The Duke cleared his throat. "Now then, I believe formal introductions are in order."

  The woman, Ororo, stepped forward into the center of the room, and the atmosphere shifted.

  "Master Sael," she began. "I come before you as envoy of His Majesty Cedric the Third of House Münso, King of Albyon, Sovereign of the Northern and Southern Reaches, Protector of the Coastal Provinces, Lord of the Ancient Seat of Valorheim, and Keeper of the Sacred Flame."

  The titles kept coming. Each one seemed to demand its own moment of acknowledgment.

  When she finished, she bowed and straightened, waiting.

  The room was completely silent and everyone was now looking at Sael.

  ...He was supposed to respond to that, wasn't he?

  After all those titles, after that formal introduction, there should be... something. Something equivalent. That's how these things worked. He'd seen it before, centuries ago. When dignitaries met and formal occasions required it. You matched the other person's energy. Their formality.

  But his name was sufficient, wasn't it? She knew who he was. Everyone in this room knew who he was.

  "I am Sael," he said.

  Good. That was clear.

  But the silence continued and no one moved.

  Not good. Was that not enough?

  But it should be enough. His name was enough. Except the pause was getting longer, and Ororo was still waiting with that polite, patient expression, and everyone else was still watching him, and—

  Oh.

  Maybe she needed context? Not titles, but... what he did? That's what those titles were, after all. Descriptions of role and function. King, Sovereign, Protector. They told you what the person did.

  What did Sael do?

  "I do magic," he said.

  There. That was accurate.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then Margaret broke the silence and laughed.

  Sael's attention snapped to her. "What is it?"

  But she couldn't answer, too busy laughing, her hand pressed over her mouth like that would somehow muffle the sound. It didn't. Her shoulders shook. Her eyes crinkled.

  He looked around the room, trying to understand. Everyone was either laughing or trying very hard not to. Even Ororo had dropped the formal mask entirely, smiling at him with a warmer tone.

  Sael looked between all of them, genuinely confused.

  He'd introduced himself. He'd stated what he did. Both of those things were accurate and factual. His name was enough to identify him; anyone who knew anything about magic would recognize it. And he did do magic. That was literally what he did.

  So what was funny about that?

  No one looked upset, though. No one looked like he'd committed some terrible social error. They were laughing, yes, but not in a mean way. Not mocking. It was more like... like they'd found something unexpectedly delightful. Like he'd done something charming without realizing it.

  Had he... had he done it? Had he actually made a joke?

  This was one of the rare times anyone had genuinely laughed at something he'd said.

  And he hadn't even been trying.

  Fascinating. So the issue wasn't that he couldn't be funny: it was that trying to be funny was the problem? Or perhaps the humor arose from the contrast between expectation and delivery? The formal introduction had created a certain anticipation, and his response had subverted it in a way that was apparently amusing rather than inappropriate.

  He should examine this more carefully later. There might be underlying principles he could extract, patterns he could study. If he could understand what made this work when his intentional attempts failed, perhaps he could develop a more reliable framework for social humor. Though that might defeat the purpose if the key element was genuineness rather than construction.

  Something to think about.

  Sael pushed the thoughts aside. He could analyze humor later. Right now, there were more pressing matters.

  He turned his attention back to Ororo.

  "If I may ask, what exactly brings the King's envoy here?" he asked.

  The room's atmosphere shifted again, the warmth of the laughter fading into something more formal. Ororo's expression settled back into professional composure.

  "Master Sael," she began, "His Majesty has heard of your miraculous return. Had it not been for His Grace's letter, vouching for your identity and the legitimacy of your presence, His Majesty would not have taken such claims seriously." She paused, letting that sink in. "But the Duke's word carries weight, and His Majesty has also heard of your intentions regarding Aldric Eryndor. The threat he poses, the Corruption spreading from his domain. The King wishes you to know that he stands fully behind your endeavor."

  Sael nodded slowly. That was... good. Royal support could always be useful.

  "However," Ororo continued, "His Majesty requests that you first come to the capital. To meet with him there."

  Sael blinked.

  "Why?"

  Ororo's smile remained pleasant. "His Majesty wishes to see you, Master Sael. To speak with you personally about this matter."

  "But why?" Sael pressed. "If he supports the project, what needs to be discussed? The Duke has already provided all the necessary information, hasn't he? The recommendations, the reports about the Corruption—"

  "His Majesty feels a personal audience would be—"

  "No."

  Ororo stopped mid-sentence as the room went very still.

  "Master Sael—"

  "No," Sael repeated. He could feel a familiar irritation building in his chest, the kind that came when people were being inefficient for no good reason, and made him let go of his usual manners. "In fact, I will be departing in search Aldric today. At the latest."

  He kept his tone as polite as he could manage, but he could hear the edge in his own voice.

