At his left sat the Goblin, the elf known to the public as Lee. He was present on behalf of Queen Theta, who was unable to attend this grand gathering. Behind him stood two prominent figures, though of course less so than Lee and Queen Theta, whom they served. One was a Magister of the Citadel in charge of diplomacy. The other was a Magister of Finance, leader of the Schwartz family, a subsidiary branch of the Talulah family, itself a Crownlord family.
Next to Lee was an empty seat. Beside it sat King Lance, one of the two new human monarchs of the land of men. Standing behind him to his left were the leader of the Evermere Crownlord family and an older gentleman, a Grand Duke from the same family, who governed the region Lance had once ruled as a king under Emperor Cleon.
To King Lance’s right sat another king, the second emperor of the land of men, King Dorian. Behind him stood two attendants. One was well known, the leader of the Cassian Crownlord family. The other was a mysterious lady, unknown in origin and status, her face concealed behind a mask.
Beside him sat yet another monarch, not human this time despite her appearance. She was an angel, though lacking both wings and the common ring. She was Lady Seraly, the Seraphim of Love, the angelic deity worshipped by the Byg'm?k Faith.
She was accompanied by two angels who, unlike her, made no effort to conceal their four wings and glowing rings. One was well known. He had once held the titles of Paladin Lucius, Custodian Paladin of the Byg'm?k Faith, and Divine Emissary, earning him the moniker Loyal Stallion of the Byg'm?k. The other was less famous, but he knew her lineage well. She was the daughter of the Seraphim of Love and Jason the hero, founder of the Adventurer Guild, who for over four hundred years she had been the most protected and pampered being on the continent.
The next seat was occupied by another Seraphim, Lady Thal, the deity of Selflessness worshipped by the Keysbrügr Faith. Stern and handsome, she was accompanied by two archangels. One of them was Micah, formerly High Reverend Micah, a stern looking middle aged man with gray golden hair and hazel eyes. His rise from a temple raised highbreed to archangel mirrored Lucius’s path closely enough that the two were often compared.
Next sat Pax, the Seraphim revered by the W?hppr Faith, associated with peace. She too was accompanied by two figures, one an Oracle of the Divine and the other an archangel who was particularly intriguing. Unlike the others, this archangel appeared impossibly young. With long blue hair and an innocent face, he looked no older than a nine year old girl, though he was neither nine nor a girl. Once a highbreed, he had miraculously raised his Longevity skill to level two at the age of nine, locking himself into that form and earning the title Most Beautiful from his Seraphim.
One of the remaining seats belonged to a familiar face, the elven monarch Farmi, Patriarch of the Ferron Family and owner of the Cinnabar Tree. As eccentric as ever, he was accompanied by two elves in maid attire who poured him tea. He cheerfully offered it to the table.
The elven monarch beside him refused. It was another familiar face, Aquaflora, Queen of the Elven United Kingdom, Matriarch of the Argyrian Family and owner of the Lunith Tree. Instead of attendants of her own race, she came with a unique pair. On her left shoulder rested a white, slightly iridescent loong. On her right coiled a white serpent with pristine scales and blue eyes that seemed to take in the entire room. For a brief moment, Licht felt the serpent’s gaze meet his.
Seated beside Queen Aquaflora was him, the only one at the table who was not a monarch. He had a place because he represented his own faction, one he had recently returned to, the Adventurer Guild.
It was then that Pax spoke. “May we ask who that empty chair is for? Are we still waiting for someone?”
“That chair is mine,” Goblin answered casually. “In case you have forgotten, I am a monarch with an earned place at this gathering. Today I also represent Queen Theta.”
“Speaking of her, where is she?”
The question drew every gaze at the table. Goblin did not answer immediately. He took a slow look around the circle, pausing at the two kings, then at the elven queen, and finally at the Seraphims.
“She is unharmed, in case that interests any of you,” he said.
“That is a relief,” chimed Patriarch Farmi. “I was so concerned when I heard that poor child was viciously attacked. I could not sit idle. I had to do something.”
“Is that why you came with that thing?” King Lance asked, not hiding his displeasure.
“Yes. I informed you of my arrival as protocol requires. Or did I miss a crucial step in announcing my monarchly arrival?”
“You did inform us. You simply failed to mention you would arrive with an entire island.”
As the human monarch complained, the elven monarch had arrived at the capital with an entire floating island. Its arrival caused a massive commotion in the city, which hadn't expected such an apocalyptic sight to park overhead.
“Oh my, I apologize,” the monarch tragically chimed, then casually changing topics he asked, “Patriarch Lee, how is the girl? I am sure she is shaken after the recent event.”
