Chapter 677 Bonus - Howlton Summit (Patreon)

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Pareshti sighed as he flexed his power to prevent another small incident.

For his own people, he would allow them to police themselves. The occasional scuffle broken up or theft prevented by the village watch was good for overall societal cohesion, not to mention his own peace of mind.

With so many outsiders flooding into his village, however? Letting these things happen would start a cascade of madness.

So, he made an apple too slippery for the visiting House guard to pilfer, causing the man to redden in embarrassment as he inadvertently dropped it back into the basket, looking around and moving quickly onward when seemingly no one had seen his fumble.

Pareshti saw. He always saw.

He still wondered if he had been right to agree to be the host for this summit. The last month had been incredible for his people, the economic boom caused by increased trade from the north and from so many people coming and wanting to buy or build residences and facilities had made all of his people more prosperous than ever. Moreover, if his people handled it correctly, they would remain in this middle-man position, Howlton becoming a hub of trade between the Cycling Cities and those of the Houses.

But these last two days? Since the House delegates had begun to arrive? He had begun to regret agreeing.

His gated had felt safe in his village for generations. Yet the way the House officials eyed them, some with open greed or hunger? It made the whole situation less than pleasant.

Still, his people were safe, even if some were being ogled due to their gates. The northerners had been true to their word, and some of their most powerful defenders had come, putting themselves under his direction so as to stop anything grievous with rapidity that even his power and authority would struggle to match.

His people were safe, and they were getting more prosperous.

Even so, if it weren’t for the looming threat, he doubted he’d want this to continue. Unfortunately, the Black Legion were too large an issue to ignore, and their return meant everyone would suffer.

Hopefully, his actions—his agreement—meant that his people would suffer less.

Stars send it so.

*

Jac… didn’t like the changes to the village of late.

House guards from the southern cities were everywhere, posturing toward one another and giving everyone Jac knew unpleasant glances.

No one he knew directly had had anything happen to them, but there were rumors swirling about this person’s cousin or that man’s coworker being attacked. Being taken. Being killed. Being enslaved. And so on. None seemed to have any truth to them, but it was still exhausting to endure.

He just wished they would all go away and leave him and his in peace. He couldn’t even retreat into the village extensions like some of his family. His gate made that impossible.

His gate, which he could feel so many of the new-comers staring at, some with longing or greed, others with anger or disgust.

It was… it was uncomfortable.

Still, their Protector had allowed this. He’d even been so kind as to give them lots of warning beforehand, letting them know their resources for enduring the… event.

And honestly? Jac could endure an event. The flood of outsiders would wash away soon enough, but if gossip was true—and this gossip hadn’t been countermanded—then there might be more outsiders in the days to come, and some might stay long term.

As to why they should put up with this?

Well, he couldn’t argue that business wasn’t better. He ran a little coffee stand and even with most of the southerners giving him uncomfortable looks, they still wanted coffee.

He now sold more each day than he usually did in a week. Even though it would only last for this summit, he had to admit that he liked taking money from people who seemed to dislike him.

Win by taking their money. That was a good plan in his books.

As to the summit itself? At first, he hadn’t really understood why some dark-armored army was such a big deal. Then, his cousin’s wife’s sister had explained that the Black Legion were an army of lifeless automata that took the gates from prisoners to build new soldiers powered by those gates.

They used vestige-adjacent magics to ensure the soul could never be freed, and even if the soldier was destroyed, the soul was called back to the Legion for reuse.

He wasn’t sure if he believed that, but if it were true?

Yeah… he could take money from people who hated him if they were going to deal with such things.

By the stars, he’d pay to have such nightmares dealt with.

But his task was coffee, and it seemed like it was time to brew another batch.

*

Sean didn’t bother to hide his sneer as he passed yet another group of wandering gated.

It was so foolish to have such resources unconstrained and free to roam about.

Oh, make no mistake, he understood the benefits of free-range cattle. It made the meat sweeter and actually lowered overhead in the end, but gates were something different.

Free-range gates tended to develop in all sorts of disadvantageous ways.

He glared at one of the northern mages as she walked across an intersection ahead of him.

The fact that she was almost as advanced as some of his men showed just how foolish it was to let them run wild.

Imagine, creating such harm to reality with every movement just for her own selfish power.

