The week that came next was one of hectic activity — not just for House Elathion, but for all of Kaldreach.

  The Expeditionary Force of the North — the culmination of six months of planning and collaboration between the Noble Houses, the Church, the Imperial Military, and the various independent mercenary groups — was finally about to launch.

  To Eri, it was of some small comfort that his personal momentous occasion of ascending to nobility would soon be a relatively forgettable footnote compared to the massive undertaking happening in the broader world.

  If only his new ‘peers’ could let the matter be.

  “Eridane Elathion, huh? Fancy name,” Bori noted.

  “Too many ‘E’s in it,” Julie grumbled. “It’s pretentious. Just like all noble names.”

  “Hey! I would argue my name is not pretentious!” Bori complained. “You can’t call a four-letter name pretentious!”

  “Yours doesn’t count. ‘Bori’ is short for ‘Borimenver’. Except no one calls you by your real name because they’ll sooner bite their tongue than pronounce it right,” Alvine sighed. “Why are we even arguing about this? We still call him ‘Eri’ anyway.”

  “Julie’s complaining about it because she’s upset he’s no longer a peasant,” Raharim said.

  “My last comrade-in-arms against the highborn oppressors, turned traitor!” Julie lamented. “Now I stand alone, in a sea of blue-blooded parasites, sucking off the working class…”

  “You can’t say that when you are working for the same ‘blue-blooded parasites’, Julie!” Bori retorted. “Raharim, Alvine, and I are bound to House Dervaine through the debt of our respective families. Meanwhile, you are an up-jumped sellsword with no ties binding you here. If you hate the nobility so much, why don’t you just leave?”

  “Well, obviously, I hate the nobility, but I don’t hate their gold,” Julie answered bluntly. “Joarris’s dad is paying a lot to have an Artillery Archer on his son’s retinue.”

  “I still can’t believe you snagged yourself one of the rarest Archer Archetypes when you ascended to Bronze Core, especially when you didn’t have a bloodline backing your chances up,” Raharim laughed. “The Goddess loves you, Julie. What do you think, Eri?”

  “Huh?” The boy snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh, um. What are we talking about?”

  Bori tsked. “Still missing mom?”

  Eri flinched.

  Given how Matron Elen technically had no more obligation to stay, she had returned to Footfall on the day of Eri’s adoption to resume her duties. In the first place, she had been away from it for too long. The entire duration of her stay in Kaldreach had been nearing half a year.

  Seeing as how House Elathion was true to its noble repute and well on the road to recovery, she need not worry for Eri’s safety as much anymore. Her protection was no longer necessary, especially since she was missing her entire left arm.

  “She’s not my mom,” Eri muttered miserably.

  Surprisingly, it was Alvine who came to his defence.

  “Lay off him, Bori,” she sighed. “We should stop talking. House Korvalis is about to show up.”

  Eri and Joarris’s group — excluding Joarris himself — was standing atop a balcony along Kaldreach's southern walls. They were hardly the only ones. A large gathering of lesser nobles and figures of minor importance pressed upon the parapet, looking down eagerly upon the large market square. Some even brought children with them, their curious eyes wide with wonder at the scene below. Lower-class workers lined the streets to the side, taking up every inch of available space to watch the main spectacle taking place on Kaldreach’s highway.

  “It’s like the whole city has come to watch a travelling circus,” Bori muttered uncomfortably. “Kids and all.”

  “Can you blame them?” Raharim said. “This is the biggest military force gathered in Kaldreach since the mobilisation for the 24th Crusade twenty years ago, and even back then, the city had only prepared underarmed conscripts. There is no lack of motivation or equipment in the forces here this time.”

  No one argued against Raharim’s words. They would be stupid to disagree.

  Below the south gate, arranged in an enormous formation that covered the mile-long highway of Kaldreach outer district, was an army over ten thousand strong, five thousand of which were Chosens — five thousand superhuman warriors experienced in the ways of war and combat — set to invade the Slaver Isles with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

  And there was no doubt about using the word ‘invade’ any more. No nation prepared a force like this without the intent to conquer.

  Of those five thousand Chosens, nearly a fifth were independent mercenaries — a ragtag group of troops whose quality varied between nameless Copper-Core individuals to experienced veteran parties of Gold-Cores. Their allegiance was bound by the promise of loot and glory, and so their reliability was the most questionable. Greatest among their disjointed ranks was undoubtedly the Doomhowler Brigade, boasting nearly a hundred Silver-Cores, fifteen Gold-Cores, two Ruby Cores, and their famed Sapphire-Core leader, Fenrir of the Infernal Hand.

  The Church supplied the next fifth of the Chosen forces — one thousand devout worshippers of the Goddess, with a great variety in skills and varying levels of sanity. The low-ranking acolytes and dedicated healers were ironically the most dependable, especially when compared to the zealous Cursaders who filled the rest of the Church’s ranks. The infamous demi-company of Penitent Knights — the preferred swords of the Church — led at its head, ready to purge the long-standing heretic slavers to the West. Their blood-soaked banners, from which hung the remains of demons, flew high above their ranks — a fitting sight to accompany the legions of armoured fanatics wielding barbed blades and cruel flails.

