We moved through the shadowed corridors of the Castle like thieves, though we were stealing nothing but the future.

  Mary Berg walked beside me. She didn't swagger. She didn't strut. She moved with a brooding, quiet intensity, her hand resting on the pommel of her bastard sword. She was the Frost-Walker a warrior of winter and she wore her silence like armor.

  "Here," Mary said softly, stopping before a heavy iron door.

  She produced a key simple, unadorned iron. The key to the Master of Laws’ Private Study.

  We entered. The room smelled of old paper, wax seals, and absolute, rigid order.

  "Father keeps the succession laws in the Grey Cabinet," Mary murmured, walking to a shelf.

  She pulled out a scroll case. Dust motes danced in the shaft of moonlight cutting through the gothic window.

  "It feels... heavy," Mary whispered, handing me the scroll. "We are destroying a boy's life."

  "We are saving a Kingdom, love," I said, tucking the scroll into my coat. The flamboyant bravado was quiet now. "Sometimes you have to cut off the rot to save the tree."

  We left the office and made our way toward the Great Hall, passing the massive, jagged silhouette of the Shard Throne.

  The Hall was crowded with courtiers and minor nobles who hadn't attended the Feast, whispering about the Tournament.

  Then, the screaming started.

  It wasn't a scream of fear. It was a gurgle.

  Near the foot of the Shard Throne, a young girl collapsed.

  She was petite, wearing a dress of cream-colored silk that looked like spun sugar. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. She clutched her chest, her face turning a terrifying shade of grey.

  "BLEARGH!"

  She vomited. Not food.

  Blood.

  Pints of it. Bright, arterial red splattered across the white marble floor.

  "Get back!" a noble from House Needlewyn shrieked, jumping away. "It’s the Plague! It’s the Red Rot!"

  The crowd recoiled. They formed a wide circle, leaving the girl alone in the center. She convulsed, coughing up more blood, drowning in her own fluids.

  Archbishop Desmus stepped out of the shadows. He adjusted his glasses, looking down at the dying girl with the cold, fanatical eyes of a ruthless inquisitor.

  "The Anunnaki judge the weak," Desmus intoned, his voice booming. "Do not touch her. If she dies, it is the will of the System. To interfere is to invite infection."

  I froze.

  My [Perception] scanned her.

  Risk assessment, my brain fired rapidly. Infectious? Maybe. If I touch her, I could lose Blood. I need my Blood for the Tournament.

  I hesitated. I was the Master of Coin. I calculated the cost.

  But Mary Berg didn't calculate.

  She didn't hesitate. She didn't look at Desmus. She didn't look at the crowd.

  She ran.

  "Help her!" Mary screamed at the nobles, sliding on her knees across the marble to reach the girl. "She’s choking!"

  "Don't touch her, bastard girl!" Desmus warned, drawing a long, silver bayonet. "She is unclean!"

  Mary ignored the fanatic. She grabbed the girl, pulling her upright. The girl’s cream dress was soaked in red. She was gasping, her eyes rolling back.

  "She needs blood," Mary realized, seeing the girl's pale skin. "She's empty."

  Mary pulled a dagger from her belt.

  Without a second thought, she slashed her own palm. Deep.

  "Drink," Mary commanded, pressing her bleeding hand to the girl’s mouth. "Come on. Drink."

  "Mary, no!" I yelled, stepping forward. "You need your Blood!"

  Mary didn't stop. She fed her own life force into the stranger. Her face grew pale as the blood left her body.

  Glug. Glug.

  The girl on the floor swallowed. The red magic flowed from Mary the Snowmere blood, thick with Northern resilience into the dying girl.

  For ten agonizing seconds, nothing happened.

  Then, the girl gasped.

  Her eyes snapped open. They weren't brown or blue. They were pure, milky white, glowing with immense power.

  She sat up. The coughing stopped. The color rushed back into her cheeks.

  She looked at Mary. Then at her own blood-stained dress. Then she smiled. A bright, beaming, impossible smile.

  "Oh my!" the girl chirped. "I made a mess! That is so embarrassing!"

  She hopped to her feet. She didn't look sick anymore. She looked... Volatile.

  I scanned her again. And my jaw hit the floor.

  She was nearly on Olenka's level. She was a walking Fire bomb in a frilly dress.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "You..." Desmus lowered his bayonet, his eyes widening. "What are you?"

  Melina smoothed her dress, ignoring the bloodstains. She curtsied to Mary.

  "Thank you, Miss!" Melina beamed. "My blood count gets low sometimes. My engine runs a bit too hot, you see! Papa says I burn through fuel like a furnace!"