  "I appreciate His Majesty's support," Sael continued, "but the Corruption issue does not seem to have been taken as seriously as I was hoping. Every day we wait, it could spreads further to other people Aldric met and tempted. More people are put at risk." He looked directly at Ororo. "If the King truly supports this endeavor, then what I need is not a meeting. What I need is for the recommendations that I'm certain the Duke has already made in my name to be taken seriously and acted upon as soon as possible."

  Ororo's expression remained neutral.

  "Please," Sael added, forcing his voice to soften slightly, "go tell your King that once this matter is resolved, once the Corruption is dealt with and Aldric Eryndor is no longer a threat, then perhaps a meeting would be... envisageable. But for now, the priority must be lowering the risks. Implementing the containment measures. Preparing for what might be coming."

  The room fell silent once again. Ororo stood there, her pleasant smile frozen in place as the moment stretched.

  Then, slowly, her smile warmed again.

  "Very well, sir," she said.

  She inclined her head in a small bow.

  "I will transmit your words to His Majesty as reliably as possible," Ororo continued. "Every word, exactly as you've said them."

  "Thank you," Sael said.

  Ororo straightened and turned toward Richter. "Your Grace, if I may take my leave? I should return to the capital immediately to relay Master Sael's message."

  Richter stepped forward, his expression concerned. "You've only just arrived, Ororo. Surely you'd like to rest? Take some refreshment?"

  "I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, but I'm quite capable of making the return journey." Her smile was polite but firm. "The matter is time-sensitive, as Master Sael has made clear. And I still have much energy."

  Richter looked like he wanted to argue, but Ororo's posture made it clear the decision was already made.

  "Very well," he said finally. "Safe travels."

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Ororo bowed to him, then turned and bowed to Margaret, to the others in the room, and finally to Sael once more.

  Then she walked to the door, opened it, and left.

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Then Margaret smiled, a hint of amusement in her expression. "I don't think Cedric is going to like this."

  Sael looked at her. Then at the Duke, whose face had tightened with worry, his jaw set in a way that spoke of concern.

  He felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't meant to put the Duke in an awkward position. Richter had vouched for him, written letters on his behalf, and now Sael had just refused a royal summons. That could reflect poorly on the Duke.

  "I apologize if I've—" Sael began.

  "Baah, let that little idiot wait," Koleen interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "He'll learn patience, hopefully. Or develop a brain when he learns not everybody can be coerced."

  Everyone turned to stare at the Headmaster.

  Koleen looked around at their expressions. "What? He was my apprentice. I know the brat."

  He made a tsking sound with his tongue, then turned to Sael with something almost apologetic in his eyes.

  "Archmage, I apologize for that little... test of strength, or whatever it was supposed to be," Koleen said. "The current king is still a child at mind and body. Only nineteen years old. Ascended to the crown barely two years ago after his father's sudden death." He shook his head. "Immature. Cocky. Lacks good judgment. I didn't have the time to properly educate him on all those things, you see. He'd been with me only a year before his father died and duty called him away."

  There was something in Koleen's voice that sounded almost like... regret?

  But then he laughed, which made Sael second guess.

  "To send a Fury to Sael the Great!" He gestured emphatically. "Hah! They generally don't show emotions, you know. Trained not to. But I'd bet every coin I have that she was shocked by your response."

  Sael frowned. "A Fury?"

  "Ah, you wouldn't know, would you?" Koleen crossed his arms. "New development. Came in with the new king. They're a sort of... personal guard, I suppose you could call them. But not the kind that stand around looking intimidating. These ones do the king's personal biddings. Delivering messages that can't be refused. Making examples. That sort of thing."

  He gestured vaguely with one hand.

  "They're enhanced, you see. Alchemical treatments, intensive training, conditioning. They can produce and direct these pheromones at their targets. Makes people afraid of them. More afraid than they should be, anyway. Creates this aura of dread, makes it hard to think clearly, harder still to refuse them. Most people who meet them can barely keep their composure, let alone say no."

  Sael thought back to Ororo. He'd felt... nothing like that. She'd seemed professional, polite even. He'd noticed her presence, certainly, but not in any way that had affected his thinking.

  "That one," Koleen continued, "Ororo Kain. She's the leader of them. The first Fury. The strongest. If her presence was going to work on anyone, it would've worked on you." He grinned. "And you just told her 'no' like she'd asked if you wanted tea."

  Richter had relaxed slightly, though he still looked concerned. Margaret was smiling openly now.

  "I didn't feel anything unusual," Sael said, genuinely confused.

  "Because whatever they did to her, whatever pheromones she was pumping out, they're designed to work on normal people," Koleen said simply. "You're certainly not normal people, Archmage."

  "Koleen," Margaret said warningly.

