I emerged from the shadows, the black ash falling from my armor like silent snow.

  The Alliance was waiting near a cluster of luminescent fungi that provided the only light in the void.

  "You were gone too long," Baldur snapped, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "We were about to send a search party."

  "Circle up," I said. My voice, amplified by the Helm of the Ash-Seer, came out as a metallic growl. "Now. Close tight. Olenka, seal the sound."

  Lady Olenka didn't ask questions. She tapped her World-Tree Staff on the ground. A dome of frost shimmered around us, blocking all sound from escaping.

  "What is it?" Brandan asked, his jovial face hardening into the visage of the Warrior King. "Did you find the exit?"

  "I found the executioner," I whispered.

  I looked at Brandan. My brother. The bear of a man who laughed too loud to hide the fact that he was screaming inside.

  "It's a coup, Brandan. A silent one."

  I told them everything. The Reptilian shapeshifter. Konstantin Shadowgrove. The Tears of the Basilisk. The plan to weaken Brandan's heart so Alexander could legally butcher him in the finals.

  The silence inside the frost-dome was heavier than the gravity in Dankmar’s vault.

  Brandan’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. He gripped Thunder-Fall so hard the leather wrapping groaned.

  "Poison," Brandan spat. "The cowards. I will crush Konstantin’s other leg. I will smash Alexander into paste right now!"

  He turned to march into the darkness.

  "Stop!" Baldur grabbed his shoulder. "Think, you fool! That is what they want!"

  "They want me dead!" Brandan roared, shaking Baldur off.

  "They want the Crown!" Bastian hissed, stepping in. "If you attack them now, without proof, you are the aggressor. You are the mad King attacking a noble house during a Holy Tournament. Alexander will kill you in 'self-defense' and the Anunnaki will applaud the show!"

  "We arrest them," Gutrum suggested, his voice grim. "We take them into custody."

  "With what force?" I asked, my voice cold. "Look at us. We are a family, not an army. The City Guard belongs to the highest bidder. The Shadowgroves have five thousand elite soldiers stationed at the Nocturne Labyrinth. We have... us."

  "We have the Gale-Force," Gerald offered weakly.

  "Mercenaries," I shook my head. "Against the Shadowgrove Legion? It would be a massacre."

  I looked at Brandan.

  "They are betting on us being weak, Brother. They are betting on us being poor. They think we can't fight back because we can't afford a war."

  I tapped the Black Pyre Cuirass.

  "We need the Royal Guard. We need that army we talked about. Loyal only to the Crown. Paid by us. Equipped by us."

  "We don't have the gold," Mary whispered.

  "We will," I said, looking at the darkness where the loot boxes waited. "We win this Tournament. We take the Sponsor Points. We take the prize money. And I will trade every piece of loot I find until we can buy a legion of god-killers."

  "Until then?" Olenka asked, her eyes sharp.

  "Until then," I said, looking at Brandan, "you do not eat anything I haven't checked. You do not drink anything I haven't tasted. And when you fight Alexander... you end it fast. Don't play with him."

  Brandan exhaled slowly. The rage didn't leave him, but it cooled into something harder. Iron.

  "Fine," Brandan growled. "We play their game. For now."

  The group broke the huddle, moving out with renewed, paranoid caution.

  I lingered behind.

  Astrid Falken was waiting for me.

  The little Scorpion. She stood there with her one arm, holding a dagger she couldn't effectively use, wearing armor that was too big for her. She had been listening.

  She looked up at my terrifying helmet. The glowing red visor. The black smoke.

  "You look like a monster," Astrid whispered.

  I reached up and unsealed the helmet. Hiss-Click.

  I pulled it off. My face was pale, sweaty, and tired.

  "I am a monster, kid," I said softly. "Or at least, I'm trying to be one. It’s the only way to survive the bigger ones."

  I looked at her. Really looked at her.

  "Astrid... I need to tell you something. Before we go further."

