Kaelan didn't die quickly.

  He lay there on the battlements, gasping, blood bubbling at his lips, the broken bottle stuck in his gut like some obscene decoration. The whole city had gone quiet. No one moved and even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

  Valtor Thalasson watched his younger brother bleed out with all the mercy of a butcher making sure the animal stopped twitching. Only when Kaelan’s eyes rolled up and his chest stopped moving did the man look away.

  His gaze found Isolde.

  She stood below, just past the shattered gate, surrounded by soldiers who looked very small to Valtor’s eyes. Her shiny toys flickered uncertainly around her, as if they too weren't sure what to do now that the main villain had been stabbed by someone who wasn't on the play’s list.

  Valtor rested his elbows on the crenelation and studied her like she was something he'd found washed up on shore.

  "Well," he called down. "You grew up."

  Nobody laughed.

  ****

  Getting up to the inner wall was a messy affair, especially given there was now an unknown factor waiting above the wall.

  The battle hadn't fully stopped, the news of Kaelan’s death was still traveling. So there were still isolated pockets of fighting here and there, a few idiots too slow to realize the war had already decided its new direction. Our soldiers were shouting for surrender as they cleared the battlements. Kaelan's remaining loyalists were dropping weapons and begging not to be killed for someone else’s mistakes.

  We moved through it all.

  Isolde walked ahead, flanked by Yasafina and Marius. I followed a step behind, Ragna at my side, both of us drawing more than a few nervous glances from soldiers who'd just watched us tear a hole in a city gate and duel an entire wall’s worth of mages.

  By the time we reached the top of the inner curtain wall, Kaelan’s body had been dragged aside and someone had covered him with a cloak.

  The blood was still there, a red smear drying on white stone. It was terrible.

  Valtor stood not far from it, back turned as he spoke quietly with Captain Jora. She looked exactly like she had at the Mercenary Guild. She had one eye, a shark’s grin, and a casual air of someone about to suggest a friendly stabbing.

  They both looked up as we approached.

  "Brother," Isolde said.

  Her voice was steady. I could see the tremor in her hands, though. The last time she'd spoken that word, it had been to a man screaming at her from atop these same walls.

  Valtor took his time answering. His eyes moved from Isolde to Marius, to Yasafina, and finally to me. He lingered there, expression unreadable, measuring.

  "You look terrible," he said at last. "But less terrible than the corpse."

  I felt Ragna snort beside me. Marius did not.

  "What are you doing here?" Isolde asked. "Did… the Erebian Emperor send you?"

  There it was. The fear she felt. Not of him, but of the shadow behind his decade-long exile. The Erebian Empire. The same power that Kaelan wanted to impress.

  Valtor laughed. It wasn't Kaelan's cracked hysteria. It was low and rough, suited for a man who looked like a vagabond. "Erebia? No. The Empire wants you to die in a ditch somewhere so they can argue about which cousin gets the southern ports. I don’t work under them anymore, I… never did. I came on my own."

  “....” Isolde didn’t speak.

  He tilted his head. "Why is your expression so sour, dear sister? You look like you've seen a ghost instead of the only family you have left."

  Behind Isolde, Marius cleared his throat. "I'm still here, you know."

  Valtor's eyes snapped to him. Whatever humor had been there vanished. "Ah, right. The uncle." He clicked his tongue. "I almost forgot you existed until you opened that gross mouth of yours. You always were very good at that. Existing quietly."

  Marius opened his mouth to reply with something diplomatic and poisonous. He never got the chance.

  Valtor's hand flicked.

  I didn't see what he threw. A shard of the broken bottle? A coin? A piece of Kaelan’s fake jewel? It didn't matter. It was a killing blow. Did he know about Marius’ feelings towards his mother, perhaps?

  Regardless, something was moving through the air toward Marius's heart fast enough that even my Dragon's Eye couldn't track it properly.

  My body moved before my brain did.

  Steel rang out as my axe intercepted whatever it was with a burst of sparks. The impact numbed my fingers. A chipped sliver of glass clattered to the stone at my feet and skidded over the edge of the wall.

  Marius stared at me, pale. He'd seen it too, even if he hadn't had time to react.

  Captain Jora let out a low whistle. "That's the one I told you about, Val. The white-haired barbarian. He's grown."

  Valtor studied me properly now. "You stepped in front of that, whoa."

