Vel stepped up on the moving platform. The device was a simple movement contraption, allowing ease of travel across difficult land. It housed enough room for six and moved at the back of the pack as a means for the mages. She, unlike many others, was used to battle. At least, battles like what was to come. She tapped the controls with her foot, putting the small group into motion. They fell in line, moving behind the [Archers] and [Warriors] of the Plain’s Centauri tribes.

After Max destroyed the Dimensional Gate, plans were quickly made and executed. A few units were sent out as scouts. Their task was to determine the best foothold locations while marking priority targets. On their return, the main forces would advance, including Vel and the other mages.

Vel felt bad leaving Max and Emi behind, but the pair deserved their rest. Not to mention Vel wanted payback. She was embarrassed, incredibly so. The fight with the Superior Blood Clone was a showing of weakness, a weakness she had not experienced in many years. She was powerless, outclassed, and out maneuvered. She might be growing old, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not in situations like this.

As the first of the main forces made contact with the enemy, Vel and the other mages began to draw on their individual power sources. A secondary moving platform trailed behind, carrying only barrels of water. It wasn’t as much water as Vel would have hoped, but it was enough to get the job done.

As water moved and twisted into countless projectiles, each sporting hues of black and blue, Vel reached out with her secondary class. Shadows moved and shimmered, twisting free from their hosts as if they were alive. This type of magic was considered War magic. Highly illegal, except for the individuals given permission by the governments of Salarin.

Taking too long for skirmish style combat, Vel’s spell hardly found use. She had tried to use a spell similar in idea when fighting Buzluc in Esmel, but before it could be completed, he managed to escape. This time, however, she had all of the time in the world. The ground turned solid black, shadows combined and reformed within the designated section.

As the ground exploded in black spikes, each piercing a flame beast of some sort, the overhead ice spells fired out. The two-pronged attack left little room of error, especially as the back-up mages were ever vigilant. Hundreds of enemies died in one attack. Most were incredibly low level, barely being worthy of the title ‘monster’. Some, however, were worth the mana cost. It would prove negligent for Vel’s experience, but that was not the point of the display.

The Plains were burning, it was time to put them out. Vel only had one regret; Max wouldn’t be around to witness what a true mage could do. Given enough space, ammo, mana, and time, that is…

Clammy, Zayne, and Anja made their way through the castle halls. As they ran, noise akin to battle echoed off the vaulted ceiling. The marble floors and chiseled stone walls did little to damper the screams and clash of blades. They passed rooms of scared [Servants], [Maids], and [Butlers], but chose to remain moving. If someone was in danger, Clammy would move to intervene, but she knew they were working with limited time.

The first stop was one of the many royal armories. Acting more as a guard refill station, the locked room was more than capable of fulfilling their needs. Zayne came in handy here, his stature as an adventurer gave him a few aspects of leverage. He knew the magical formation that unlocked the door, often times sneaking weapons to inspect and train with.

The room was small, no larger than a walk-in closet. Weapons of various kinds were propped on shelves or displayed on pegs attached to the walls. They were similar in make and type, Salae’s guards were trained with sword and shield, spear, and bows. Each were moderate quality; the kind mass production could create. Clammy, however, chose slightly different. A training sword.

A glorified thick slab of iron, dull and untipped. Not quite a hammer, but it would have to make do. As she pulled the heavy blade from the far corner, Zayne’s eyes widened as she swung the weapon without impediment. The weight was nothing to her as her magic set in. He watched as his younger sister rounded up a small breast plate and thin metal [Swordsman]s’ gloves.

Without skipping a beat, Clammy strapped the armor to herself, then moved with a similar pair to her sister. Anja looked like a scared puppy, wide-eyed and slightly trembling. Hopefully, the older princess would find comfort in the metal sheet of protection. Lastly, Clammy shoved Zayne’s sword into Anja’s hands. Zayne was given the same armor, but as his hands were broke, he was left without weapon. Clammy didn’t miss the frown he wore.

Exiting the armory, the trio moved quickly through the back corridors. Clammy wanted to grasp the situation at least somewhat before locking herself into combat. The floor turned from ornate white marble to rough stone as the hallway led into an outdoor patio and courtyard. A few dozen guards fought off invaders of various classes and levels. Some were [Assassins], similar to the Dustshade from before, others were glorified [Thugs].