  "What?" she asked, tilting her head.

  I knelt down, the heavy greaves clanking against the stone, so I could look her in the eye.

  "I lied to you."

  Astrid blinked. "About what?"

  "About Alexander," I said, the guilt tasting like ash in my mouth. "I told you that you could beat him. I told you that if you trained hard enough, you could take revenge for your arm."

  I took a breath.

  "I lied to give you hope. To keep you moving. But... seeing Konstantin... seeing that lizard thing... I realized something."

  I gestured to her empty sleeve.

  "You can't beat Alexander. Not in a duel. He is The Apex. He has two hands, legendary stats, and no morals. If you fight him... he will kill you. And he will laugh while he does it."

  I expected her to cry. I expected her to scream at me. To call me a traitor.

  Astrid didn't cry.

  She looked at her empty sleeve. Then she looked at the dagger in her good hand.

  "I know," Astrid said.

  I froze. "You... you know?"

  "I'm crippled, Wilhelm. I'm not stupid," she said softly. "I know I can't beat him in a sword fight. I watched him move in the arena. He is faster than thought."

  "Then why?" I asked, bewildered. "Why do you keep trying? Why do you want to be a knight?"

  Astrid looked up at me. Her eyes were grey and fierce, burning with the same fire that Olenka had.

  "Because knights don't just kill bad guys, Wilhelm," she whispered. "Knights protect the weak."

  She pointed to Mary, who was shivering in the cold. She pointed to Gerald, who was walking like a ghost.

  "I can't kill Alexander," Astrid admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "But maybe... maybe I can jump in front of a blow meant for Mary. Maybe I can carry a message. Maybe I can be the shield, even if I can't be the sword."

  She looked at my helmet.

  "You want to be the Monster to scare the bad guys. That's fine. But someone has to be the human."

  She sheathed her dagger.

  "I don't need to win, Wilhelm. I just need to make sure my family doesn't lose."

  I stared at her.

  She was twelve years old. She had one arm. And she was braver than every man in the room combined.

  I felt a lump in my throat.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered. "For treating you like a child."

  "It's okay," Astrid shrugged, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "You're a Bastard. You lie. It’s your class feature."

  She patted my heavy, magma-veined pauldron with her good hand.

  "Put your helmet back on, Wilhelm. We have a King to save."

  She turned and ran to catch up with Mary.

  I watched her go.

  "Broken things are sharp," I whispered to the darkness.

  I put the Helm of the Ash-Seer back on. The red HUD flickered to life.

  I gripped Cinderbrand.

  "Alright, Shadowgroves," I growled, the helmet distorting my voice into a demon's roar. "You want to hurt my family? You have to get past the Scorpion and the Ash-Knight."

  I marched into the dark, ready to burn the world down to keep them safe.

  "Green and Gold," I whispered, the thermal optics identifying the specific mana signatures even in the dark. "Ironvines."

  "Quiet," Brandan commanded. But his hand tightened on his hammer. Not in anger, but in anxiety.

  We rounded a corner and entered a cavern illuminated by floating magelights.

  The Ironvine camp was a study in dysfunction. Duke Dankmar sat on a rock, reading his book, ignoring everything as if he were in his study. Ser Damian was sharpening his sword, looking miserable. Prince Volpert the Glass Prince was sitting on a velvet cushion, whining.

  "My feet hurt!" Volpert screeched. "This armor chafes! Mother! Make it stop!"

  Lydia Ironvine was pacing. She looked frantic. And she was taking it out on the only person actually doing any work.

  There, kneeling in the dirt, trying to adjust the straps on Volpert’s greaves, was a girl.

  Princess Vera Stormsong-Ironvine.

  She was nineteen. The same age as Gerald. And she was... breathtaking. Not in the way Livia Whitefield was flashy and perfect, but in a way that hurt to look at.