  "Felt rude to let it go through, Your Royal Highness," I said. My chest still thrummed from the force behind that tiny piece of glass. “You’re quite strong.”

  If that was him playing, I didn't want to see him serious right away.

  "Interesting," Valtor said. He tore his gaze away and looked back at Isolde. "So. You collected some toys while I was gone."

  Isolde bristled. "They are not toys. They are my friends. Allies."

  "Same thing if they work under you," he said, shrugging. He wandered over to Kaelan's covered body and nudged it with his boot. Then he crouched, pushed the cloak aside, and pulled something from the dead king's head.

  The royal crown.

  It looked smaller in his hand.

  He spun it around his finger as if it were some cheap trinket from a harbor stall, not the symbol of everything these people had built for generations. Yasafina's fists clenched. You didn't have to be a noble born to find that disrespectful.

  Valtor turned the crown over, squinting at the cheap stone in the center. "Ugly. And fake." He looked at Isolde. "I assume you have the real gem, sister?"

  Her hand went to the pouch at her waist.

  He smiled. It wasn't nice. "Good. That saves me the trouble of digging it out of some cultist's stomach."

  He tossed the crown up lightly and caught it. "Here's an idea. How about you hand me the Jewel, let me bind this thing properly, and you can remain the pretty princess of this kingdom. Smile at people, cut ribbons, give speeches, all that stuff. While I handle the boring parts like war and being hated."

  Isolde stared at him. "No."

  He blinked. "No?"

  "It is not for you," she said. "This kingdom is not for you. You left it."

  "Exiled," he corrected lazily.

  "For good reasons," she shot back. "You can’t come back now. You are not here to take from me what little I have left."

  There was steel there I didn't think she had a week ago. Valtor noticed it too, watching her for a heartbeat, then laughed again. "Good. Would have been disappointing if you handed it over like some frightened court lady."

  He looked over his shoulder. "Jora."

  "Mm?" she replied, lounging against the merlon, watching all this like a particularly violent play.

  "Give me your spear."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You have a perfectly good sword."

  "I want the spear,” he repeated himself. She shrugged, unhooked the long weapon from her back, and tossed it. He caught it one-handed, spun it experimentally, and rolled his shoulders. There was a tightness in his movements now that hadn't been there before. Anticipation.

  I shifted my grip on the axe.

  "Valtor," Isolde said slowly, as if trying to talk down a wild animal. "What are you doing?"

  "Feeling a little nostalgic, seeing my little sister after so long," he said. "You know how it is. New generation, new toys, old habits. Since you want to take this kingdom, we’ll have to fight it out the old royal way."

  "I don’t wish to–"

  But he was already moving.

  "Thorvyn!" Isolde shouted.

  Already moving, Princess.

  I stepped forward to meet him, axe raised. He came in with the spear low, a blur of polished wood and shining steel. I blocked, sparks flying.

  The impact nearly tore my arms off.

  I wasn’t exaggerating. What the fuck?!

  He wasn't a brute like Vorlag. He wasn't the overwhelming, unnatural pressure of the Undead King. Valtor fought like water under pressure. Every strike flowed into the next, every feint had weight behind it. There was no wasted motion. Just killing intent honed over decades.

  And he was backing me toward Isolde and the others. It’d be quite difficult for my wide swings if we got any closer. I dodged to the side, barely, and slammed against his side with my axe. He blocked it, but the impact registered. He was sent lying.

  One moment he stood on the wall. The next, he was dropping toward the previous battlefield outside the wall like a stone someone had thrown at the ground in anger.

  He hit the courtyard with enough force to crack the cobblestones. The shockwave rattled my teeth. Soldiers stumbled, grabbing at nearby walls for balance.

  I jumped right behind him, unwilling to give him any space. “I thought you were stronger, Prince!” I taunted.

  We traded blows. Spear against axe. Wood whistled through the air as he tried to sweep my legs. I jumped, bringing the axe down in a cleaving arc that would have split a troll in half. He twisted at the last second, the blade grazing his coat instead of his ribs.

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  "Good," he said, grinning. "Again!"

  He thrust and I parried. He used the parry to spin, the spear's butt aiming for my jaw. I ducked. My shoulder screamed as his follow-up cut grazed me anyway. Regeneration flared, knitting the skin before the blood could drip.

  Isolde's magic flared behind me.

  One of her mirrors snapped into existence between us at an angle. Valtor's spear hit it and bounced, the force redirected out to the side, smashing into a stack of crates that exploded in a shower of broken wood.