Regardless, the [Royal Guard] seemed to have the battle underhand, so the trio continued on. They moved up one of the castle’s many spires, stopping partially the way up. Looking through a window, battles could be seen all across the property. Similar scenes to the courtyard played out everywhere. Guards fighting, and winning, against enemy forces. That was… Good? Even the words sounded strange to Clammy.

What was the Empire’s plan here? Lose men fighting the castle’s protectors? No… That would just be a waste of resources. The true goal most be elsewhere. It must be-

“Where’s mother?” Clammy suddenly asked, breaking the growing silence.

“I-I don’t know. We saw her at dinner, along with Uncle Viclear.” Zayne answered, a similar realization coming over him.

Was this the plan? Assassinate the [Queen]…? That would be in line with what she saw in the cave… Oh.

It hit her. Like a building collapsing, it hit her. Everything clicked into place. Her vision, the Coalition, the locks in Salae and Lesterwood. Everything filtered around in her brain, connecting to one another.

“We need to find mother and uncle. Now.” Clammy’s voice was gaunt and grim. Its most likely already too late. She thought.

They raced back through the castle, stopping by the royal chambers. They were empty, but pristine. The battle had not reached this point. Or, as a cynical thought, the battle didn’t end here. They moved again, rushing across numerous battlefields. The guard was winning decisively enough for the trio to squeak through unmolested. They checked the dining halls, solars, reading rooms, even the main library. But as they neared the throne room evidence of battle surfaced.

Blood trails, like a body had been dragged along the floor, trailed from an adjacent meeting room into the throne room. As they had moved through the castle, a small grouping of guards were swept up into Clammy’s control. Most wore odd looks, wondering where the lost princess had been, but accepted the quick orders and followed in muted agreement.

The guard entered first, while a few stayed back with Anja and Zayne. Clammy, however, entered. The throne room was simply a large open room with two thrones of similar size in the dead center. They were risen up slightly, as if looking down on all before them. Intruders lined the far wall, standing side-by-side as if watching a [Jester] on the streets.

Instead of a funny performance, a solo duel was taking place. A middle-aged woman was squaring off against an older man. The man was obviously not one of the kingdom’s. He was dirty and scrappy, as if he was from the slums. He had a large scar across his cheek and eye, rendering him half blind. His head was shaven, but a sinister smile commanded his presence.

The woman wore the familiar colors of Salae and the crest of the Queen’s Guard. She was favoring one leg as a gash the size of a small dagger poured blood from just below the hip. But Clammy wasn’t looking at her. Instead, her eyes went past to a man choking on his own blood. Her uncle, Viclear.

It was too late.

She walked forward, slipping into a deep Battle Trance while ignoring the yells of her acquired guard. She moved silently, dragging her weighted sword behind her. It created a line in the stone, sparking metal as she moved. The scarred man looked at her with hard eyes, as did the female guard. Clammy didn’t care, however. She just needed to move on.

Mana pulsed once, quicker than Clammy had ever done before. In the next breath, her sword was swung high into the air. The man didn’t react in time. He didn’t expect it. The sword connected with his neck, making through the first layer of flesh and muscle. Clammy pivoted forward, shoulder bashing the man with increased gravity.

The sudden double attack left him stunned for a moment, enough time for Clammy to draw back her slab of iron and stab forward. The weapon didn’t break skin this time, as his now bent chest plate did its job. The man stumbled back, but each step took more and more effort. His legs were lead, his torso steal. Breathing became harder, along with keeping his head level.

Between the onslaught of increased gravity, gushing neck wound, and constricting armor, the man fell to his knees. Without ceremony, without remorse, Clammy executed the intruder, her sword acting as a dull guillotine. For a moment, she looked around the room. Everybody was feeling the effects of her magic. The room had turned alien, like a dense planet.

“Who is next?” The youngest princess asked, stunning the crowd of enemies and allies.

