“Your wife is missing, Your Grace.”

  Cyril couldn’t believe the words that he was hearing. He sat up a little more on his bed and said, “Excuse me?”

  “She’s missing, Your Grace,” the attendant confirmed once more. “We’ve checked her residence, alongside all of the servants that she keeps. She hasn’t been seen for quite some time. There’s no evidence that she decided to go off on her own as she sometimes does. Therefore… she’s missing.”

  Cyril looked out the window. Considering who Lucian was using as his lawyer, it didn’t take long for Cyril to put together the pieces. Theobald Brumaire… a man his constant opponent in activities in the Kingdom of Vantz after the fall of the Inquisition. Now, he must be striking directly. If he was striking directly, it probably meant he thought he could win.

  He felt the urge to slam his fists upon something, everything, for his carelessness. But he couldn’t be seen to lose his composure.

  “Leave me,” he commanded.

  Cyril didn’t say anything for a very for a long time. Eventually, the servant left the room. Cyril exhaled. The pain… ever since he left his home in Golvenne with its copious stock of painkilling incenses, he’d been dealing with the constant pain of his disease. Better to endure it than to bring indignity upon himself here. Day and night, it was like someone was sticking needles into his skin, his muscles, his bones. But the worst pain of all at this moment…

  “Lydia.”

  Feeling his guts twist in hate and anxiety, Cyril rose, stepping down onto his new prosthetic leg. On his left leg, his skin cracked and bled with every step, but he paid it no mind as he went for the bathroom. He entered inside, hunched by the toilet, and vomited. When he was done, he clung to the side of it.

  Lydia.

  Lydia Villamar.

  Throughout his entire life she had been the stain on his otherwise impeccable reputation. Every issue that arose, she was inevitably the source of. He had always hated his father… but never so much as the day he forced the two of them to marry. That woman… that horrible, horrible woman… even now, even as he lay dying, she intended to make things difficult for him. She was his bane, his unending foil.

  Cyril cleaned himself up, then rose to his feet. He washed his hands off, then looked upward into the mirror. He stared into his aged face. Would she break his reputation? In his final hours, would she see his legacy laid low? His entire life, he had strived to leave behind a worthwhile legacy, strived to be remembered in the hearts and minds of the next generation.

  And now… Lydia would break it, just like she always broke all of his dreams. Just like she broke everything, even her children.

  ***

  Lucian watched as the dragons each extended their forelegs out. Their claws weren’t quite as dexterous as human hands, but they were more capable than most reptiles. Their claws arched inwards, piercing their palm and holding it out before the arena. Blood flowed out as steadily as water from a kitchen sink, yet when it touched the ground, it bubbled violently like acid.

  They’re using a hell of a lot more blood than I remember, Lucian thought. They’re increasing the difficulty because there are more of us here.

  “Perhaps they’re anemic now,” Ruth said to Miriam in a low whisper. “Perhaps we should take our chances.”

  The Dragonwarden glanced at her with little amusement. He had joined them down in the arena, and intended to join them for their fight more generally. Lucian watched in silence as, one by one, the flow of dragonblood stopped. Then, the dragons turned their palms upward. A spell began to take shape.

  “…magic?” Carolina said in disbelief. “They can… use magic?”

  “What did you expect?” Rowan asked. “The texts said they’re intelligent.”

  The dragons looked between each other, clearly intending to synchronize their spell cast. When each of them had a spell prepared in their claws, they unleashed it. Sparks of magic exploded outward, then drifted downward toward the pools of blood far below them. Once they had settled… the already-bubbling blood became infinitely more intense. Constructs made half of dragonblood and half of pure elemental magic rose up out of the blood. The blood coalesced into humanoid forms, pulsing with magic of their dragon’s element.

  This fight was a large part of the reason why Lucian had suggested coming to this place. Here, he could put the elemental resistance the Formless Essence offered to the test. Would it work as easily as it had in War of Four? He suspected this would hold true based on prior testing. And by ‘prior testing,’ he meant having Rowan zap and flame him a little. Certainly not 100% scientific, but his resistance to the elements seemed exceptionally high.