  "Try to stay away from him, Thorvyn!" she shouted, voice sharp.

  "Can't," I muttered between clenched teeth. "He’s annoying!"

  Valtor laughed. "You found a loud one, sister!"

  He advanced again. He didn't feel like a 7th Ascension monster bearing down on me. He felt worse because he was enjoying himself.

  I met him halfway.

  [Tempest Strike] hummed, hungry to be unleashed. [Crushing Momentum] itched in my legs, wanting to turn my steps into avalanches. I kept them reined in. This wasn't Vorlag. Thrashing like a cornered beast would just get me killed faster.

  His spear whistled toward my ribs. I stepped in instead of away, letting the shaft slide past my hip as I used the opening to slam my free hand into his throat. Lesser men had died from that. Valtor just coughed, eyes gleaming, and drove his knee into my stomach.

  Regeneration or not, that hurt.

  I flew back, rolled, came up on one knee with the axe ready. "I've seen worse knees," I grunted.

  "Hey, that was a good shot. I expected some flattery," he said. He didn't sound out of breath. I very much did, especially because I’d been fighting for hours already.

  Up above, I caught a glimpse of Ragna on the wall. She had Captain Jora pinned against a merlon, the two of them locked in a contest of raw strength. Jora looked amused. Ragna looked like she was about to try biting.

  Isolde's next spell lit the world in blue.

  She raised her staff, and three mirrors appeared in a triangle around Valtor. Light lanced between them, forming a cage of refracted energy. He moved; the cage moved with him, compressing, trying to trap him in geometry and pain.

  Valtor frowned for the first time. He spun the spear and drove it into the nearest mirror. The glass-like surface cracked but held. The reflected energy surged along the shaft, racing toward his hands.

  He let go. The spear clattered in front of me, humming with stored power.

  For a split second, he was unarmed.

  I took the shot.

  [Tempest Strike] flared through my muscles as I lunged, axe swinging in a brutal horizontal arc aimed square at his chest. For anyone else, that would have been the end.

  Valtor stepped into the blow, hands snapping out. He caught the axe haft just below the head.

  The force of the impact cracked the stone under his boots.

  My arms shook and my shoulders burned. He held the axe there as if I’d handed it to him for inspection. "You’re not bad, but if you rely on that every time you see an opening," he said, "you'll die to someone who knows how to make openings."

  “Fuck you, you’re just stronger!”

  He pushed with laughter. I flew back again, sliding across the courtyard. My back hit a toppled wagon. The wheels creaked in protest.

  Dust rose, blinding me for a second. When my vision cleared, Valtor was already walking toward me at a casual pace.

  "You're holding back. Why’s that?" he observed.

  "Funny," I said, dragging myself to my feet. "I was going to say the same thing."

  The Mantle flickered at the edge of my awareness like an impatient animal. I didn't call it. There was no reason to go all out when he was testing the waters.

  Up on the wall, Isolde changed tactics. She snapped her fingers, and the three mirrors above Valtor shifted their alignment. Instead of trapping him, they focused all the light they'd gathered into a single beam that shot straight down.

  He twisted aside. The beam carved a molten line across the courtyard where he'd just been. Stone melted, the air shimmering with heat.

  "Very nice!" Valtor called up, giving her a thumbs-up. "You’re dangerous when you're not being polite, little sister."

  Isolde didn't answer. Her jaw was clenched, sweat beading on her brow. She reached for another potion.

  Valtor looked back at me. "Is there a reason you're not using that lovely Mantle? I’ve heard tales of it, and just earlier I felt it from you. Hard to miss something that reeks of Gerholt. It got me all excited."

  I rolled my shoulders, gripping the axe tighter. "Is there a reason you're not using your full strength? I thought you wanted the kingdom for real."

  “I can’t get this damaged,” he pointed up at the crown still perched on his head. It hadn't slipped once throughout the entire fight. Not even when he'd taken my hardest swing.

  "Touché," he said softly.

  Isolde finished her potion, her eyes burning with Mana. Mirrors flickered back to full strength around the battlefield, all aiming at Valtor like laser guns. Captain Yasafina had her blade half-out of its sheath, torn between jumping in and obeying some unspoken code about duels above her pay grade. Ragna had Jora pinned in a chokehold now. Jora still looked like she was having fun.

  For a moment, everything held there. Danger hummed in the air.