A thinly woman stepped up next, in her hands she carried a dagger and collected dust with the other. A Dustshade. The [Assassin] moved quick, almost ignoring the increased weight. She blended in with the shadows, appearing on the other side of the room. Almost instantly dust fanned out, limiting all proper movement. With her dagger, the woman slashed the wall creating a single spark. The room erupted.

Flames mixed with a small shockwave sent the nearby onlookers cowering for cover. Heat filled the room while sucking all moister away. Clammy stood at the center cycling mana and rotating gravity. She had long learned how to move simple air currents in simple patterns, imitating the effects a novice [Air Mage] could create. With a sudden flush, Clammy moved the flame.

A backdraft bloomed the room in orange heat. The Dustshade, blinded by her own spell, was sent flying after a brutal slap from the flat of an iron training sword. She crashed into a window, breaking through without any recourse. She plummeted far, landing with a resounding thud as her body hit hard concrete far below.

Clammy’s previous words seemed to hover in the air as the intruders looked to one another. Eventually, a larger, buff, man stepped forward. His skin was darker than what was native to Salarin, but not unseen in the capital. He propped himself firm, leaning over his massive two-handed sword.

“Who are you?” He asked, using his deep voice to command silence from the chattering guards and enemies. His words caused dozens of Identify pings to bounce off her mana system. She did the same to the man.

Human [Berserker]

“Clammy of Lesterwood, member of The Humble Titans.” Her words sent a silent shock through the crowd of Salae’s best. Even her bleeding out uncle looked on in shock.

“The Humble Titans… Sounds familiar…” The man snapped his finger in remembrance, “Didn’t I already kill those freaks? I sent their daughter to the slave pens…”

A smile formed, sinister and deadly. The man giggled, like a sassy schoolboy. “You say you are from Lesterwood? Do you know an adventuring duo name Tyr and Denny?”

“Yes.” Clammy answered meekly.

“Do you know who killed them?”

“Yes.”

“And who would that be?”

“I did.” It was a lie, she knew, but not one she wanted to explain.

“Oh… Ahahaha, AHAHAHA” The laughs made the room rumble. “I’m going to have fun skinning you, in that case.”

The man blurred, his towering frame disappearing. Clammy caught the movement in her periphery, twisting her body to intercept. The blow was blocked, but still sent her spiraling across the room. She found her footing mid tumble, expertly swapping her magic around her body to gain balance. The man blurred again, this time kicking out.

A boot hit Clammy in the shoulder, knocking her free arm back. On her back foot, she swung down. The blade was casually dodged before another kick landed against her left hip. Or, it would have, if not for the thin but strong layer of mana Clammy surrounded herself in. The man’s foot collided with the mana shell and was rebounded straight down.

The floor cracked and crumbled under the sudden stress. A gust of power exited Clammy’s sword. The attack did little to harm the man, but it gave her enough room to regain her footing and create space. The pair eyed each other for a moment.

“Where is my mother?”

“You are going to have to be more specific, I’ve killed plenty of mothers.” The man emphases left a vile taste in the air.

“The [Queen].” The words were hard and fierce. Said with a snarl, Clammy’s identity finally dawned on the man.

“Oh. Oh, oh, ohhhhhh. You are the estranged princess, Belenia or something?” The man snapped again, “Oh, Bella, I remember now. Wait, you go by Clammy now? What kind of name is that?”

Clammy’s breath was deep and vibrant, mana misting through the air. She found it odd. Normally, being in a Battle Trance this long would start to show signs of wear. Especially since she hasn’t been fully rested. Maybe it was the thrill, maybe it was the fear. Whatever the reason, Clammy knew she had to see this through until the end. If not for herself, for Reep.

“A name meaning bravery and kindness. Something you obviously do not have.”

“Oh? A little spunky, huh? Let me tell you something about your mother then.” The man stood up straight and cleared his throat. “We took her! AHHAHA! Is that not great?! She’s long gone! You’ll never find her!”

Clammy honestly didn’t know why she asked. Maybe it was a dying hope of a young girl. One who wanted to believe the best outcome would surface regardless of action. But she knew better now, she saw it. She had seen the final outcome, but the parts in the middle still hurt.