  “Heavens above…” Isran drew his sword. “When they said ‘overcome the dragon’s blood,’ I was envisioning more of a psychedelic trip after drinking some. What in the world is this?”

  “If I were to guess… it’s something we’re getting better at every day,” Rowan said, taking sword and shield in hand. “Fighting.”

  Lucian brandished his Inquisitor’s Spetum, looking about at all the foes to get a good count. Perhaps he should have been more worried, but this time things were different. It wasn’t himself alone prepared for this battle. He had equipped all of the allies that would listen to him without compunctions with the same level of foreknowledge he had. Rowan and Miriam both, who were smart cookies in their own right, would be fighting the same way he would.

  Everything was going fine… until Lucian’s eyes fell upon the dark-attuned constructs.

  “State your name. Or have you forgotten it?”

  Back as before, those words rang in his head. The words of the First Emperor. A pounding headache erupted. He felt a chill run through his body, and looked away. His breathing immediately became heavier, and he broke out in a sweat. His head felt light, and he swayed briefly.

  Briefly balancing with the use of his spear, he focused on what was in front of him to pull him back from the brink. He knew what it was without having to be told—it was the remnants of the wound to his soul. But he’d seen dark magic countless times before. Why did it rise to the surface now, of all times? Was it because, unlike the times before, he was in genuine combat?

  “Mi… Miriam,” Lucian called out.

  “What is it?” she answered. He didn’t want to look back, lest he catch sight of those things again.

  “Those dark constructs… keep them away, please,” he had to say.

  Does she get it?

  “…I understand,” she responded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Lucian muttered a thanks, facing toward his enemy—constructs of fire. He focused on them until his thoughts of how to fight dominated his head. He poured the weakness to holy oil out then imbued the spear with Heavenly Blade. When the constructs started to run forth, Lucian was the first to break away and speed toward them. He needed to dispel this consuming fear, and embolden his comrades.

  The first bloodfire construct held its hand out, then sent a spiral of flame blasting toward him like a cannonball. He went low and ducked it neatly, bracing one hand on the bottom of the spetum’s haft and the other near the blade. Using the full might and leverage at his disposal, he slashed out and slammed it upon the chest. The construct blocked with a conjured shield of flame, but the spear still punched through, delivered its spell, and dispersed his opponent into formlessness. Dragonblood spattered back, its magic dispelled as Lucian elegantly spun before he could tame his swing’s momentum.

  He felt powerful. That fear he felt was just that—fear. It could be overcome. His work in the Hells hadn’t been in vain. Defeated in one hit… Lucian would’ve been pleased, ordinarily, but this was a fight that came in waves. These constructs would be the weakest, followed by those of increasing power. And with the terrain like it was—a flat arena—there were few tricks Lucian could pull.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  But then… he typically only ever needed a few. This would be a grueling struggle.

  ***

  How long had passed? Lucian couldn’t be certain.

  The ritual to become a champion of the dragons couldn’t be called a battle alone. It was more like a bloodbath—and quite literally, at that.

  Lucian did nothing grand to start with. He stayed on the ground, sweeping his spetum wide against groups and stabbing out in careful, concentrated blows designed to preserve stamina and set him on this endurance game right. After a few seconds, Lucian found himself splashed with blood from his foes. After a minute, he’d grown used to the gore all around. As the minutes extended on and on, the blood had grown so thick Lucian found it difficult to keep his balance from the buckets beneath his feet.

  The viscera came from both them and the enemies they defeated. This was nothing like any other fight that he’d seen or been in. It was a brutal, unrelenting melee where endless waves of dragonblood constructs fell upon them like mosquitoes in summer. It’d been similar in War of Four, but not to this extent.

  Nevertheless, it was a great arena for Lucian to test how he’d changed. As it turned out, his fears of weakness had been unfounded.