  Valtor sighed.

  Then he did something that, to my eyes, wasn’t surprising at all. He smiled warmly and dropped the spear, raising his hands in the air.

  "Well fought, everyone," he said. "I surrender."

  I stared at him. "I did have my doubts, and it’s good to be proven right."

  He laughed and reached up, plucking the crown from his head. He looked at it like it was a seashell he’d stepped on. "This thing doesn't suit me," he said. "Too heavy. Not enough cannons."

  Without warning, he threw it at Isolde.

  "Hey–"

  She flinched, hands up, but there was no malice in the throw. The crown's trajectory gentled mid-air, as if cushioned by an invisible hand. It landed neatly on her head.

  Perfect fit.

  "Be a good queen, Isolde," Valtor said. "I think you will be, with companions like this beside you."

  He nodded at me. Then at Ragna, who finally let Jora go. The pirate captain stretched her neck like she'd just had a decent massage.

  "And remember," he added softly, glancing back toward the sea, where a dozen black-sailed ships rocked gently in the harbor. "If there's ever an enemy you can't handle… your big brother is just at the nearby sea."

  He turned to walk away.

  There was a short silence as everyone realized Valtor Thalasson had simply wanted to test his younger sister. To see if she was truly strong enough to protect her front, and if she had strong allies to watch her back.

  Isolde looked the most confused. It didn’t take her too long to grasp the situation though. Her hand shot out toward him on instinct, even though she was too far to touch.

  "D-don't leave!" she called. The words tumbled out faster than her dignity could catch them. "If… If you're leaving this to me so casually because you think I have strong friends… I don't! Thorvyn and Ragna will leave soon. I… I need you, brother."

  The courtyard went very quiet. Even the crackling fires seemed to dim.

  Valtor stopped mid-step.

  He didn't turn for a long moment. When he did, his expression was... complicated. Like someone who'd bitten into something and couldn't decide if it tasted good or not.

  "You know, you’ll need to revoke my exile for that, and that’s a problem," he said. "I’m a pretty big pirate these days. If I’m also titled the Prince of Thalassaria, the world will blame our kingdom for my actions."

  "We’ll figure something out. I'll take it away formally," Isolde said, and her eyes had lit up. She was happy seeing her brother even consider this. "Here. In front of witnesses. As Princess of Thalassaria. As Queen, if they'll have me. Just… don't go.” Her eyes fell on me, “Soon I won’t have anybody to rely on."

  He scratched the back of his neck like this was more uncomfortable than the battle. "Eh. That kind of dirty, Isolde. Using my sense of responsibility."

  "Is it working?" she asked.

  He sighed. "Yes. Unfortunately."

  He walked back a few steps, then stopped again. "All right. I won't vanish yet. If what you say is true and your barbarian and his girlfriend plan to sail off soon, you'll need someone to stand between you and those Domain Lord bastards. They'll come for your head the moment the dust settles."

  Isolde blinked. She hadn't expected him to agree that easily. Honestly, neither had I.

  "Don't waste time, then," Valtor added, tone changing. More serious now. "Put the Jewel on the crown. It'll be bound to you after that. Until you're killed."

  "Comforting," I muttered.

  Isolde hesitated. Her hand went to the pouch at her waist again. Then she stopped and looked at me.

  I nodded. “Come here, we’ll watch over you while you do it.”

  Ragna listened instead. She grabbed Isolde by her waist and jumped down from the wall, landing beside us in a shower of dust. Isolde somehow held back a yelp, perhaps because so many of her subjects were watching her. She put down Isolde, who cleared her throat.

  “Give it to me, Ragna,” Isolde said as Ragna nodded. The Barbarian Princess reached into her own belt and pulled something out wrapped in cloth.

  Isolde took one look and exhaled. "You held onto it properly."

  "Safer with me than on your belt while people are aiming at your chest," Ragna said with a smirk.

  Valtor looked… stunned. It was the first time I’d seen him surprised. He scowled and looked from between me and Ragna, and then at Isolde. "I thought you had it on you… You trust these barbarians that much? Even though they'll be leaving?"

  "Yes," Isolde said simply.

  Ragna scowled at Valtor, "Hey, brother bastard. We Valtherians seek glory to our names, not shiny rocks."

  I felt something unpleasantly warm in my chest at that. Pride, maybe. Irritating emotion.