  "What? It's a compliment!" Koleen protested. "I mean, the man's been supposedly dead for centuries and came back. Whatever biological tricks the Furies use weren't designed with that in mind."

  "I still apologize for creating difficulties," Sael said, looking at Richter. "If only for your sake, I would later go to the capital. But Aldric has to be stopped as soon as possible. I can hardly delay that further." He straightened. "So I will be on my way now."

  At that moment, Ilsa stood up from where she'd been sitting.

  The movement drew everyone's attention. She stepped forward, her posture respectful but determined, making sure she was seen and heard.

  Sael looked at her.

  "This was originally my Right of Quest," the girl began. "I understand perfectly that the matter at hand has grown much bigger than me, much bigger than what I initially set out to do." She paused, then turned to look at her father. "But with my father's permission..."

  She turned back to Sael.

  "And yours, Grandpa Sael."

  "Ilsa—" Richter started.

  Sael wanted to say it was fine, that he didn't mind at all, but Margaret was faster. She placed a hand gently on Richter's hand and smiled at him. A quiet request to let her call him that.

  Sael nodded and smiled at Ilsa.

  The girl's expression brightened with satisfaction. Margaret made a small gesture for her to continue. Then, without warning, Ilsa knelt before Sael.

  He almost gasped, and it took a lot for him to gasp. Almost being the key world. Suffice to say, the kneeling was disproportionate.

  "I ask you to let me come with you," Ilsa said, her head bowed. "To help in the fight against the Corruption. It's the only way for me to fulfill my Right of Quest now that it has escalated this far. Please. Let me accompany you."

  Sael looked at Richter.

  He'd already been thinking of bringing Ilsa along, actually. For exactly this reason: her Right of Quest. It would have been cruel to deny her after she'd worked so hard to earn it. But he hadn't made any formal request to her father yet.

  Richter was silent for a long moment, his eyes on his daughter kneeling before Sael.

  Then he turned to Sael.

  "Lord Archmage, If you would accept my daughter on this journey," Richter said quietly. "Then I would be not only honored, but I would sleep better at night. Knowing she's in your care. Knowing she's safer than anyone in this world could make her."

  "Oh," Sael said. This did not take any convincing at all. Good grief, he'd been anxious for nothing. Then, more firmly: "Of course. Of course she can come along."

  He looked down at Ilsa, still kneeling.

  "Please stand up," he added. "You don't need to kneel."

  "Thank you," Ilsa said. "Thank you, Grandpa Sael. Father." She stood up. "I'll go prepare my things right away. I won't take long."

  "I'll help," Jaime said, standing as well.

  "If you'll excuse us," Ilsa added with a small bow to the room.

  Richter nodded, and the two siblings left together, their footsteps fading down the hallway.

  That left only Stanislas, Koleen, Margaret, and Richter in the room with Sael.

  Stanislas seemed to notice the shift in the room's atmosphere. He cleared his throat softly.

  "If you'll excuse me as well," he said. "I'd like to go see Orion. Perhaps get to say goodbye to my nephew more privately before you all depart."

  "See you later, Stan," Richter said.

  "Of course, Your Grace," Stanislas replied with a formal nod, then left.

  Once the door closed, Richter shook his head with a small smile. "I keep telling him to call me by my name in informal settings. But the moment there's a third person in the room, it's back to 'Your Grace.'"

  Sael had barely registered the comment.

  There was something he needed to say to Richter and Koleen. Something important. He'd been holding onto it since Ilsa and Jaime had left, waiting for the right moment. But he wasn't sure how to start, or how to introduce the subject delicately.

  So he didn't.

  "I need you both to know," Sael said, "that if I find Aldric, the chances of me killing him are very high. I believe he's beyond the stages that can still be saved. He would only cause more damage if left alive."

  To that, Koleen's expression grew somber. He nodded slowly. "He should have known what would happen when he took the deal. A man has to be responsible for his actions."

  There seemed to be no vindictiveness or satisfaction in his tone. Just regret, and the weight of someone who had moved on forcefully from something painful.

  Richter was quiet for a moment. "He was my cousin," he said finally.

  Then he took a breath.

  "But if there's nothing left of my cousin in the man you find, then it means he's already gone. What remains..." He trailed off, then met Sael's eyes. "What remains is just a threat that needs to be dealt with."

  Silence settled over the room. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just... weighted with acknowledgment.

  Margaret, as always, was the one to break it.

  "Where is he now, anyway?" she asked.

  Sael reached into his Inventory and pulled out the bloodied fur patch of the Cerberus. He held it in his palm, letting his awareness connect to it. The blood sang to him. A thread of awareness stretching out across distance, anchoring to its source.

  "It's strange," Sael said slowly. "He hasn't moved. Not since I first located him through his blood. He's been in the same location this entire time."

