing truth: No matter how bad things were, they could always be worse.

Despite the cold of the day, an immense amount of dust had been kicked up. Potent enchantments over the Capital, so I'd been told, kept the worst ravages of winter at bay - Still, it was something of a mixed blessing now, considering how the dust got everywhere.

At least we were out of it; Wolfgunblood had requested that I ride with him in his carriage, with Kelart and Gustav in the other. "To speak of war, and all that comes with it," he'd said, but honestly I think he just wanted to talk. The novelty of meeting another player hadn't worn off, not for him, anyway.

Personally, I could take it or leave it.

Kashan, and the rest of the retinue, had been dispatched on various errands, all the minutiae of preparing for the conflict to come: Petitioning the temples for aid and succor, arranging for supplies, reaching further afield for what allies could be found. I didn't envy them in the slightest - It was necessary work, but deeply tedious. I freely admit that I had no head for things like that, and absolutely no inclination to involve myself in that aspect of things.

I had to wonder, of course, how much of the eighty thousand gold had already been spent. Whether it was anything close to enough, to arm and feed the Liberation Army when the fighting began in earnest.

And-

"You know, I think Kelart's into me. You see it too, right?"

I blinked. Looked up, from the Encyclopedia on my lap - I'd been paging through it, half-distracted by the sights and sounds from outside. Trying to get some sense of what I could and couldn't do. But reading it is one thing; Knowing is quite another, entirely.

For his part, Wolfgunblood had taken the tedium of the ride notably less well. Free of the need to keep up appearances, he was fidgeting, listlessly spinning his handgun forward, then back. He'd opened the drinks cabinet, tried one, and made a face. "Swill," he'd muttered, and tossed the bottle out of the window as the wheels rattled on.

Carefully, I closed the book, making sure not to crease the page. "What makes you say that?" I asked, curious now.

"Well, she's still wearing the rose I gave her, right? That's a good sign. Usually," he said, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back against the well-cushioned seat. "-I mean, most of the time it's a lot more obvious, but…"

"'Most of the time?'" I echoed. "How many women have you slept with?"

I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know. But curiosity drove me onward.

Wolfgunblood grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Since I got here? About...Let's see." His brow furrowed, as he considered the question. "Around twenty, give or take," he said, at last. "No more than twenty-two, at most."

Jesus, I thought. "...You've been keeping busy," I said, admittedly impressed.

He shrugged, his wolf-head ornaments chiming, faintly. "What else am I supposed to do?" he asked, with a smirk. "They don't have DMMOs here, you know. What, you want me to stay in on Friday night? I can't help it; Rescue a girl from an Elder Basilisk, and she basically throws herself at you. That's just the way things are, here."

Wolfgunblood's expression sobered. "It's not like I just love them and leave them, you know," he said. "I make sure they've got enough to set up a new life somewhere else. What else is money good for, you know?" He spread the fingers of one half-gloved hand. "Life can be pretty shit here, too. I'm doing what I can for them."

"I hadn't noticed," I said, dryly.

His pale, aquiline features twisted in a scowl. "You don't have to treat me like a fucking kid, you know," Wolfgunblood said. "The things I've seen and done - You think you're the only one who had it rough? I tell you, that 'I'm the adult in the room' schtick of yours? It's getting old. Real fast."

He cocked his head towards me, his mismatched eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. "I could wreck you, you realize? It wouldn't even be hard. Shit, have you ever been in a PvP match before? I tell you - If you don't even know what your character can do...It's a bad time to find out."

I put my hands up. "All right," I said. "I'm sorry for that. It's just that - I'm lost when it comes to all...this." That was putting it mildly. "I'm trying to stay above the water, that's all. I didn't mean to be-" I grimaced. "...condescending. After all, we're in the same boat, aren't we?"

"Depends on how you look at it," Wolfgunblood muttered. "You really bring the mood down, you know that? Do you have to be so damn serious all the time?"

I thought about the skinning pits, the mass graves. The hanging smell of roasting human flesh, enough to make my gorge rise. Orlando, eyeless and laughing, before the Magelos cut his throat-

"I'll try to lighten up," I said. "-best I can do."

"Right," Wolfgunblood said, his interest flagging. "Anyway-" he cast around in a desultory fashion, as if looking to pick up the thread of the conversation. "I think I've really got a chance with her, you know?"

Only because you don't know her, I thought. Instead, I said - "With the High Priestess of the Four? That's...ambitious."

"Yeah, well - Since I got here? Sky's the limit." He shrugged, entirely at ease. "I mean, I was thinking about what you said. Gratitude, and all the other stuff. From what I've heard, it's not like the Holy Kingdom can really afford to pay, can it?"