  She had Brandan’s raven-black hair, falling in loose, practical waves around her shoulders. She had Lydia’s emerald eyes, but without the madness. Her face was noble, etched with a quiet, heartbreaking patience. She wore simple leather armor, scuffed from work, and carried a heavy pack that clearly belonged to Volpert.

  "You are clumsy!" Lydia shrieked, slapping Vera’s hand away from Volpert’s leg. "Look at him! He is uncomfortable! Why can’t you do anything right?"

  "I am trying, Mother," Vera said. Her voice was low, melodic, and incredibly sad. "The strap is twisted. I need to "

  "You are useless!" Lydia spat. "Just like your father. Varamon is gone. You are here. And yet I am still alone with incompetents!"

  She raised her hand to strike the girl.

  "Lydia!"

  The roar shook the cavern. King Brandan stepped into the light, his hammer grounded with a heavy thud.

  Lydia froze. Her hand hovered in the air. She looked at Brandan with pure venom.

  "Husband," she hissed. "Spying on us?"

  "Protecting my daughter," Brandan growled. He walked past Lydia, ignoring her completely, and went straight to Vera.

  Vera looked up. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't let them fall. She stood up and curtsied perfectly, despite the dirt on her knees.

  "Father," she whispered.

  Brandan dropped his hammer. He wrapped his massive arms around her, hugging her so tight she disappeared into his fur cloak.

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  "Vera," Brandan breathed into her hair. "Are you hurt? Did she hit you?"

  "I am fine, Father," Vera said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I am strong."

  She pulled back gently and looked at the group. Her gaze swept over us. It stopped on Gerald Falken.

  Gerald stood frozen. He was leaning on his bow, staring at her. He looked like a man who had walked through a blizzard only to find a single, blooming flower in the snow.

  Gerald didn't say anything. He just took off his cloak his dry, warm cloak and walked over. He placed it around her shoulders.

  Vera blinked, looking up at the rugged ranger.

  "Thank you, Ser Gerald," she said softly.

  "The cold bites deep down here," Gerald rasped. His voice was low, gravelly. "Keep it close."

  "Someone has to carry the packs," she smiled weakly. It was the saddest smile I had ever seen. "The burden is mine."

  I watched the scene, my HUD analyzing the data. I stepped back into the shadows, leaning against a cold pillar.

  "I don't get it," I muttered to myself.

  "It’s not meant to be understood. It’s meant to be obeyed."

  The voice came from beside me. Mary Berg.

  She wasn't looking at the reunion. She was sharpening her dagger, her eyes dark and brooding, fixed on Volpert. She had appeared silently, like frost forming on a window.

  "Look at her, Mary," I pointed a subtle finger at Vera. "She is the eldest daughter. She is capable. She has stats. Then there was Varamon, the eldest son, who vanished to become a monk or whatever."

  I gestured toward Volpert, who was currently picking his nose and demanding a juice box from a terrified squire.

  "And then... him. The youngest. The weakest. The cruelest."

  I looked at Mary.

  "In the Choirlands, men and women are equal in succession," I whispered. "Age determines the heir. Varamon first. Vera second. Volpert last."

  Mary didn't stop sharpening her blade. Shhhk. Shhhk.

  "Laws are paper, Wilhelm," Mary said. Her voice was flat, devoid of hope. "Lydia doesn't care about laws. She cares about control."

  "But why Volpert?" I pressed. "Vera is compliant. Vera is strong."

  "Vera has a spine," Mary said, looking up. Her eyes were cold. "You can see it. She bends, but she hasn't broken. Lydia can't rule through someone who has a conscience."

  Mary nodded toward Volpert.

  "She chose the glass one," Mary murmured. "Because glass is transparent. And because if he tries to move without her holding him... he shatters. She didn't want an Heir, Wilhelm. She wanted a hostage."

  I felt a chill run down my spine.

  "A hostage she gave birth to," I whispered.

