Book Three - Chapter Twenty (Patreon)

“Madam, there is no need to—”

“Alarion,” Anastacia’s voice was filled with something best described as irate giddiness as they followed the road away from Ilvan-Trai. “Do you always leave things half finished?”

“When that thing is burning down my home? I prefer not to start at all.”

Ilvan-Trai still smoldered behind them, a long grey column of smoke rising from the scorched palisade wall. The damage was superficial at worst, but it still felt wrong to see the fortress aflame. And he felt responsible.

Not that the 238th seemed to care. They’d dealt with the damage like the professionals they were—putting out fires and tending to the wounded without so much as an order—but the accident had done nothing to stem their appetite. Scores of them had staked their claim on the palisade walls, and dozens more were flooding out the gates to take a position along its walls to watch the upcoming battle from a safe and elevated distance.

“It is wood and stone, repaired by mid-evening at the latest,” she countered.

Alarion was unconvinced. “We could have hurt someone.”

Ahead of him, Anastacia’s shoulders slumped. She took a deep, shaky breath and followed it with a heavy sigh before she spoke again.

“I know.” Her fingertips tapped against one another as she walked, her steps a little too brisk for someone who’d just recently been healed of a significant injury. “I did not mean for things to go that far. The wards I am used to would never break.”

“Must be nice,” he said. “Did you ever consider I might have broken?”

Anastacia’s lips parted as if ready to reply, but no words followed, only another put-upon sigh.

They walked together for another few minutes, moving down the earthen ramp to the grass plains below Ilvan-Trai. Kali and Cyiar, their designated seconds, followed close at their heels, quietly chatting with one another, while a trio of pale-faced healers followed still further behind.

One healer to monitor each of the combatants, and a third to make sure neither primary healer caught a deadly stray.

“Here?” Anastacia was the first to ask. “One place seems as good as any other.”

“A bit further,” he told her.

“Alarion, I could not hit the fortress from here if I tried. Could you?”

“When exactly did I become Alarion to you?”

“Ugh!” she shouted, wheeling on him with a finger outstretched. “You are insufferable, do you know that?”

“Madam—”

“I am not the Empire,” she snapped. “I am not in charge of Blue Ex; I am not responsible for your induction or any of the atrocities that put you here. You do not like being treated like a provincial; what makes you think it is fair to treat me like an Imperial?”

“You had a choice,” Alarion spat.

“Oh yes, the grand choice of where I was to be conscripted for half my life. Lucky me.”

“I am not going to feel sorry for you.”

“I am not asking you to!” Anger boiled behind sky blue eyes, but it was conflicted, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit him or herself. “I just want you to treat me like a person. Like a peer.”

“But you are not,” Alarion flinched as he saw her face darken. “A peer, I mean.”

“We are both leaders. We are both young and talented, with expectations heaped upon us.” She held his eyes with Vitrian poise and stubbornness to match his own. “And for all your humility, your status and reputation are far beyond what I leech from my family name. In what world are we not peers?”

This one.

The words tickled the tip of Alarion’s tongue, but he found it hard to argue with them. She wasn’t Syrus, she wasn’t Williams. She couldn’t wield the levers of Empire just because of her last name. Yes, Anastacia had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but then, so had Bergman.

What bothered him most was that look in her eye. Sorrow and fury. Indignation. He’d seen it plenty of times in the mirror.

“Here is fine,” he said, reluctantly.

The fury bled out of Anastacia in a moment, replaced by the hint of a smile as she walked past him, stretching.

[Fracture (Index Finger) – Slight] — 1.25% malus to all attributes using this hand.[Fracture (Middle Finger) – Slight] — 1.25% malus to all attributes using this hand.[Sprain – Slight] — 2.5% malus to all attributes using this hand.

Neither of them was at their peak. Magical healing had worn away the worst of the injuries, but Anastacia’s stride was stilted, and his mace hand was still tender and stiff. Nothing a good night’s rest wouldn’t fix, but in a pairing as close as theirs, it was not something to be overlooked.

“Are you going to use your sword this time?” Anastacia asked.

“I might.” He shrugged. “ I was more curious when you were going to realize you left your saber behind.”

Anastacia laughed and drew her rapier. “I have plenty more where that one came from. But I am tired of playing footsie with you.”

The mental image was so absurd that Alarion couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Fine,” he agreed, reaching for the shrunken Imperial Greatsword strapped to his wrist. “But remember that you asked for this.”

“You are both ready?” Kali asked. The Godborn’s sour expression hadn’t changed since they’d left the fortress, his ire focused squarely on Alarion. He’d lost money, Alarion guessed, probably betting on an early win. Kali was a notoriously bad gambler. “Three-Quarters, mind the healers, and stop when you are told. Agreed?”

“Mm,” Alarion agreed, while Anastacia merely nodded.

Kali launched a coin into the air, and the fight was underway.

“Spirits of fire—”

An explosion rocked Alarion’s starting location, but he was gone before she’d even finished the incantation. Years of practice had rewarded him with tremendous speed and unerring aim, which put Echo just above Anastacia’s left shoulder when he flickered to it.