Slowly, she raised her sword. The meaning behind the man’s words were clear. Nothing mattered. There was nothing she could do to get her mother back. Her uncle was bleeding out, and her father was far away. But everything mattered. There were still things to do in Salae, there were still people for Clammy to help.

She stepped forward, content to see the duel to the end. Their swords met, both with powerful swings. The vibrating metal sent waves down Clammy’s hand and arm, threatening to force her to let go. They both leaned back, striking again. Again, vibrations went down her sword. She lightened herself, absorbing the next blow and transforming the energy into movement. Rocks floated up from the broken stone finding a spot around the princess’s head.

With each attack she fired off a bullet at the man. Attack high, fire low. The sword would easily be blocked, but each time the rock landed. Only, it did negligible damage, as the man could wrap himself in thick aura. She pivoted back adding mana to the man’s gear. His belt was the first to drop, along with his pants.

Clammy pushed the advantage, forcing the man back with each attack. His limited leg movement forced him to react differently. He slashed down, slicing his pant legs at the seams. He looked foolish, which only enraged him. Aura struck his blade, merging and protecting it. It lengthened thus doubling the man’s swing range.

His swings became wild and untrained. His eyes reddened, the rage of a [Berserker] overcoming him. The man sped up, ignoring all that was around him. This broke the silence of the throne room; guards began to charge the remainder of the intruders. They, however, did not interfere with the duel.

Clammy fought for her magic’s control, but aura had always countered her. She couldn’t lower or raise his weight while he fought in this state. She could, however, change hers. As the man swung with primarily horizontal swipes, Clammy kept herself low while allowing the swings to move her lightened body. Each hit was brutal, threatening loss instantly if she ever failed to block.

Her eyes brightened.

She cycled more mana through her mana system, constricting gravity in a similar fashion to Dark Hole. Focusing solely on her sword, she swung out to parry a blow. A smile erupted on the man’s face just before his speed increased again. He changed the angle of his weapon faster than Clammy could react, stabbing forward into her gut-

Clammy’s eyes dulled, the future sight ending. She momentarily staggered, processing what she had just seen. She was stabbed… But not yet. She will be stabbed, in a moment. She smiled, cycling her mana like her miniature vision. Her sword filled with magic as its weight increased significantly. Her parry came like before, the man’s smile also making a return. But she twisted her shoulder at the last moment while reversing the pull of gravity on her sword.

The swords clashed, sparking a deafening pop. The man’s face contorted, mirroring his distain. Using the momentum, Clammy launched an assault. She threw everything into blow after blow, each infused with mana and extra gravity. She strategically pried at the man’s aura, drilling weak points all across his body. His left leg was almost weightless while his left wrist was as if it was made of stone.

Suddenly, the two manipulated weights changed, catching the man twisting in the wrong direction. Again, Clammy’s vision went into the future. She saw her attack being absorbed into the man’s hand, ending with him shattering the iron weapon. Returning to the present, she kicked instead, sending the man to his back foot. A shoulder bash was next, followed by a powerful downward slash. It connected.

The hit was incredibly strong, but the two were on separate playing fields when it came to level. While high level mage attacks could level a section of a city, high level [Warriors] could take a beating. Clammy’s attack was stronger than anyone her level, even stronger than some tier twos, but it did little more than bruise the man’s ego.

The fighters stared daggers at each other, having separated after the dust settled. They both looked around. The [Royal Guard] was winning. Paired with the constant supply of newly arrived personnel, the intruders simply couldn’t compete. Clammy looked to her uncle, who was deathly pale. Someone was feeding him an emergency potion, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to make it.

The rage died in the man’s eyes, he turned to his rival, “Interesting skillset you’ve got there, princess.” He rubbed his shoulder, “Any stronger, and I would have lost an arm. Are you a [Protégé]?”

Clammy scrunched her face at the question. [Protégé] was somewhat of an enigmatic class. It convoked learning. While someone with the class battled, studied, crafted, anything to do with learning, the class would activate. It would lead the person to heights unreachable by themselves. The man asking Clammy this essentially gave her his praise for the battle just fought.

“No.”

The man, who was still rubbing his shoulder, looked around again. With a sigh so large it rivaled his size, he shouted, “Empire! Full retreat!”