Shameful.

Disgusting.

Rage built within him at the sheer greed he saw within her. Didn’t she care that they all had to live on this world? In this Reality?

She was destroying it just so she could be a bit stronger, live a bit longer, gain a bit more for herself.

He shouldn’t let that stand… it was against everything he believed.

No… he wouldn’t let it stand.

He made his choice, signalling his men and igniting his power in a rush, the green fire of his House shrouding his whole squad as they flared forward.

The woman must have sensed them coming—they were making no attempt to hide their approach from the stain after all—because she spun, inscriptions on the back of her hand flaring and a blade of air lashing out at him as he was the lead of their formation.

His fire licked out and devoured the weaker magic, and Sean took pride in the sudden fear in the thing’s eyes.

This wouldn’t take but a moment. Once it was done, the fools around them who were screaming would see that the world was better off. Then he and his House would receive the praise they deserved, and maybe, just maybe, they’d be tasked with cleaning up the rest of this cesspool.

That would only be right and proper.

His fist lashed out—wreathed in flame—and… missed?

There was a flash of light and something of incredible power was suddenly in his way, the very feel of it burning away Sean’s fire.

His men were falling back, clutching at their eyes, their screams joining those of the horrified onlookers as his men found themselves blinded.

Sean and those in the market around them hadn’t been so affected, so whatever this was had constrained the effect.

A voice came from the swirling column of light. “I am Master Xeel. Your actions are in violation of the accord signed by your leaders. Cease your attack, or I will enact the punishments prescribed under those accords.”

Sean squinted, holding up a hand and trying to see what manner of thing had interfered in his task. The title meant that it was a gated human, one of their mages. Another to be purged.

The man’s words had sounded almost… irritated? Not with him, but with… having to talk?

Those who talked instead of fighting were weak. His men could be healed, and he could fight even without sight. Sean closed his eyes and attacked.

The voice came again. “Per the accords, I must give you one more warning. The Black Legion is a threat we must unite to face. This is folly.”

Sean ignored the man, swiping his flaming fist through the light.

The fire went out.

His flesh burned.

He dropped to his knees, clutching at his ruined hand.

He barely heard the man’s voice one final time. “Thank you. If you’d withdrawn, I'd have been left with only forms to fill out. Removing you makes that busy work worth it.”

Then, the entirety of Sean’s body was suffused with the pain he’d thought unendurable in his hand.

Blessedly, he only had to endure it for a single, terrible instant.

*

Caston marveled as Master Xeel returned, the man seeming rather pleased with himself.

One of the Pillars groused. “Did you finish your task, Master Xeel?”

Master Xeel grinned. “Why yes, I did. It seems that the House of the Green Fire does not have the best discipline among their guards.”

Another Pillar stood, clearly rising to Master Xeel’s bait, but Hasten, the other Howlton adjunct—the one running the meeting—cleared his throat. “Master Xeel. While we thank you for your aid in keeping the peace, we request that you let your words be as helpful as your actions.”

Master Xeel hesitated, then gave a shallow bow. “As you request, adjunct. My apologies.”

Caston moved forward, speaking softly to the offended Pillar, soothing wounded pride, and reminding him of the accords that he’d signed, including the penalties that would be imposed… which Caston was happy to waive this one time as a show of good faith and to aid in continued civility.

The Pillar calmed down then, refocusing and allowing Caston to continue circling the room, eyes on shoring up the talks were needed.

“A pact of mutual defense only makes sense. That is the whole point of this summit, is it not?”

A redheaded human woman stood and nodded. “It is. Mutual defense, not us promising to send every warrior of any capacity to defend your cities for you.”

Caston tuned out the discussions for the most part, instead focusing on the body language and intonation of those both speaking and listening.

He sent servants with food or drink where needed. He ensured that chairs were switched out or properly altered to be more comfortable, and he spoke, personally, to any who looked to be moving toward true frustration or anger.

He had no power to alter the deals being made, but he could tap into resources to smooth ruffled feathers, and ensure that everyone would stay attentive.

As such, Caston’s gaze kept returning to the oddest participant, not because she was odd in and of herself—she was simply a middle-aged, if lovely, human woman—but because she was present as a magical projection.