"Where did you hear-" I began, then sighed. Gustav, I thought. So much for that, then.

"Ah, don't be too hard on him. He's got no poker face at all - That, and he was thrilled to meet an adamantite-ranked adventurer. Can't blame him, really; In his shoes, I'd probably feel the same."

Wolfgunblood's eyes narrowed, ever-so-slightly. "So, when were you going to tell me about that part? That the Holy Kingdom holds all of one city? That you've got your very own Bloc War going on over there?"

I gave him a level look. "Would it make a difference?" I said. "Did you think I'd give up the Interfector, if it was that easy?"

He laughed. A short, sharp bark of laughter. "Yeah, well...It's all the same to me in the end," he said, all exaggerated unconcern. "Long as you keep your end of the bargain, that is." He eyed me, for a moment. "What was that you said? That at least I wouldn't be bored?"

I nodded. "You can trust me on that, if nothing else. You're definitely not going to be bored."

"Well, whatever. I don't see why it matters so much to you, but I'm fine with that," he said, with a half-smile. "'Wolfgunblood, Hero of the Holy Kingdom' does have a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

I would've rolled my eyes. But instead, I said: "When we win, there'll be more than enough glory to go around. Never doubt that."

And I thought: A hundred thousand beastmen. Lead by the Shrouded Prophet, with ninth-tier magic. Whatever else the months ahead might hold, it would be a battle like none of us had ever seen.

Something - call it intuition - flickered across my mind. The vague shape of a greater realization, circling without taking hold.

But when I tried to snare it, it slipped through my thoughts, and was gone like a dream upon waking.

Tall and white-walled, Ro Lente castle was effectively a city in itself. A small one, certainly, but no less substantial for all that; We passed through gate after gate, through wide courtyards and neat gardens, past gurgling fountains and proud statues, the twelve watchtowers looming above it all like silent guardians.

Our carriage was stopped, over and over again. Guards, splendidly attired and armed with ceremonial halberds, eyed us with first practiced suspicion, then barely-hidden wonder, when they saw exactly who the carriage held. You'd have thought they would have been used to seeing the richest and most powerful in the land pass through the Castle's many gates, but apparently an adamantite-ranked adventurer was still a novelty.

I don't know how many hours it took, as the sun tracked a steady path through the sky. When we saw that the knights were abroad - watching over the inner reaches of the castle, majestic in their ornate armor - I knew we were finally getting somewhere.

The white towers slid by, as our carriages trundled down a walkway that lay along an avenue of flowering trees; The air seemed somehow more rarefied, here. As if the mere presence of nobility was...ennobling it (I couldn't think of a better word) somehow.

At some point, I must have dozed off. All I knew was that when I awoke - my limbs stiff, my head muzzy with sleep - Wolfgunblood was looking up, a flash of excitement in his eyes.

"Fuckin' finally," he muttered. "We're here."

As footmen helped us down from the carriage - all crimson jackets, gold piping and mirror-polished boots - we got our first look at Valencia Palace.

If the rest of the Castle had been a stately, thoroughly impressive edifice, the palace was opulence itself. The heart of it had been built on simple, defensible lines, but alterations had been made since then by a succession of rulers. They'd shaped it, carved it, the way a master jeweler would cut a glorious gem grown in some secret crystal garden; Yet, I couldn't help but wonder if they'd undermined it, the way an excess of gilt throws off a sword's balance.

"They're really rolling out the red carpet for us, aren't?" Wolfgunblood murmured, sotto voce. That was the last I heard from him, before his face settled into that world-weary not-quite-sneer.

And there was a red carpet. The great and good of Re-Estize made their way across it, descending from their own carriages, taking the long, straight path towards the royal ballroom. Many - the richest, noblest and most beautiful, those closest to the royal family - were already within, as was their place; As the sun set, the day shading inexorably into evening, the fading remnants of daylight glittered on exquisite finery, or close to it as one could get.

Everything was brushed, jeweled and painted. Silk, lace and pearls rustled and shimmered. I was fairly certain that most of the noblewoman and debutantes had drawn the line at showing too much flesh, just so they could step over it. Long legs ended in perilous heels and dainty feet, shapely hips beneath slender waists, distracting enough that I simply kept my eyes straight ahead.

Attire for the men, I couldn't help but notice, had the same martial air as the celebrations we'd glimpsed. Military-style jackets of no particular army, coats trimmed with gold braid, with stiff collars and gilded daggers or swords at their belts. Sashes with the royal colors, ornaments styled to look like military decorations, spurs on their boots as if the wearer could - at any moment - be called upon to lead a heroic charge.