Alarion appeared several feet above her head, with a sky of green grass spread out ‘above’ him. Floating there, Alarion briefly wondered how long it had been since he’d felt disoriented by teleportation. Some people got sick when they tried simple point-to-point hops, but for him it was as easy as breathing.

Isha swung toward Anastacia in a crescent arc, though slower than he’d have liked. With nothing to push off against, Alarion relied on gravity as a stand-in for leverage, but it was a poor substitute.

Anastacia weaved around the attack by inches, reacting far better than most to his sudden shift. She’d done her research, then. Vitrian dossiers didn’t record equipment, but Alarion’s reputation for teleportation—and the enchanted sword that enabled it—had seeped into the media after Ikeda.

Annoying, but not unexpected. Much like her counterattack.

It was, Alarion grudgingly admitted, a genuinely lovely thrust—shoulder, hip, and heel working in tandem to strike back at an unexpected angle. Her aim was true and focused on centre mass, making a midair dodge even harder.

Echo answered him. The greatsword expanded in his fist, six feet of Vitrian steel replacing a timid little dagger—more than enough to brace against the onrushing blade point.

It hit him twice. First, the impact of steel against steel: a mighty clang that echoed across the field. Then a deeper, vibrational pulse, a shockwave that rippled through Echo, up his arms and into his torso.

You have suffered slight arcane damage. HP -308.

She’d expected him to block. Clever.

The shockwave threw him higher—fifteen feet, then twenty. There was nothing to be done about it—no ground to catch, nothing to kick off of— only sky in the wrong direction and Anastacia chanting a spell below him. Not the best place to be.

“Kotone!” he shouted, filling the word with intent so that his strange little familiar appeared between him and a barrage of razor-shaped icicles. With her attributes tied to his own, Kotone had ludicrously high HP for a non-combat familiar and made an adequate shield when push came to shove.

Even so, he felt a deep pang of guilt as those dark, inhuman eyes scowled at him. There wasn’t even an accusation in them anymore. Just annoyance. This wasn’t the first time, and it would not be the last.

Anastacia, on the other hand, was positively agog.

Perhaps CeeCee hadn’t told her about their similar familiars, or maybe seeing was believing. Or maybe she was just appalled that Alarion would sacrifice his familiar that way. He’d been a lot more careful with Kotone, back when she was his last meaningful connection to Sierra.

Regardless of the reason, Anastacia’s surprise bought Alarion a precious second to orient himself for his next moves.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he told Kotone, then looked past her to Anastacia. “And I’ll beat her. So stay here, and stay safe.”

[Error – Duplicate Quest]

[Merging]

Show Her Who’s Boss.

Description: This upstart Vitrian hasn’t had enough? Make her rue the day she thought she could stroll into your house and take charge. Oh, and keep your familiar safe.

Success Conditions: Defeat Anastacia Regethern in the Three-Quarters Match.

Failure Conditions: Lose to Anastacia Regethern. Destruction of your familiar, Kotone.

Reward: One Ancient Ashadi Box.

Penalty: Gain the [Broken Vow] – Major status condition.

Alarion shook his head. He was used to the quest names being ridiculous at times, but it was rare that the descriptions were so… vitriolic.

He drew another dagger and threw both as Anastacia readied a spell. The first flew past her, causing her to pivot toward it in expectation of the teleport.

The second hit the ground next to her and exploded.

She doesn’t know all of my tricks. Good to know.

The [Empowered Solar Burst] Alarion kept stored in his [Spell Storing Dagger] was meant for killing large groups of fiends, but was perfectly serviceable at harming even a peer Awakened like Anastacia.

Or at least, it should have been.

Despite the near point-blank detonation, Anastacia was still standing as the burst faded. She was singed and reddened, but in far better condition than she had any right to be. That wouldn’t do.

The world folded and Alarion came up swinging from the first dagger. He was inside her guard, close enough to see the sudden fright in her widening eyes. She turned—to dodge, to counter, or something else entirely—but Isha was already moving. His mace swept horizontal, chasing the path of her movement, only to stop just short of flesh.

Isha bounced off nothing like it had struck a solid mass of steel. Reverberation traveled up his arm and through the empty air, causing the latter to shimmer and spark—blue-white filaments arcing out from the point of impact before collapsing in upon themselves.

A barrier spell.

It was more or less what he expected. Something had saved her from the [Empowered Solar Burst], but the System was vast. It could have been elemental protection, magic dispersal, or a hundred other options. A pure shield like this was more straightforward than he’d planned for, but not unwelcome.

Once more grown to full size, Echo unmade the barrier when it struck. Already weakened by spell and mace, the Imperial Greatsword might have been enough all on its own, but empowered by [Shatter Magic], Echo cut through her barrier like butter.