At his words, the room broke apart. The intruders began to run, guards fought to kill off as many as possible. The man walked to the window broken earlier, “Send my regards to that slave.” He jumped, leaving the battle behind.

Clammy spun, sprinting to her uncle. She dropped to his side, tears beginning to form. Viclear Salae stared blankly off in the distance. His eyes were hollow and slightly cloudy, his chin covered and blood while his hands covered an open wound. The man was dead, one of the royals, one of Clammy’s family.

Her mind briefly fell into shock. Her thoughts became muddled as she found ways to blame herself. If she hadn’t had left. If she arrived quicker. If she was stronger… But that was all it was: ifs. Her eyes glowed silver for the third time tonight. A memory, not of the future but of the past. A memory of a sweet moment with her uncle. A moment long forgotten.

Her tears stopped once the vision ended. Only a few seconds had passed, enough time for Clammy’s brother and sister to arrive. They both were sobbing uncontrollably. Anja covered her uncle’s body with her arms, her head resting on his cold shoulder. The sight reminded Clammy of the present, of the other family members.

She stood, spinning to find the Queen’s Guard from the start of the battle. The woman was crouched over, inspecting a few dead soldiers. She collected their identification tags, silently sending a prayer for her lost men. Clammy’s presence took her attention.

“Princess.” The ranking guard said with a bow, “Thank you for your intervention. I feel my life would not be my own without it.”

Clammy nodded politely, “We need to get a head of this. Have a few scout units track the intruders as they try to leave. Send for the upper guard to meet at the castle’s front steps, fully geared. We are going to need them.”

The woman unconsciously moved her hand to where a wound had been opened a few minutes before, “Are we to expect another attack?”

“On Salae? No. The [Queen] was taken. Their objective is complete.”

“Then what-“

“The Coalition and Lesterwood.” Clammy let out a tired smile, “The Empire set a space-lock somewhere in the city. I found one in a warehouse in Lesterwood. Tell the lower floor guards to start looking. The Hub will not be functional until it is destroyed.”

“Lesterwood-? But how?” The confusion was well established in the woman’s eyes.

Clammy just shook her head, it would be too much to explain. “Alert me when the lower guards find it, or when the upper guards arrive.”

“Ma’am? What are you going to be doing?”

“Me? I’m going to find a hammer.” The youngest princess of Salae turned and walked out of the throne room. A room already filled with loathsome memories, what was one more?

Up and around. Through and under. They had one mind, one purpose. Defend. They moved through the wreckage, uncaring of the beings they happened upon. They assisted each other if one got caught but ignored one when it was destroyed. In their wake, bloody prints. They were injured, they knew. But a purpose had been assigned.

Their bodies were failing, dripping away with every step. But as they walked, they drew closer. Closer to the being that broke their purpose, who was deemed liable for their master. Nothing else mattered, only the death of the being who took everything.

Max was dreaming, a memory of Earth. He sat with his dad and younger brother on a jetty at the beach. His youngest brother had yet to be born, his mother still being pregnant. His brother was complaining that his hands hurt, calloused from the constant reel and cast of shallow fishing. The tide was particularly harsh that morning, but otherwise it was a perfect day.

The sun was not quite out, the morning chill remained. The constant spray of salty brine licked the family’s water-proof boots as the waves crashed into the rocky formation. Max always felt bad about this particular memory. He had been acting out, afraid and nonunderstanding of what another sibling meant. Did his mother and father love him less? Did the new child get his old toys?

The fishing expedition was supposed to give his mother a break while attempting to sway Max into a more relaxant state of mind. It didn’t work. The day ended without any caught fish, which caused issue in and of itself. At one point, the boredom of the waters caused Max to slip away. He tiptoed down the flat of the jetty, balancing with his hands out like the capital letter T. He could have walked in the center of the pathway but preferred the side as he could look through the cracks and crevices of the artificial formation.

Only a few dozen paces from his father and brother, Max stumbled on to a small starfish. It was trapped within a reservoir pool, brought in with the waves and unable to escape. The young boy in Max ignored the obvious safety issues of the jetty, opting to help the poor marine invertebrate. He climbed over the flat walkway, stepping onto the slick rock.