  Mary stood up, swaying slightly from the blood loss. "You're... welcome."

  "I am Melina," the girl announced, bowing to the stunned crowd. "Daughter of Duke Moro Milkwright."

  A murmur went through the hall.

  "Moro?" I whispered. "The Milk Knight? The greatest Commander of the last century?"

  I looked at the girl. Power. Lineage. And a personality that was pure sunshine.

  My internal calculator exploded.

  This isn't a victim. This is a General.

  I stepped forward, regaining my composure.

  "Lady Melina," I said, bowing low. "I am Wilhelm Storm. Master of Coin. And this is Mary Berg."

  "Hello!" Melina waved. "Are you the one with the theatrical voice? I heard about you!"

  "I... yes," I cleared my throat, dropping the rogue persona for a moment. "Lady Melina... I couldn't help but notice. You have... significant Spirit Power."

  "Oh, yes!" she giggled. "It's a nuisance, really. That's why I explode sometimes. Too much juice in the carton!"

  I looked at Mary. Mary nodded slightly. She had saved her, but she also sensed the power.

  "We are building something, Lady Melina," I said, lowering my voice. "A Royal Army. A force for good. We need a Commander. Someone strong. Someone... kind."

  I gestured to the nobles who had let her bleed.

  "Someone who isn't afraid to bleed for others."

  Melina blinked. Her cheerful expression softened. She looked at Mary, who was still wrapping her hand.

  "You saved me," Melina whispered to Mary. "Everyone else watched. But you gave me your blood."

  She looked at me.

  "My father taught me that a true knight is a shield, not a sword. I... I would like to help."

  She stood up straighter. The air around her hummed with terrifying power.

  "I accept!" she chirped. "But... um..."

  She poked her fingers together shyly.

  "I have to ask Papa first. He's very protective. If I join an army without asking, he might invade the capital and ground me."

  I grinned.

  "I think we can arrange a meeting with the legendary Duke Moro," I said. "Welcome to the team, Commander Melina."

  I looked at Mary Berg. She was pale, wiping her bloody hand on her cloak.

  "You did good, Snow-Walker," I whispered. "You just bought us a Dragon with a smile."

  Mary looked at the cheerful girl who could level a city.

  "She's weird," Mary muttered. "I like her."

  The tension eased as the crowd slowly dispersed, whispers trailing behind us like ghosts.No blades were drawn. The crisis, for now, had passed.

  We left the Great Hall together, stepping out of blood and judgment and into motion into whatever came next.

  Melina Milkwright was skipping. Actually skipping. Her bloodstained cream dress swirled around her as she hummed a tune that sounded disturbingly cheerful for a girl who had just vomited her own body weight in blood.

  "And then Papa said, 'Melina, if you blow up the barn again, you're sleeping with the cows!'" she giggled, clapping her hands. "He's so strict! But I love him. Do you think he'll like your army, Mr. Coin?"

  "He'll love it, love," I said, putting a swagger in my step. "We're going to be the most fashionable army in the hemisphere."

  I looked at Mary Berg. She was walking a step behind us, silent. She looked paler than usual, clutching her wrapped hand to her chest.

  "You alright, Frost?" I asked gently.

  "Fine," Mary murmured. Her voice was tight. "Just... tired. That healing took a lot out of me."

  We turned the corner into the Hall of Heroes, the massive corridor lined with statues of past champions. We stopped.

  Blocking the path stood a phalanx of Green and Gold. Ironvine Praetorians. And in the center, standing perfectly still like a statue of judgment, was Duke Dankmar Ironvine.

  He wasn't reading a book this time. He was looking directly at us. At me.

  "Duke Ironvine," I said, my hand instinctively going to the hilt of Cinderbrand. "To what do we owe the pleasure? Came to surrender early?"

  Dankmar didn't smile. He didn't blink. "I heard a rumor," Dankmar stated. His voice was calm, echoing off the marble walls. "That a certain Master of Coin is carrying a document. An Edict of Disinheritance."

  He took a slow step forward. "You seek to remove Prince Volpert. You seek to place Vera on the throne."

  "It's the King's will," I said, puffing out my chest. "And the King's will is law."

  "The King is emotional," Dankmar corrected. "And you, Wilhelm... you are inefficient." He looked at Melina. He scanned her with cold disinterest.

  "You recruit a Milkwright. A Volatile reactor in a dress. Impressive. You build armories. You draft laws." He stopped five feet from me. "You think you are playing the game, Wilhelm. But you are still failing the basic lesson."

  "And what lesson is that?" I spat. "That every action has a cost," Dankmar whispered. "And you rarely pay it yourself."

  Behind me, a sound broke the silence. A wet, tearing cough.