Her voice intruded into his observations next. “As I’ve said before, we have much to gain by collaborating on our Inscription knowledge. Allow us to help you in an area that we have greater experience in. Your inscriptions are barely more than general expressions of your concepts while they could be so much more.”

A man off to one side shook his head. “And we’ve told you that we are not a collective to have a single repository of knowledge to pass over. Nor would we do so if we had such.”

“And that is why you are so woefully behind in the science of inscriptions. Let us help you. Once your warriors are shown to be more magically capable with our alterations, other Houses will have yet another reason to join us in preparations for the war. Their knowledge can be exchanged for access to ours, and we would all gain.”

Caston sent a serving girl to refill the man’s drink, and he caught the projection of the woman flick her gaze his way momentarily, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Caston lowered his eyes slightly. He appreciated the clear approval, but he was meant to be all but unseen.

Such was all but impossible in such powerful company, but he still strove, pushing his concept and small, nimble body to their limits to keep himself as unobtrusive as possible.

He was also attempting not to overhear more than he should.

Even so, it was rather impossible to not get a sense of what was happening.

The gated to the north seemed to have turned their personal magic use into a science of sorts, which at once both fascinated and horrified the gateless from the south.

Instead, the southerners had bent their science research into using magic in devices and other external means, allowing them to surpass those of the north to a great extent in many areas.

Caston thought they should just help one another, but apparently, things were more complicated than that. Despite being in this room and ostensibly trying to figure out a plan for common defense, many still saw the other group as mortal enemies.

Folly, pure folly. But it wasn’t Caston’s place to judge the guests of his village. He would serve, and he would smooth out the ripples in the negotiations the best that he could.

One topic did catch his direct attention, at least for a moment when it came up.

Master Xeel cleared his throat. “All of this is wonderful, but we should not forget the greatest barrier to our common goals.”

The Pillar from the House of Blood stood next. Caston still found it odd that the Pillar seemed to be on the side of the gated humans, but his wasn’t to judge. “The esteemed Master Xeel is correct. The Leshkin have been allowed to languish in neverending mindlessness for long enough. We should purge the woods of their kind, and allow our new allies to better be able to work with us in the coming war.”

Caston liked the idea. His grandfather had passed through those woods briefly, still going deep enough to return with horror stories about the Leshkin. He hoped they were freed from their seemingly eternal vigil.

The topic turned to Sovereigns then, and Caston did his best to pay that no mind.

He was nothing to be hearing about such beings. Even the fact that the Great Anatalis might aid against the Leshkin shouldn’t concern him.

He was surprised that no one present expected the Sovereigns or god-beasts to fight against the Black Legion, but that just went to show how little he understood. At least that’s what he told himself.

Such things were beyond the scope of his duties.

He just hoped that those who actually made the decisions would allow this to come to a fruitful end.

*

Devero muttered to himself as he went through the market of this tiny… place?

It was odd. He’d never been in a place that was so small.

True, he’d been in holds that were smaller than this, but they were always nestled in the context of a larger city just outside the entrance. This was the city.

True, there were holds here too, they were reasonably sized ones as well, but even so, the totality of this place was barely ten percent of a true city.

And it moved.

Devero didn’t know how to handle that.

He had centuries of logistical experience, working for his master to ensure that their House was never in need of that which he could arrange.

This was just a new opportunity, hence why he’d been brought along.

Still, the idea of trading through—or even with—a moving city was throwing him for a loop.

Trade routes would be of variable length? That would shift everything.

But he would muddle through… No. He would excel because that is what his master needed.

The savage gated to the north had to have something that he and his House could profit from, and he would be sure to tap into that resource.

Honestly, Devero didn’t care one way or another if the Black Legion were actually coming back.

Oh, he knew what they supposedly were, but they’d been banished long before his time. More to the point, either the forces being gathering against them would be sufficient, in which case there was profit to be made, or they wouldn’t be, in which case he wouldn’t survive to see his profits move into the negative.

So, there was really only one path forward.

Profit.

If anything, he was excited to see just how much benefit could be gleaned from gated aside from turning them to vestiges. After all, a resource that kept producing was better than one that only resulted in a single salable product.

Who knew? Maybe he’d advise they alter their vestige farms to try to increase the benefits gleaned from them. But only time would tell.

He would seize every opportunity for his House and his master, or his name wasn’t Devero.

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