  "Scan him," Mary commanded softly. "See what she did."

  I adjusted my Monocle. I focused on the whining Prince.

  "External source," I muttered. "Data corruption. That’s not natural."

  "Nothing about this family is natural," Mary said, sheathing her dagger. "They are wolves eating their own tails."

  Back in the circle, the tension was breaking.

  "Come with us, Vera," Brandan pleaded, holding her hands. "Leave them. Fight with the Alliance."

  "I cannot, Father," Vera shook her head gently. "Mother... she needs me to carry the supplies. And Volpert cannot walk the whole way."

  "Let him crawl!" Brandan shouted.

  "He is my brother," Vera said simply. "Even if he is... difficult."

  She looked at Gerald again. A lingering look.

  Gerald looked back. A look that said 'I would hold the Wall against the Werwolf King for you.'

  "Enough!" Lydia shrieked, stepping between them. She ripped Gerald’s cloak off Vera’s shoulders and threw it on the ground.

  "Get back to work, girl! We are moving out! Dankmar says the next Gate is opening!"

  Lydia grabbed Vera by the arm, her nails digging in.

  "And stop staring at the Falken boy," Lydia hissed loud enough for us to hear. "Mongrels are for guarding the yard, not for sleeping in the bed."

  Gerald’s hand went to his sword. Gutrum put a hand on his son's chest, holding him back.

  Vera didn't fight. She didn't scream. She just picked up Volpert’s heavy pack, bowed her head to her father, and followed her mother into the dark.

  Brandan stood there, watching them go, his fists clenched.

  "One day," Brandan whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "One day I will take her away from that woman. And I will burn the Ironvine root and stem."

  Gerald picked up his cloak from the dirt. He dusted it off. He put it back on.

  It still smelled like her. Lavender and sorrow.

  "She is worth ten of him," Gerald said quietly to the darkness. "Ten of Volpert."

  "She is the only thing in that House worth saving," Mary said from the shadows, her voice hard as iron.

  I looked at the green and gold lights fading into the distance.

  "Let's move," Gutrum said, his voice gentle as he guided Gerald away. "The only way to save her is to win."

  We marched on. But the mood had shifted. It wasn't just a tournament anymore. It was a rescue mission waiting to happen.

  The darkness of the labyrinth didn't end with a wall. It ended with a splash.

  We stepped through a massive archway and dropped into waist-deep water. It wasn't clean water. It was murky, smelling of brine and ancient rot, illuminated by bioluminescent moss clinging to the ruins of sunken skyscrapers.

  "Ugh," Bastian groaned, holding his velvet robes up. "Wet socks. The ultimate debuff."

  "Focus," I commanded, my voice distorted by the Helm of the Ash-Seer.

  I scanned the area. My [Emberstride Greaves] sizzled as they touched the water, creating a constant hiss of steam around my legs. The [Black Pyre Cuirass] hummed, its magma veins glowing angrily against the cold dampness.

  The water wasn't empty.

  "Movement," I barked. "Nine o'clock. Submerged. Massive."

  Two shapes rose from the depths.

  They were colossal. Thirty feet of blue-green scales, razor fins, and jaws that could snap a horse in half. They roared, a wet, gurgling sound that shook the water.

  "Form up!" Brandan roared, raising his hammer. "Shields!"

  "No," I said, stepping forward. The water swirled around my heavy armor. "I need the XP."

  I didn't draw my sword yet. I reached over my shoulder and unslung the [Aurelian Glassbow].

  The first Serpent lunged, moving with terrifying speed through the water.

  "Sit down," I whispered.

  I drew the string. The magic coalesced instantly a five-foot spear of solid, jagged glass.

  "Glassline Shot."

  THWIP.

  The sound was sharp, like a diamond cutting ice. The glass spear screamed across the water, trailing a wake of vacuum energy.

  CRUNCH.