“Theta is shaken,” Goblin replied. “Very shaken. We deemed it wise for her to remain somewhere safe, given how unsafe the land of men has become lately.”
“You speak as if the capital is dangerous for her.”
“And you assure me it is not, King Lance?”
Under Goblin’s glare, the king remained silent.
“We are beginning to believe there is no place on this accursed land that can be called safe,” Goblin continued. “And I have people to blame for that. You two. You three.”
He pointed at the two emperors, then at the three Seraphims.
“Us?” the nearest Seraphim echoed.
“Yes. I blame these two for failing to root out those lunatics. But I will not let the recency of that attack and the faces representing them blind me to the fact that the reason the attack caused such damage was because they possessed these.”
Goblin reached into the rift his spatial ring had conjured and pulled something out, letting it roll across the table before stopping it with his hand. A viscous and foul-smelling substance leaked from its eye sockets. It was a head, one that had once belonged to a being that looked very much humanoid. Now, however, it no longer did. The metallic armor it was made of was crumpled and bent, warping its features into something barely recognizable.
“Tsk.”
“Abomination.”
Every person at the table reacted to the head in their own way, yet all shared the same expression of disgust. All except Patriarch Farmi, who leaned forward and curiously reached out to inspect it.
“These things, these angelic constructs, were the reason this so-called messiah and his band of lunatics dared to attack the Citadel,” Goblin said. “Constructs of this kind do not appear out of thin air, nor can they be crafted by amateurs. They must have been handed to them. There is no other explanation for how they came to wield such weapons. Only one group has both the knowledge and the audacity to manufacture such constructs, and a motive for giving them to a group like this.”
He could only be referring to the tyrants, the Triumvirate exiled from the land of men.
“The Triumvirate is a problem that should have been dealt with centuries ago.”
Licht felt that Goblin’s accusation toward the Seraphims was partly fueled by his innate hatred of them. Yet there was enough truth in the claim to justify the tone. Otherwise, the Seraphims would already have risen from their seats in indignation.
Centuries before Cleon’s ascension to monarchhood, the Triumvirate ruled the eastern half of the continent. They governed with an iron fist, unchecked and without moral restraint. For nearly a millennium they reigned. When they extended their reach toward the western half, they were stopped by the Seraphims and forced into retreat from the land of men.
At first glance, the decision to let them retreat seemed questionable. Yet the circumstances at the time mattered. The Seraphims were not as firmly established as they are today. More importantly, the Triumvirate had threatened to annihilate the major settlements of the continent. They claimed to possess the means to do so and demonstrated their willingness by making an example of one city. Whether that capability was a bluff or not, the risk was real. In that context, allowing them to withdraw rather than forcing them into desperate retaliation was understandable.
What Licht could not understand was what came after. They were allowed to thrive in dwarven lands. Perhaps it was his nature as a Dungeon Master, but in the Seraphims’ place he would have ensured the cities were out of danger, something he believed could have been achieved within a few years, and then pursued them to prevent future threats. Instead, they were left alone.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“What do you suggest we should have done, Patriarch?” asked the Seraphim of Selflessness. “Attack the dwarven lands to eliminate them?”
“That would have been a genius idea. Shame you were a little too late to come up with it.”
“I was being sarcastic. It was not a good idea. Had we attacked, they would have turned dwarven lands to ashes. After what happened at your Citadel, you of all people should know they do not make empty threats when it comes to dragging others down with them.”
“How considerate of you to think about our dwarven neighbors. It would be wonderful if you extended a fraction of that consideration to the people of this continent. Thousands of innocents died in the Citadel becau—”
A Seraphim slammed her fist on the table. “Patriarch Lee! I think I have had enough of being pointed at as you are currently doing.”
“If you want to point fingers, perhaps we should discuss what you were doing in the Citadel,” another Seraphim interjected, the other two nodding in agreement. “We knew you were experimenting with technomagia, but that was beyond even our lowest expectations. What was that abomination you were keeping?”
“I do not see what you are referring to,” Goblin replied with a shrug, feigning ignorance. For the first time in the gathering he played into his appearance, looking like a cheeky teenager rather than a monarch.
The act only fueled the Seraphims’ anger. Their attention shifted to Licht, who anticipated it and deliberately looked away. It then moved to the two Magisters, originally present as attendants to Queen Theta but now effectively serving Goblin in her stead.
“You two,” one Seraphim demanded, “did you know about the undead Cleon within your Citadel walls?”
“We—” they began, startled by the sudden accusation, but a sharp glare from Goblin silenced them. He turned back to the Seraphims.