Theater, all of it. It didn't take much to imagine how well they'd stand up to a beastman charge, all rippling muscle, wretched animal breath and sharpened iron blades.

Now I could see why Kelart hadn't asked us to change our attire for the ball. While my mithril armor was pristine and unmarred despite the battering I'd taken in Loyts, Gustav's silver cuirass - polished and cleaned as it was - was still very much the real thing. Authenticity, I could tell, would count for a lot here.

We got surprised, even scornful looks from the impeccably dressed courtiers and dandies that we passed, on our way into the palace. However, I couldn't help but note that not all the attention was necessarily bad; I could see some of the younger men looking suitably impressed by Gustav's military bearing - More than one stood up a little taller, a little straighter, as if coming to attention.

Of course, Wolfgunblood's presence drew the most attention. Women blushed behind their fans, whispering the entire time as he strode along. On occasion, he'd smile at them - effortlessly cool - and a whole host of thrilled murmurs would break out in his wake.

As for me, I merely made my way forward, wondering how much further there was left to go. I couldn't help but feel more than a little uncomfortable, aware of the crimson-plumed guards watching us with the hawklike gaze of men aware that everything could go wrong; Ceremonial they might have been, but there was nothing less than vigilant about them.

Something brushed my arm, and I almost started. Kelart had touched me ever-so-gently on the wrist with her fan, looking up at me from under her lashes.

"Is something on your mind, Sir Samuel?" she inquired, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"I-" I began. Hesitated, then forged ahead anyway. "...I've never been to one of these before," I admitted. "Is it always like this?"

"Well…" she slowed, pausing to take in the spectacle as we ascended the steps. From up ahead, I could hear music, the murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses. "Not usually so decorative, but...A certain amount of pomp is to be expected, no?"

She drew a little closer, almost at my arm now. "I must say, you are looking especially dashing. Do relax, though; You look like you're expecting an ambush. Trust me - If there's danger here, you'll never see it coming."

"...Is that supposed to put me at ease?" I asked, as a girl with bright red ringlets and deep green eyes glided past, slippered feet hidden by her skirts. The effect was graceful, suggesting effortless motion: I fought to keep my eyes on the way ahead, and not on the lacy stockings that sheathed long, lissome legs. Gustav was having similar trouble - I didn't dare look back to see how Wolfgunblood was doing.

Kelart merely laughed - a soft, husky sound. "Just my little joke," she said, a flash of amusement to her eyes. She sobered, quickly: "Brace yourself. The worst is yet to come."

The great, gilded double-doors opened into the vast dome of the Royal Ballroom, seemingly as large as two football fields put together. Carved with golden leaves and vines, the pale marble walls were hung with great banners, the elaborate crest of Re-Estize repeated over and over again. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a tribute to the power and affluence of the Kingdom; I could tell that no expense had been spared, all for the sole purpose of overwhelming all who ventured within.

Even thronging with people as it was, it felt like there was enough space for an army. And maybe 'army' was the word - the color came from gorgeous uniforms and clothes of royal blue and saffron, silver and black, scarlet and gold. Some of the richer nobles were so decked with gold that their coats seemed like sheets of light, with jeweled stars and enameled icons worn on brilliant silk.

Overhead, the orange flames of a thousand hanging lamps flickered and swayed, striking a golden gleam from everything. Beneath the silk hangings, the long tables were covered in white linen, thick with silver and fine china; Gold plates twinkled in the light, as if home to tiny constellations of their own.

A dozen of the Kingdom's finest musicians played subtle and entrancing music, and it mingled with the swell of satisfied chatter, the clink and rattle of cutlery, the click of measured footfalls on polished tiles.

There was no doubt, of course, whom all this was for the benefit for. All in sable velvet trimmed with gold, the epaulets of his court uniform half-hidden beneath a fur-lined pelisse, Crown Prince Barbro Andrean Ield Ryle Vaiself was without doubt a majestic presence.

He was a powerful man, burly and broad-shouldered in a way that told of effortless strength, his tawny blonde hair and beard giving him a distinctly leonine appearance. That was an impression he meant to cultivate, I could tell; golden lions adorned his high collar, another on the pommel of the gilded sword sheathed at his side.

The Crown Prince was flanked by two men who could not have been more polar opposites. On his left was a scarred, grey-haired man in his fifties, his stout figure still muscular despite the relentless march of age; Heavily built, he had a close-cropped grey beard and whiskers around his mouth, which did nothing to soften his hard, deeply-lined features. He had the face of a thug, or an especially successful warlord - His mouth set in a scowl, as if somehow offended, grey eyes constantly searching the room.