Anastacia caught Echo on the guard of her rapier and her arm nearly buckled under the impact. Alarion reared back and struck again, and this time her leg did collapse, dropping her to a knee in the face of his onslaught. With [Orphan’s Vow] and [Guardian Oath] empowering his attributes, a gulf had widened between them. Alarion had strength, but she no longer had speed.

Echo carved a deep gash along her forearm as she failed to parry a third strike fully, and her jaw clicked angrily together as he followed it up with an unexpected knee to the face that finally sent her sprawling back into the grass.

It was over.

“Yield,” Alarion said as he stalked forward, blade in hand. Stubborn as she was, Anastacia might force his hand, but he wasn’t going to start bashing a downed opponent until she made him. “You—”

She was smiling.

No. Grinning. Manic, almost ear to ear.

“Spirits of fire, Dance.”

You have suffered slight fire damage. HP -719.

Flame erupted between them, scorching Alarion even with the forewarning of her incantation. But the damage was nothing compared to what she’d done to herself.

Anastacia was halfway to her feet in the centre of a ring of blackened and battered earth. Residual flames licked at the damp grass around her and inched up the hemline of her expensive jacket like an insect.

The powder blue of her quasi-uniform had gone charcoal on her left side, crumpled and ruined in parts, but what lay beneath was far worse. The skin of her forearm was red and glistening, the freckles on her face erased by blood and blisters. In two places, Alarion wasn’t sure if he was seeing the white of a blister or the bone beneath.

Alarion had seen worse damage. Mothers, he’d endured worse damage. But never on something so petty as a training duel. Under any other circumstances he’d have already sheathed his weapons.

But she was still grinning.

“Mistress Anastacia!” Cyiar had come running the moment her last spell had blown up in her face, and he looked even more unsettled than Alarion. “I—”

“Is his health below three-quarters?” Anastacia snapped.

“No, Mistr—”

“Is mine?”

Cyiar cast a glance to a horrified healer, who shook his head.

“No.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked with such authority that her bodyguard slunk back like a beaten dog.

“Anastacia…” Alarion began, unsure of what to say.

“Not you too,” she groaned, as if the words pained her more than the severe burns. “Fine. Valentina’s Merciful Embrace.”

The spell didn’t look like any healing magic Alarion had ever seen. The best at-Rank healing magic Alarion had knew of—such as Dimov’s healing—focused on restoring HP above any other concerns, because that was what ultimately mattered. If you had HP, you were alive; if you did not, you were dead. The most dangerous conditions, such as blood loss and organ damage, were lethal because of the ongoing damage they caused, and all conditions could be eventually healed by flooding them with enough vital energy—though trying to do so was prohibitively expensive.

[Valentina’s Merciful Embrace] was different. A silver gleam settled over Anastacia like a sheet of light, and her body healed rapidly beneath it.

Blisters receded. Split skin closed. The glistening red of her forearm dulled, dried, and faded through pink to the pale freckled cream of her natural skin tone. The gash Echo had carved from wrist to elbow sealed without a scar and her posture straightened as her injured knee popped back into place without so much as a tremble. Even her hair and eyebrows returned, though the former fell around her shoulders like a halo without a clasp to keep it in place.

Four seconds. She looked good as new in four seconds. Well, other than the outfit. But she had an answer for that too.

“Anastacia’s Full Equip.”

A white circle shimmered on the ground in front of Anastacia, growing in intensity until two footprints of black metal appeared within it, as if floating to the surface. Anastacia stepped out of her shoes and onto the left footprint, then did the same on the right side, each step accompanied by an oddly satisfying click.

Two sabatons of dark burnished steel surfaced next, then greaves that folded over her shins like a lover’s embrace. Cuisses. Faulds, plate over plate, floated up and over her body, though it was not normal armor. There were no gaps at the elbows or knees, only strange, articulated metal.

Anastacia tugged the belt around her waist open and tossed it to the ground, along with the jacket, then put her arms out to the side as additional pieces enveloped her.

Armor was rare among the Awakened, at least on Nostrum. While their VIT attribute enhanced its protection, the benefit was relatively modest compared to the considerable downsides in mobility, comfort, and stealth. But Anastacia’s armor was different.

He’d first mistaken it for full plate, but that wasn’t right. Yes, it covered her from head to toe in metal, but it wasn’t ungainly. A suit of full plate was a collection of dozens of individual plates that provided overlapping coverage while minimizing mobility loss. What she wore had started as many different pieces, but had ended up as one.

Strange as it seemed, it was as though she were wearing a Steelborn.

And what an outfit it was, if a bit sinister. Matte black from head to toe with accents of red at the torso and joints, the armor added considerable bulk to Anastacia’s slender frame. She’d grown nearly half a foot in height and at least that in width. Her arms had almost doubled in size, and her spike-tipped pauldrons were nearly as large as his head. Yet despite the bulk, it still felt… feminine.

“You made a skill to dress yourself?”

“Full Equip does more than that,” she scolded. “Now I want you to be more serious, Alarion.”

Alarion scowled, and her grin turned wolfish in response. She’d been itching to use this taunt for the better part of an hour.

“Or are you serious, and this is all you have?”