“Ah, you mean that. That was failsafe.”
“A failsafe?”
“To ensure that anyone daring to invade the haven of scholarly pursuit that the Citadel was meant to be would regret it. Which is precisely what happened, correct?”
“Do you have any idea what you were about to unleash upon the world?” the Seraphim of Selflessness shot back. “Do you understand the devastation that rogue undead monstrosity could have caused had we not intervened?”
“Who even did that to him?”
“Who else but Arianna,” Goblin shrugged. “She anticipated such an attack and made sure—”
“Turning someone into something like that. Do you people have no—” The Seraphim of Peace frowned in open disgust.
Before she could finish, a murmur from one of the emperors drew her attention.
“...the corpse of Cleon we gave her, since she wanted it,” King Lance said slowly. Then, as realization dawned on him, he continued, “…the corpses of the other kings she also wanted them…”
The Seraphims instantly understood what he had realized. All eyes turned toward Goblin, glaring. “Don’t tell me there are more of these rogue abominations out there!”
“There better not be any!”
“Why do I feel like I am the one being put on trial here?” Goblin snapped.
Licht thought.
A voice cut through the tension. It had been silent for some time. “Far be it from me to show favoritism to my fellow Patriarch in times such as these, when objectivity is needed most, but I believe I can speak for Elven Queen Aquaflora when I say we did not come here to see the Patriarch put on trial.”
“That is right,” Goblin nodded.
“We came from afar after receiving news of the misfortune that befell the dear daughter of a very dear friend of mine. We, or perhaps I should speak only for myself, came here to help. And what I see that needs addressing are the tyrants.”
Nods began on the left side of the table and soon spread to the right.
***
With the room in agreement that the matter of the Triumvirate required immediate discussion, the Seraphims naturally took the lead. They knew the most about the tyrants who called themselves, in the dwarven continent, the Iron Overlords. It was only fitting, as they had been the ones to drive them out of the continent in the first place.
A close second in knowledge would have been the late Emperor Cleon. He had been born under the tyrants’ rule and understood what it meant to live beneath them. Many of his earliest efforts as a new monarch had been devoted to purging the influence left by the Triumvirate.
That thought brought a realization to Licht. If the Seraphims were fools for allowing the Triumvirate to rise again after being expelled from the land of men, then Cleon was equally, if not more, foolish for failing to take harsher measures, even at a great cost to the dwarven population. In essence, Licht felt the Seraphims might have come to the same conclusion. That could explain why they had ultimately been open to replacing an established emperor like him.
“So basically, if I am to summarize what the land of men is up against,” Patriarch Farmi began after the lengthy exposition about the tyrants, “we are facing an enemy that cannot be spied upon, since dwarven lands cannot be infiltrated. We know almost nothing about them, except that they will fight like rabid beasts and will attempt to drag their enemies down with them if it comes to it.”
“You have summed it up well,” confirmed the Seraphim of Peace. “They are guaranteed to have five dwarven monarchs working for them, plus the current Overlords, who are an emperor, a Patriarch, and a Progenitor. If we go by the number of monarchs the land of men possesses, we are…”
“Outnumbered,” someone finished.
The three Seraphims nodded.
“Hmm.” The Patriarch stroked his nonexistent beard. “That is a rather bleak situation. Forgive my negativity.”
“Is that negativity, or simply pragmatism?” Goblin countered, counting on his fingers. “The land of men currently has the three Seraphims, two emperors, and two elven monarchs, one of whom is still an innocent child who has never seen blood in her life,” he raised his voice, “in case anyone has forgotten. It is bleak. It simply is, especially if you consider that any battle between us and them would place us in a very unfavorable position.”
King Lance frowned. “Because we would be the ones making the first move?”
“Were we even considering any other alternative?” Goblin asked, outraged by the question.
The monarchs of each sentient race operated in profoundly different ways, just as the sigils that symbolized their monarchhood varied from race to race. Yet certain concepts were shared among them. One such concept was the ability of monarchs to draw resources from their subjects through their sigils. The nature of those resources and the methods of extraction, however, differed greatly.
For Patriarchs and Matriarchs, resources are harvested from subjects sheltered within their ancestral trees. For Seraphims, power is drawn from believers and from those who have sworn vows to them. Emperors, on the other hand, gather resources from those who acknowledge their authority, typically nobles who rule lands. Through these nobles and the territory controlled by these nobles, lesser vassals are established, creating an emperor's subjectbase.