  The next two thousand came from the Imperial Administration — an unexpectedly large showing, though perhaps not surprising considering the Empire’s desperation at removing the Duskcrowns and reuniting the continent under unified governance. The half-legion of freshly trained troops wasn’t as impressive compared to the other factions. Still, their sheer numbers would be important in establishing lawful order among the Slaver Isles as their unruly ‘allies’ sowed chaos and destruction in their own personal objectives. Their commander was supposedly a war hero from the 24th Crusade, though Eri had not heard much about them, save for some unsavoury rumours about their character.

  Finally, there were the Twelve Noble Houses of Kaldreach — though ‘twelve’ was not an entirely accurate representation. What was once twelve Houses a century ago had long since fractured into multiple lesser shadows of themselves, save for the three surviving — and now named — ‘Great’ Noble Houses of the North. Under their leadership, a sizable force of one thousand Chosens, consisting of squires and knights, was gathered. More importantly, the Three Houses had managed to use their considerable reputation to elevate themselves as the unofficial ‘leaders’ of the Expeditionary Force, with House Korvalis at its forefront.

  There were also nearly three thousand auxiliary personnel — hired hands tasked with logistics, repairs, and maintaining supply lines. Most notable were the small band of dwarves the expeditionary had pulled from Kaldreach’s engineering guilds, along with the powerful siege engine they brought. Considering the dwarves' dwindling numbers and their sheer importance in maintaining Kaldreach’s infrastructure, it was a miracle any were allowed to leave the stronghold’s walls at all.

  Last and probably least of all were the non-Chosen troops: two thousand or so garrison soldiers taken from Kaldreach’s Defence Corps — armed with ageing spears, crossbows, and little to no actual combat experience. Kaldreach administration described them as a ‘highly-motivated, all-volunteer, conscripted penal armed force’.

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  There were so many contradictions in that statement that Eri didn’t even know where to begin dissecting it. It didn’t help that most of those ‘soldiers’ were condemned criminals of some sort.

  The Imperial Army took the group under its command and gave them the designation ‘Professional Foot Irregulars’. Bori called them the ‘Poor Fucking Infantry’.

  Eri could not help but think the latter fit better. Hopefully, the Imperial Army would find a use for them beyond as meat shields.

  Regardless, the Expeditionary Force was assembled, and it was a sight to behold.

  “It’s not exactly Crusade-strength, but this is still pretty impressive for a force cobbled together under six months,” Alvine murmured. “I heard rumours that the new Aurelian Capital might be sending another half-legion to back up the expedition as well, and the remains of the loyalist faction to the West will be assisting both groups with naval affairs.”

  “Is this going to be enough, though? I mean, the West is huge. Tens of millions of people live there,” Julie noted. “Not to mention the thousands of dangerous pirates operating within the Slaver Isles…”

  “Except the Expeditionary Force’s objective isn’t to take the West, or even to cleanse the Slaver Isles of criminal elements,” Raharim pointed out. “They just want to take out the Duskcrowns.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” Julie asked, confused.

  “The West, the Slaver Isles, and the Duskcrowns are three very different entities,” Alvine patiently explained. “They aren’t out to exert Imperial pressure over the people of the West, nor are they moving to exterminate every slaver or pirate, even if the Church wishes they could. This expedition is primarily for destroying a dangerous and heretical competing royal faction. Any other goals that the Church or Imperial Army might have are secondary.”

  “Not to say those secondary goals aren’t important to many of them gathered below. It’s half the reason why any of them are here,” Bori gestured to the crowded square. “Good things come with war: plunder, reputation, and the motive force to pursue political agendas.”

  “Bad things too,” Eri muttered. “A lot of people might die.”

  “People die every day. It’s nothing special.”

  Eri grimaced but said nothing. In many ways, he had no right to speak of the consequences of war.

  House Korvalis’s representative stepped forward onto a podium that had been prepared beforehand. The man was flanked by Lord Draevan — who, as the one responsible for shedding light on the Duskcrown’s crime, held the honour of being House Korvalis’s Second for the duration of their campaign.

  There might be those who would argue that Lord Draevan himself should be given unofficial command of the Expeditionary Force, for he was not lacking in power or reputation. However, Draevan was still a relatively untested lord in the eyes of the higher political powers governing the North, and his House’s weak position granted him little favour, either.

  Thus it was that House Korvalis’s eldest son, Master Aldred Korvalis, was leading the campaign.

  Julie sucked in a breath. “Holy crap, now that’s a proper hero.”

  Even from such a distance, the man commanded a regal and otherworldly presence.

  From the sweeping rune-etched coat that reflected the firelight or the wave of midnight hair that shimmered like velvet, there was a quality that spoke to one belonging more to ‘legends’ than the mundanity of based humanity. His handsome face betrayed not a hint of emotion. His Core reflected his strength.