  HACK.

  I turned around. Mary Berg had stopped. She was bent over, clutching her stomach. Blood was dripping from her nose. Not a trickle. A stream.

  "Mary?" I stepped toward her.

  "I..." Mary gasped. Her eyes went wide. They weren't their usual grey. They were clouded with a milky, red haze.

  "BLEARGH!"

  She vomited. A torrent of black and red fluid splattered onto the white floor. It hissed as it touched the stone, acidic and foul.

  "Mary!" Melina screamed, rushing forward. "Oh no! No, no, no!" Melina tried to touch her, but Mary recoiled, falling to her knees. She coughed again, her body convulsing violently.

  "Stay back!" Mary wheezed, blood coating her chin. "It burns... Wilhelm... it burns..."

  I froze. My [Helm of the Ash-Seer] scanned her. The readout made my heart stop.

  "No," I whispered. "No."

  "I told you," Dankmar’s voice came from behind me. It wasn't mocking. It was surgical. "In the vault. I told you that mercy to a stranger is cruelty to those you love."

  I spun around, grabbing Dankmar by his lapels. My [STRENGTH 37] flared. I slammed him against the wall. "What did you do?!" I roared. "Did you poison her?!"

  Dankmar didn't struggle. He looked at me with those dead, shark-like eyes. "I did nothing," Dankmar said calmly. "You did this, Wilhelm."

  He pointed at Melina, who was crying, looking at her hands in horror. "The girl is a carrier," Dankmar explained. "The Milkwright bloodline is potent. Radioactive. When their blood mixes with a normal human's... it overrides the host. It rewrites the Spirit-Weave. It destroys the organs."

  "I didn't know!" Melina sobbed, falling to her knees. "I thought... I thought I was just sick! I didn't know it was catchy! I'm sorry!"

  "You knew," Dankmar said to me. He leaned in, his face inches from my visor. "Desmus warned you. He called her 'unclean'. He told you not to touch her."

  "He's a fanatic!" I yelled, shaking Dankmar. "I thought he was just being cruel!"

  "Fanaticism is often just a harsh truth spoken too loudly," Dankmar replied smoothly. He shifted slightly to the left.

  The wall of Green and Gold Praetorians parted. Out of the shadows behind them stepped Archbishop Desmus. He wasn't running. He wasn't panicked. He was calmly wiping a spot of blood from his silver bayonet with a silk handkerchief.

  He looked at Mary writhing on the floor, then met my eyes with a look of cold, pious vindication.

  "I told him," Desmus said, his voice raspy and dry, addressing Dankmar but staring at me. "The System isolates the weak for a reason. But the Master of Coin thinks he is smarter than the Plague."

  "You scanned her," Dankmar countered. His voice dropped to a whisper that cut deeper than any knife. "You saw her Spirit Power. 800,000. You saw a weapon. You saw an asset for your army."

  I released him. I stumbled back. The memory flashed in my mind. The moment Mary ran to help. I had hesitated. I had calculated. Risk assessment. High Value Asset. I didn't stop Mary. Because I wanted to save the Titan.

  "I..." I stammered. "I just wanted to help."

  "You wanted profit," Dankmar corrected, straightening his coat. "You traded your friend's life for a General. That was the transaction." He walked over to Mary. She was shivering on the floor, coughing up pieces of her own lung lining.

  "She has a month," Dankmar diagnosed coldly. "Maybe less. The Rot will eat her Spirit Channels. Then her mind. Then her heart." He looked at me. "You killed her, Wilhelm. Not with a knife. But with your 'goodness'. With your refusal to be cold."

  He signaled his guards. "If you had let the Milkwright girl die... Mary would be whole. But you had to be a hero."

  Dankmar turned and walked away, his cape flowing behind him. "Enjoy your General, Master Storm. I hope she was worth it."

  I stood there in the hallway. Melina was weeping, hugging her knees, terrified of touching anyone else. Mary was dying on the floor, drowning in the blood she had so freely given.

  I fell to my knees beside Mary. I didn't care about the infection. I grabbed her hand.

  "I'll fix it," I choked out, the carefree rogue's voice gone, replaced by the terrified whisper of a boy who had messed up. "I have gold. I have loot. I'll buy a cure. I promise, Mary. I promise."

  Mary looked up at me. Her eyes were bleeding. Her skin was grey. She squeezed my hand weakly.

  "It's not your fault," she whispered, Talking to me. "I chose to help."

  But as I looked at her... and then at the sobbing Melina... and then at the retreating back of Dankmar Ironvine... I knew he was right.

  I was the Master of Coin. And I had just made the worst trade of my life.