The other was taller, thinner, younger by twenty years or so. Slicked-back blonde hair, with pale (almost pallid) skin and narrow blue eyes that glittered with a keen intelligence. Unlike the distinctly military look of his companions, he wore a doublet made of high-quality fur, woven with golden threads in intricate, elaborate patterns. Tiny gems winked at his cuffs, the leather of his heeled boots polished almost to a mirror sheen.

At my side, Kelart winced lightly. "Marquis Boullope and Marquis Raeven," she murmured, her gaze fixed squarely on them. "Not a surprise, but it'd be easier without them. The Crown Prince keeps his friends close."

In truth, I'd barely noticed them. My attention had been drawn to the third man, the one hanging slightly back and to the side; Sunburnt, with dark eyes and a darker beard trimmed to exacting neatness, I could tell at a glance that he was the most dangerous of them all. And that was before I took in the burnished bronze of his armor, the crimson shoulder-guards that rose like the walls of a fortress - Compared to that solidly muscled form, the gold-hilted sword he bore seemed almost like an afterthought.

"Is that…" Kelart's brow furrowed, a heartbeat before her eyes widened in recognition. "-It is him."

"Who?" I asked, never taking my eyes off him. This time, it was Gustav who answered - Surprise in his gaze, as he glanced over at me. "You don't know?" he said, sounding incredulous. "That's the King's personal bodyguard. Gazef Stronoff - The Warrior Captain himself!"

I was still processing this, when the Warrior Captain turned his head, and looked directly at me.

It was just a moment, but it stopped me dead in my tracks. It was like he had me in the crosshairs, heedless of the hundred-plus bodies in the way. Just an instant, as he measured, weighed the threat, then finally let his gaze move on at once. It was hard to shake the feeling, however, that I'd been marked.

"Did you see that?" Wolfgunblood said, at my shoulder. "So that's the Captain of the Royal Select...They say he's the hardest bastard in the entire Kingdom. Kind of wish he'd stop doing that, though."

I glanced at him, my brow furrowing.

"Doing what?" I asked, lowering my voice so it wouldn't carry.

"Looking at me like that," he said. "-He won't stop looking at me."

A gorgeously-attired footman inspected Kelart's invitation, then bowed us through the doors. As we crossed the threshold, there was the crash of a brass-banded staff, an announcer's voice booming overhead:

"From the Roble Holy Kingdom - Lady Kelart Custodio, High Priestess of the Four Gods!"

Heads turned. The beginnings of a murmur.

"Knight-Captain Gustav Montagnés, of the Paladin Order!"

Rather less of a murmur, this time. But I saw the Crown Prince turn, as if something had piqued his interest at last, even as Marquis Raeven whispered something to him.

"Grandmaster Samuel, of the Order of Yggdrasil!"

I winced, in spite of myself. Finally - for one glittering moment - we had their attention. But the fullness of it was reserved for the dark figure who came last - but not least - of all, audible gasps echoing at the sight of his pale, elegant figure in that floor-length black coat.

"Wolfgunblood, of Endless Crimson Rain!"

This time, the ballroom was swamped by sudden and prolonged applause, loud enough to momentarily drown out the orchestra. Standing in the entrance, Wolfgunblood acknowledged the applause with a small, but exquisitely graceful bow; When he strode forward, the crowd parted before him like the Red Sea.

I had to admit - He had the image down, all right. Every man that looked his way had his gaze met with a lazy challenge. Every woman had her figure inspected. All the while, Wolfgunblood looked like he didn't care.

Truth be told, I wasn't quite sure that he was only pretending.

The Crown Prince gestured, to stop the applause. An expectant hush fell, every face in the ballroom turned towards us; "Be welcome, honored guests, on this happiest of days," he boomed, in a bluff, hearty voice. Some trick of the room's acoustics - or magic, perhaps - carried his words across the chamber.

"The Crown welcomes you. Re-Estize welcomes you! Be at ease, knights of the Roble Holy Kingdom, for you are among friends!"

"Well spoken!" someone in the crowd called, and began clapping. Rather like a seal, I thought, but there was more applause, and a general, loud toasting as the cups were raised. Almost at once, music struck up from the gallery; Some guests resumed their seats, others moving forward into the open floor space to begin the stately dances.

Kelart swept forward, towards the foursome: the Crown Prince, the Marquises at his left and right hands, and the watchful, armored form of the Warrior Captain looming behind them all.

And I thought, with a lurch:

On this, everything depends.

Now, like before, only everything could go wrong.

Next: Razor Edge