  An Amethyst Core Chosen — one of the last remaining few still alive after the travesty of the 24th Crusade.

  “Damn, House Korvalis brought the big guns,” Raharim whistled. “That’s the First Virtue he’s wielding. The star-metal blade is said to have wounded the First Demon King four thousand years ago, and every Demon King since.”

  In Master Aldred's hand gleamed a lance wrought of smothering metal, its haft dark as the void while the tip embered with a pale, alien fire. The First Virtue was a famous weapon with a storied legend. It was said to have wounded all four Demon Kings at least once throughout the five-thousand-year war. Though reforged multiple times through the long war, the blade remained the same as it was when it was first forged from a shard of heaven by Elven hands.

  At the very least, Eri could personally attest that it was the same blade used more than a millennium before. He had been stabbed by the damn thing back when he was a Demon King, even if the star-metal did burn a lot brighter back in his day.

  Didn’t kill me, though you did hurt me like hell, Eri thought humourlessly as he gazed at the lance’s pure-burning flames. One of the first heroes who invaded my castle was wielding you.

  It had been Eri’s first battle. He remembered dozens of attacks scratching his hide, never breaking it. He had been drunk on power, swatting down Chosens one after another.

  Then, a piercing agony. The first time he felt pain in his life.

  A Saint wielding a lance of starlight, their fury indomitable even as they watched their comrades die one by one.

  The wound healed soon after. It didn’t even leave a scar. However, the memory of the pain was a mark in its own right.

  I remembered your master. How nobly they fought. They were the last ones left in that heroic band, but they never wavered until the end.

  He remembered giving them the chance to flee. They never took it, even as their wounds mounted and death approached.

  Defiant until the very end.

  For what it’s worth… I’m sorry for killing them back then.

  And then, right as Eri finished that thought…

  The lance began glowing brighter.

  It was not by much, but the embers were definitely fiercer, as if stoked to sudden anger. The audience appeared taken aback, particularly the nobles who were gathered nearest to the podium.

  Master Aldred frowned for a moment, the mask of utter indifference breaking into something resembling surprise. He looked down at his lance.

  Then his gaze shifted.

  “Hmm? Hey, doesn’t it look like he’s facing our way?” Julie asked.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Bori sighed. “We are so far away. He’s probably just looking at the gate, posing all heroic-like for the audience. I bet Joarris and Lady Dulcina down there are getting a good showing… Lucky them.”

  “I have better eyes than you lot, and I’m telling you, he’s definitely looking our direction! What do you think, Eri? Eri?”

  Eri couldn’t say a word.

  His brain was locked in fright at the dark blue eyes undeniably staring right into his despite the distance between them.

  What, are legendary weapons telepathic now?! What did I do?! I was just thinking to myself! Should I say something? Wave at him? I need to ask Elen—

  It was a reactive instinct — one born from his crippling social skills and his reliance on his matron.

  But Elen was no longer around. The reminder was cold and unwelcome, but it washed away his panic.

  Eri opted for simply staring back wordlessly. There was surprisingly little hostility to be found in the man’s dark eyes. Eventually, after uncomfortable and awkward seconds passed, Master Aldred looked away.

  The ceremony commenced without further interruption. The Expeditionary Force was formally named the ‘Kaldreach Coalition’. Speeches were given, the primary leaders of the expedition were presented — with representatives from the major mercenary companies, the Imperial Army, the Church, and the Noble Houses standing before the massive gathering — and then finally, the host of war began to march out the southern gates.

  There was much fanfare and music. The atmosphere was one of excitement and hope, as victory felt certain, and a victory in the campaign could bring the continent one small step closer to true unification.

  Eri was simply glad to step away from the battlement and rejoin Dulcina and Joarris below, who had been part of the more ‘prestigious’ group given the privilege of observing the parade up close rather than watching it from the south walls with the rest of the lesser nobles.

  His mind kept returning to Master Aldred’s curious stare.

  What was that all about?

  Hopefully, it was all just a crazy coincidence. In any case, the expedition would not be returning for years. By then, Master Aldred would probably forget all about it.

  ~~~

  “You have adopted a child recently, Lord Elathion?”

  Draevan was taken aback. Master Aldred had not spoken a single word to him ever since they met. The man was as silent as he was monstrously powerful.

  In fact, those words were the first he ever heard uttered by the mysterious firstborn son of House Korvalis.

  “I… yes, Master Aldred,” Draevan answered hesitantly. “A talented young man named Eri White, now Eridane Elathion. I have only adopted him into my House recently.”

  “Eri…” the man repeated softly. His voice was strange, almost aloof. “I see. I would like to meet him someday.”

  Before Draevan could say another word, the man was already moving ahead, trudging his steed to head for the front of the marching column. Eventually, Draevan chalked up the exchange as Master Aldred's attempt at social politeness and left it at that.

  Unbeknownst to him, the dark-haired scion kept muttering quietly to himself.

  “Eri… E-ri… Erizen…”

  Aldred smiled gently to himself.

  “Found another one.”