  Marius also reached us, sliding down a sand bridge, regaining enough composure to look like he hadn't almost died from flying glass. "If we are performing a coronation," he said, "there are tons of rituals and preparation that the royals must follow. However… given our peculiar situation, there’s no need for delay. Even so, we shouldn’t do it in the open like this."

  He raised his hands.

  Sand swirled up from the broken stones, forming walls around the immediate area. A dome, sandy but solid, sealed us off from prying eyes and arrows. Yasafina took position at the only opening like a living door.

  Ragna unwrapped the Jewel and placed it in Isolde's hands. The stone pulsed faintly, purple light swirling inside like a trapped storm. I kept my senses sharp, and on Valtor. He didn’t seem like the type, but I didn’t want to risk him snatching it.

  Isolde reached up and removed the cheap fake from the crown's center. It came away easily, like it had only been pretending to belong there.

  The real Jewel slid into place with a soft click.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then everything did.

  The crown moved to Isolde’s head on its own, crowning her by some cosmic law. Light erupted from it right away, a beam shooting straight into the sky. It tore through the sand dome and then the clouds like they were smoke. The ground around us trembled. Cracks in the cobblestones filled with creeping green as tiny vines burst from the earth, uncoiling hungrily.

  Isolde’s eyes went wide. Her body lifted off the ground slowly, feet leaving the bloody stone. Her hair floated around her like she was underwater.

  It was a beautiful sight that caught my breath. My eyes focused on another visual, the text above Isolde's head.

  [4th Ascension]

  It flickered.

  [5th Ascension]

  Then again.

  [6th Ascension]

  "…What," I murmured.

  She'd been Level 49 before this. Her Ascension Quest had promised 20 levels once she’d complete it, which should have put her near 70 at most. This... this felt like the System had taken one look at the situation, shrugged, and said "you know what, have another."

  Although I was certain it was her fighting the dozens of zombies, fulfilling her role as a Queen, leading an army, killing monsters in the meantime. The pressure rolling off her intensified. I wondered what the 6th Ascension Quest was though for it to be completed so easily.

  My Valtherian Physique braced without being asked.

  Valtor shielded his eyes with a hand, squinting up. "Look at that, such divine pressure. And that's not even a real Arcane Crown."

  "Arcane Crown?" I asked.

  He nodded at the circlet now glowing on Isolde’s head. "Crown of Thalassaria. Replica of the Arcane Crown of Abundance. A copy of something much older and much more dangerous. I wonder who wears it now."

  As if in response, a faint text flickered above the crown.

  [Arcane Crown of Abundance, Replica]

  That was the symbol of Thalassaria's sovereignty. Something that channeled local ley energy to nurture land and life.

  All around us, life answered.

  The blackened, cracked stones of the courtyard softened under a spreading carpet of moss. Vines climbed shattered walls, blooming with pale flowers that hadn't existed in this climate in centuries. The air grew warmer and softer. The stink of war and death retreated under the smell of rain and green things.

  Down in the streets, I heard people shouting.

  Not in fear this time. In something like... awe.

  Isolde slowly descended. Her boots touched stone again. She opened her eyes.

  They glowed for a second. Then the light faded, leaving only the familiar gold. Much sharper now, brighter, but still hers.

  "How do you feel?" I asked.

  She took a breath. Exhaled slowly. "Heavy," she said. Then, after a beat, "And loud. The land is... noisy. It’s begging to be consoled."

  Valtor hummed. "You'll get used to it. Or you'll go mad. Could go either way, according to father." As the oldest son, the former Crown Prince, he knew the most about the Crown.

  He looked at the city beyond our glass dome.

  At the people slowly emerging from hiding, peering into the suddenly green streets. At the soldiers lowering their weapons as if waking from a bad dream.

  "This place might actually stand a chance now," he said. "If you don't let the wrong people whisper in your ear."

  He glanced at Marius when he said it.

  Marius smiled politely and said nothing. I think Valtor would be pleased to know the man wasn’t what he used to be. It’d be funny when that interaction happened.

  The light from the crown's beam finally died. The sky settled into ordinary gray again. The vines stopped spreading, content to drape themselves over rubble like nature was trying its hand at interior design.

  For the first time since we'd arrived at Solstara, there was a sense of something that wasn't despair or rage hanging in the air.

  It wasn’t quite peaceful just yet but…

  But maybe the shape of it, somewhere far ahead. Before that, our Isolde had a lot of political errands ahead of her.

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