But here’s the thing, for elven monarchs, the output of this harvest dwindles the farther a monarch strays from the ancestral tree that shelters their subjects. For their human counterparts, leaving one’s ruled territory can sever this vital connection entirely. This was why a certain curse-casting kingslayer never had a concern about the late King Cleon leaving the Land of Men to kill her. She knew that outside his domain he would have nothing to rely on but his own innate strength.
It was also why the current monarch hesitated to invade dwarven lands. Such hesitation, however reasonable, could not be tolerated. Before Goblin could hurl his usual scorn at what he considered cowardice, Licht intervened.
“The alternative to not invading is being invaded,” he said sharply. “And from what I know, if there is one thing worse than an invasion, it is when it drags in people who asked for nothing. I will let you imagine the humanitarian disaster that would unfold. From any perspective, strategic or moral, inaction is unsustainable.”
Goblin was not swayed. Perhaps he had not seen the point of Licht’s intervention, or perhaps he was simply too irritated with King Lance to care. He pressed on, his words cutting. “What are you cowering at? Are you planning to make the same mistake Cleon did? Do you think that is why Arianna, peace to her loving soul, gave her life? Was it so you could inherit the rank of monarch and squander it on cowardly decisions like his?”
The elf rose from his seat, his voice lifting in defiance.
“There were three of you. One of them made the wrong call and paid the price. Are you about to add your name to that list, King Lance?”
Practically murderous glares were exchanged. A tense silence followed before a deliberately forced cough broke it. Noting who it came from, Goblin seemed to regain his senses. Seizing the moment, Licht steered the discussion back on track.
“Anyway, if the conflict is unavoidable, and at this point I believe it is, then we must take it to dwarven lands. Does anyone have anything to say against that?”
He looked toward the right side of the table, where the leaders of the Land of Men were seated. They all nodded, including King Lance.
“I am feeling a little excluded over here,” the Ferron Patriarch chimed. “Thinking back, I was not even included in the equation when you counted the monarchs on your side.”
“Because you intend to participate in this conflict, Patriarch?” asked the Seraphim of Love.
“I am here. I might as well provide assistance to my beloved neighbor.”
All eyes turned to the rust haired Patriarch. Their expressions made it clear that they did not believe a word he said. He lived on the far side of Quel’thalas, separated from the Land of Men by an ocean and an entire continent. Calling them neighbors was overly generous at best.
“For your neighbor? That is why you wish to join this conflict?”
“What? Is that not believable?”
The Seraphims shook their heads.
“Then if I said I am doing it for the sake of an old friend? More precisely for the future of the innocent daughter of that old friend, would that be any more believable?”
From the unchanged expressions around the table, the answer was obvious.
He sighed. “What has the world come to? Benevolence is not even believable anymore. Very well. I will give you a better reason. I have an enemy on that side. Someone I have reason to see exterminated. Someone who, as long as they breathe, is a threat to my existence as Patriarch and to the existence of my people as people. I want them gone. That is why I wish to involve myself in this conflict that is not my own. My help is motivated by something as simple as that. It is not as generous or admirable as the first two reasons I gave, but I think you cannot question this one.”
At those words, the monarchs exchanged glances, then ultimately nodded. As he had said, his reason was not admirable, but it would be hypocritical for anyone present to judge him. There was also the simple fact that they needed his help.
“Good. Then I, Farmi, Patriarch of the Ferron family, will assist to the best of my ability,” he declared solemnly before turning to his fellow elven monarch, Queen Aquaflora. “And what about you?”
Every eye turned to her, including Goblin’s. Licht, who stood between them, immediately shifted to block Goblin from view for her sake. All eyes watched and all ears listened expectantly for her answer.
After a moment, she spoke. “I came here only out of concern for Arianna’s daughter. I created the Elven United Kingdom to establish a haven for all elves, regardless of descent, free from needless conflicts, conflicts whose stakes they do not even understand. As its leader, I cannot bring my people into a war that is not mine.”
It was an understandable answer, yet for many at the table it was not the answer they wished to hear. That was why the Seraphim of Love began carefully, “We understand your position, but I beg you to reconsi—”
She stopped mid sentence. Her face froze into a frown. The other two Seraphims reacted the same way.
The change did not go unnoticed. One of the angels stepped forward and addressed the Seraphim of Love. “You Holiness, you are al—”
“This cannot be.”
All three Seraphims rose from their seats at once. Their expressions twisted as far as their angelic features could allow.
“Mother,” the archangel whispered in daughterly concern, reaching for the Seraphim’s shoulder, “are you alright? What is happening?”
The Seraphim seemed to regain her senses, though shock still marked her face. At last she answered the question her daughter had asked, and the one everyone else silently shared.
“The Holy Capital, and all its people, it is gone.”
https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0GH32YQB8