  Richter leaned forward slightly. "And what do you think that means?"

  "I can't be certain," Sael admitted. "I'll have to go and see."

  "Where is he right now?" Koleen asked.

  Sael closed his eyes, following the thread of connection. It was like tracing a line drawn in his mind, feeling the pull of it.

  "South," he said. "Far south. About... five days' hard ride from here, maybe more. The land changes, I can feel it through the blood. Dry air. Hot. Sandy earth." He paused, his awareness sharpening. "He's in some kind of structure. Stone. Old stone. He's underground, I think. The blood feels... enclosed."

  He opened his eyes.

  "Somewhere in the southern desert lands."

  Richter's face went pale. "Ashams? Is he in Ashams?"

  Sael tilted his head at that.

  The last time he'd been in Ashams was about three hundred and fifty years ago, during his travels to help rebuild after the wars. He remembered it well enough. A proud people. Resilient. They'd adapted to the harsh desert climate with impressive ingenuity: their water systems, their architecture designed to keep cool in the brutal heat. The children had been fascinated by his magic, he recalled. They'd asked him to make ice sculptures in the middle of summer.

  But by the look on the Duke's face, it did not seem to be the case anymore.

  "What's wrong with Ashams?" Sael asked.

  Richter exhaled slowly, like he was preparing himself to recount something unpleasant.

  "Four years ago," he began, "the King of Ashams—Baharzad was his name—discovered something during a hunt. A cave inside a mountain. Hidden. The entrance had been concealed by a rockslide, maybe for centuries. No one knows how long it had been there."

  He paused, his expression darkening.

  "Inside, there was gold. And not a small amount of it, as the reports described it as a mountain. Coins, jewelry, ancient relics. Piled so high it reached the ceiling of the cavern."

  Koleen made a low sound in his throat. "Should have left it alone."

  "I'm not sure if it was greed, or ambition, or just... foolishness," Richter continued. "Maybe all three. But Baharzad decided to claim the gold for himself. He didn't tell the council. Didn't inform his advisors. Just took his most loyal generals and began extracting it in secret. They hauled out a sizable amount over the course of weeks. Enough to triple the kingdom's treasury, from what I heard."

  He stopped, his gaze distant.

  "And then they discovered what was sleeping under the gold."

  Sael's attention sharpened.

  "A dragon," Richter said quietly. "The moment they revealed him—pulled away enough gold to expose his scales—he woke. Asked them what they were doing. Calm, at first. Almost polite, from the accounts I've heard. Baharzad tried to apologize and explain, he even tried to offer tribute."

  Richter's mouth pressed into a thin line.

  "The dragon didn't care. He flew to the palace. Killed Baharzad in his own throne room. Killed his generals. Killed anyone who stood in his way. Then he took the throne for himself."

  "Three neighboring kingdoms tried to intervene," Koleen said. "Ashams had alliances. Trade agreements. Baharzad's daughter was married to the Crown Prince of Qahris. They marched their armies to the border, demanded the dragon leave."

  Margaret's expression was somber. "It didn't go well."

  "Didn't go well is putting it mildly," Koleen said. "Qahris sent ten thousand men. The dragon met them in the field himself. Alone. Burned half the army to ash in minutes. The rest surrendered."

  Richter nodded. "Qahris, Nemathi, and Suvar all fell within months. But the dragon didn't wipe them out. He conquered them, and made it clear that resistance was pointless. Killed their kings, installed governors loyal to him, and declared them part of his domain."

  "He lets them govern themselves, mostly," Margaret added. "As long as they follow his rules."

  "What rules?"

  "Pay their taxes. Don't steal from his hoards. Don't kill without his permission. The kingdoms function, more or less. But they're his."

  Koleen's jaw tightened. "Four kingdoms under the rule of a dragon. It shook the entire continent. Some of the northern realms were talking about forming a coalition, marching south to deal with him before he expanded further. But no one wanted to be the first to try."

  "And no one has," Richter said grimly. "Ozyarathes. The Tyrant King. He's been on that throne for four years now, and no one's been able to do a thing about it."

  He paused, then added, "The borders are sealed now. You can't enter any of the four kingdoms without a permit issued directly by his governors. And those are nearly impossible to get unless you're a merchant with something valuable to trade, or you have business he deems worthy of his attention. Anyone caught crossing without authorization is executed on sight."

  "Or worse," Koleen muttered. "I've heard stories of people being dragged back to the capital in chains. Made examples of."

  Richter looked at Sael.

  "For Aldric to have gone there, he must have truly lost his mind."

  Sael took it in. Processed it. And finally came to one crucial conclusion.

  He should have kept up with the information of the world.

  And Patreon's at 11 chapters ahead now!