  “Zha?l Skyr V?ren!” Lucian shouted.

  Lucian used probably the best air spell in the game—Flight. It required 39 MAG and 65% air affinity. Utterly unattainable before the Formless Essence, he could use it freely now. Beyond doing what it said on the tin, it gave the caster a boost to speed and allowed them to ignore the effects of terrain in both combat and movement. He held his spear tightly in his hand as he took to the skies.

  He hadn’t yet trained enough in the air to be able fight there confidently, but he was able to use it well enough to soar over the head of the weaklings and seek out his preferred targets: the wave bosses. All of his allies? They were protagonists—handling small fries was practically their job description. But fighting certain bosses before their time? Better leave that to the side characters.

  Lucian spotted a target: a gargantuan three-headed dog of dragonblood and lightning. He swooped down like a valkyrie on high, reserving some of his Formless Essence as internal energy. He landed on the ground, activated the Charge skill, and ran toward the dog with all of his might. He seized it in the side, pushing it back, back, back, before releasing and sending it sliding away.

  The construct of dragonblood was barely injured. It almost looked offended Lucian had tried to fight it. It opened all three of its powerful jaws, lightning crackling within… only for an axe with sun motifs to cleave straight through it. Lucian was hit by a shower of dragonblood as the construct died.

  Should’ve brought goggles… Lucian wiped his eyes off, looking at the Dragonwarden.

  Lucian wasn’t the side character to deal with the bosses. The Dragonwarden was. They had oriented their strategy around keeping the small fries away from him while sending the juicy bosses his way deliberately. This was the strategy that Lucian had recommended long before coming to this place. He didn’t have a clue how to implement it.

  But that was perfect. Lucian was the strategist—Rowan was the general.

  Carolina shouted an incantation, then a pillar of earth erupted to block an ice bull’s charge. She cast another spell, and the pillar exploded, sending it reeling. Rowan slid beneath it, slamming his shield and bashing it hard enough to send it flying in the air. Arslan surged forth with his spear, piercing it and casting it toward the Dragonwarden. The giant looked back and cleaved it in twain with one slash, just as he had with Lucian’s.

  To not only come up with that on the fly, but to convey his orders sufficiently it actually happened… Lucian certainly couldn’t, but Rowan was a true leader. Funnily enough, things were working out exactly as they had in War of Four. Rowan would give direct commands to each of the Student Ambassadors, but Lucian himself wasn’t given any commands. He was left free to do whatever he wanted on the battlefield. The only difference this time is that Lucian was competent enough not to die immediately.

  Lucian had discovered that fighting with the Formless Essence wasn’t necessarily a detriment, but simply a change of style. While it did make the casting process more complex, that process also helped Lucian consider the consequences of his actions more carefully. That naturally increased his accuracy. Each shot counted more because he had to make it count. He missed less often because he chose his targets wiser. By missing less often, he was magically fatigued slower. That had been a big bottleneck in previous fights.

  Lucian was speared in the leg from behind, and whipped around to cast Solar Locust—the upgraded Solar Butterfly. He stayed inside the lingering swarm of white locusts as it ate through countless of the smaller dragonblood constructs. The holy spell healed his wounds as he fought them with his spear. When it wore off, he prepared the strongest holy spell he had—the four-word spell Smite, and cast it on some unsuspecting dragonblood construct to gain overheal with his Vitaegis.

  Lucian’s build had matured. He was more than capable of keeping up with the Student Ambassadors. Considering the robust stat boost he’d gotten from fighting that stronghold alone, he was actually a fair bit ahead of them. Training was designed to instill muscle memory, to eliminate thinking when it came time to fight. Lucian fell into that rhythm, fell into his training. Stabbing, slashing, casting magic…

  Maybe Rowan was right about what he said, Lucian reflected.

  The only true problem that Lucian had… it was the dark element constructs. When it came time to face those things, he finally understood his sister whenever she saw a spider. He wanted to climb up on a chair and scream for his dad to go get the vacuum. Like his sister, he could overcome that fear with effort… and when given no other choice.