  It hit the first Serpent directly in the open mouth. The projectile didn't stop; it punched through the back of its skull, shattering its spine. The beast went limp, crashing into the ruins with a massive splash.

  "One down," I stated.

  But the second Serpent was smarter. It didn't lunge. It whipped its massive tail.

  A wall of water and bone slammed into me.

  BAM.

  I was launched backward. I hit a stone pillar, hard. The impact rattled my teeth inside the helmet. My health bar flashed red.

  "Okay," I grunted, shaking my head as I stood up in the churning water. "That actually hurt."

  The Serpent roared and charged, closing the distance. It wanted to swallow me whole.

  "Too close for the bow," I muttered, slinging it back.

  I drew Cinderbrand. The black fire hissed violently in the humid air.

  "Come on then, sushi!"

  I tapped my wrist.

  "Thwip."

  I fired a web at the ceiling ruins. I yanked hard.

  I flew out of the water, soaring over the Serpent’s snapping jaws. I hung in the air for a split second, looking down at the beast.

  "Gravity check," I growled.

  I plummeted down.

  "FUS..."

  I channeled the magic into my voice.

  "...RO DAH!"

  The shockwave blasted the water apart. It created a crater in the ocean, exposing the muddy floor. The Serpent was slammed into the mud, stunned, its armor cracking from the acoustic pressure.

  I landed on its head.

  My boots Emberstride Greaves burned its scales.

  "Thermal Shock," I whispered, driving Cinderbrand down with both hands.

  The blade went white-hot. The water around us flashed to steam.

  SHINK.

  I drove the sword through its braincase.

  The water rushed back in, filling the crater, washing over my armor. I stood there, waist-deep in the dead monster’s blood, the golden light of a Level Up washing over me.

  "Level 31," I panted, wiping the steam from my visor. "I am getting scary."

  I opened my stat menu. I needed to see more. The ambush in the dark room had spooked me. I needed to see the threats before they saw me.

  I put the point into [PERCEPTION].

  "I can see the microbes on these rocks," I muttered.

  And then, I saw it.

  Floating near the carcass of the first Serpent, tangled in some seaweed, was a chest. It was rusted, covered in barnacles, but it pulsed with a faint red light.

  I waded over, pushing the dead snake aside.

  "Open sesame."

  I pried the lid off.

  Inside, resting on wet velvet, were four items.

  First, a small pouch of shimmering blue dust. [ ITEM: BAG OF WATER-DUST ] Value: 500 Gold.

  Second, a rugged, serrated knife. [ ITEM: HEAVY DIVER’S KNIFE ] Stats: [STRENGTH] +3. Value: 250 Gold.

  Third, a necklace of perfect golden pearls. [ ITEM: GOLDEN PEARL NECKLACE ] Value: 800 Gold.

  "Vendor trash," I muttered, sweeping them into my inventory. "Money for the army."

  But the last item...

  It was a vial. Made of dark crystal, shaped like a drop of blood encased in silver thorns. It felt cold and hungry.

  My jaw dropped inside the helmet.

  "An external mana battery," I whispered reverently. "It’s... it’s beautiful."

  I immediately equipped it.

  The vial clasped around my neck, sitting under my armor.

  It activated instantly.

  Red mist began to rise from the two dead Serpents floating in the water. The mist swirled through the air, bypassing my armor, and flowed into the vial.

  Glug. Glug. Glug.

  "Infinite Blood," I grinned. "Or at least, a spare clip."

  I turned back to the Alliance, who were wading toward me, looking soaked and miserable.

  "The path is clear!" I shouted, my voice booming. "And I found some pearls for the treasury! Try not to drink the water, it tastes like monster!"

  Brandan shook his head, looking at the massive dead serpents.

  "He kills giant snakes and worries about pearls," Brandan muttered to Gutrum. "My brother is broken."

  "He is efficient," Olenka corrected, tapping her staff on a floating stone. "Move your feet, King. The tide is rising."