  Lucian came face-to-face with a dark elemental wave boss. It looked like a djinn of darkness released from a bottle. The same feelings reemerged again—that fear, that monstrous fear, strong enough to make the rest of his body weaker by its mere existence. It felt as though a force as strong as gravity was compelling him away from this creature, but he resisted it and pressed forward.

  Empowering his weapon with a holy spell, he swung toward it. It raised its arm up to guard. His spear shattered its guard and his spell slammed its chest, sending it off the balance. Lucian sprinted forward, stumbled over his own feet, and slid on the ground ungracefully—sloppiness brought about by fear. Even still, he managed to recover and hold his arms out to cast a spell. A blast of wind pushed it off balance, whereupon Miriam’s lighting slamming into it. She walked before him, blocking his vision.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t see it.”

  “No…” Lucian said, standing. “Gotta get over this, somehow.”

  Lucian didn’t know if he could. His understanding from Earth informed him confronting his fears would help them go away, but he didn’t know if a wound to the soul could we banished the same as a conventional pathological fear. Either way, if the fear was permanent, he still needed to learn to overcome it.

  Lucian saw a burst of darkness and blood from beyond Miriam, and looked around. This wave… it was just about finished.

  One more. Nearly there, Lucian thought.

  He chose to get as far away as he could from the black dragon immediately, because it would soon summon more constructs like that. He was perplexed. The next wave wasn’t coming as quickly as he thought it would. Then, one of the dragons roared. Everyone looked to it, even the other dragons.

  The white dragon that had roared looked down at them, and then to its seven other companions. They seemed to be communicating. After a time, they looked toward the Dragonwarden. He looked at each of them, having a conversation none present were privy to. Then, he put away his weapons.

  Is it done? Lucian wondered. Did it end sooner because there were more of us?

  The Dragonwarden turned to them… then bowed, deeply. After, he leapt up to the belltower he’d been at previously. Only after he left the battle did the dragons hold their claws aloft and start to cast another spell. As before, their magic exploded and drifted downward into their blood.

  I guess they told the Dragonwarden not to interfere, and he bowed by way of apology, Lucian reflected. Tough luck, but… so long as they don’t create an overkill amount of the final foe… I think we can do it.

  “Was that it?” Rowan asked, ostensibly musing but truthfully asking Lucian.

  Lucian shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  The last of the dragonblood began to bubble ferociously. Rather than countless different enemies rising up from the pool… it all started to coalesce as one. Lucian’s heart skipped a beat as he considered a possibility.

  No… they wouldn’t, Lucian thought certainly. That’s overkill. That’s insane. We’re basically still large children. They wouldn’t send a full-grown adult against large children.

  As it turned out, they would.

  The moment that Lucian saw the figure start to take shape, Lucian shouted without reservations, “Get back NOW! Got a bad feeling!”

  Most people were puzzled, but Rowan trusted Lucian enough to immediately command everyone to fall back. Those that didn’t move immediately, he forced. That gave Lucian the freedom to do exactly what he needed to. He reached into his satchel and produced the Voodoo Dagger, then tossed aside his spetum.

  “V?lm,” Lucian said, casting a spell at himself. The moment it hit, he felt it drain at his strength. “Saveth Rhyss.”

  The figure slowly coalesced into that of the Dragonwarden, imitated with the impeccable detail of any master sculptor. This wasn’t part of the original test at all. This was a secret boss that the player could choose to summon through dialogue with the dragons to see how strong the Dragonwarden was without actually fighting him.

  Lucian hefted the Voodoo Dagger in hand. That thing was entirely immune to poison—debuffs, on the other hand, were a different story. It had high resistance, but not immunity, meaning that it’d be hard to debuff, but once it was, it’d stay debuffed. Hence, Lucian continually rained debuffing magic upon himself as he advanced.

  Good old Voodoo Dagger… trusty partner, Lucian thought, his weakened heart thumping quickly. Don’t fail me now…