The real memory ended with Max safely tossing the starfish back into the ocean proper, but the dream played out differently. The waves began to roughen, a storm blew in, darkening the area. His father and brother disappeared, and a haunting presence boomed from the starfish in his hands.

“Max…” The voice of Tiodepth growled. Reluctantly, the Leviathan continued, “Well done with the flame portal.”

Everything came back to Max in that moment, the dream had ended and now he was in something else. “No thanks to you.”

The starfish somehow sighed, “Indeed. I was… Indisposed. I could not assist.”

“Was that not your excuse last time? I’m tired of this dynamic. Why am I always the one in danger?”

The waves drew back, mimicking Tiodepth’s patience, “I cannot act on most things. Not in the way you can.”

“Right. I’m cannon fodder. I understand.” Max was brimming with sarcasm.

“In a way, perhaps. My purpose was different in this battle. While you fought to destroy the potential catastrophe, I attacked the source. So to speak.”

“You killed Ikzag?” The words sounded foolish to the Lost Lord, as they did for the Leviathan. Max could feel the sly smirk emanating from the starfish.

“No. But, the Empire will be forced to retreat for the time being. Ikzag has lost even more face with the other Divine. A war has been threatened, something neither party truly wants.”

“A war? Between one God and all of the others? I would take those odds.”

The starfish moved in a way that mimicked shaking one’s head, “It is not that simple. Wars are not fought in the Heavens; they are fought on Nava. In the end, Ikzag would be destroyed, along with most inhabitable land. They are called the God of Pestilence and Slow Death for a reason.”

“Mmhm… So what? A slap on the wrist? Threats? Where does it end for me? For us?”

“A slap that ended the lives of nearly six thousand of their supporters.”

“Six thou- Serana Cresthill?”

“Six thousand, all of which were chosen far from your continent.”

Max sighed, “Typical.”

The starfish nodded, “Indeed.” It wiggled in place, as if thinking to add something or not, “We will speak more on this topic, and the dynamic between us. I feel as though you have earned the right.”

“Go on…”

“Not here. This form is… Weak… Once you are safe, once everything in the Plains has been concluded, find me in the Depths.”

“No, no, no. Not another quest. Just hold a conversation with me. I sit on the beach with Emi, you speak from above the water line. You’ve done it before, why not this time?”

“Because I have something to show you and Emi. Only and the Depths can you see.” The moment hung in the air before the starfish suddenly leaped from Max’s hands, “You need to wake up.”

And so, Max did. His eyes cracked open, as if soldered closed with the bliss of sleep. It was dark in his tent. He vaguely remembered passing out after destroying the halo portal, it was like a far-off memory. He reached out to Emi through their bond. She replied in an excited manner, sending images of her location.

Max quickly changed clothes, used the latrine, and ventured out into the Centauri camp. Eyes were easily drawn to him, but the base’s lack of personal explained the situation. The main forces had already began their assault. That was good, Max thought. Less people to talk to. Less people to try and make happy.

As he approached his partner, Max watched Emi jump from bubble to bubble. She leaped through the air, spinning around Alia’s blade. The little monster was toying with the untrained princess, always keeping just out of range. Max’s presence ended the sparring match for a moment, as all turned to him.

Eden was across the field, hiding beneath a shady tent. His scowl still informed Max that the prince did not like him. It was understandable for Max. He was surprised any of the royals liked him, after all he had kept Clammy a secret. [King] Tobyn stood on a small platform, having been watching the duel while keeping an eye past the camp’s defenses. He climbed down to speak with Max.

“You’re awake.” The [King] wore a soft smile, one of pride and appreciation.

Max nodded, “Where’s Vel?”

“She’s out with the assault groups. They are making progress, as I understand. No reported casualties, as far as I know.”

“Good, good.” Max followed the King’s lead and sat on a padded cushion. The duel between Emi and Alia continued, this time with the bond spraying water at the princess’s openings. “What is this about?”

Tobyn turned to his daughter, “Alia overheard the stories about Bell-Clammy, and wishes to be able to protect herself. I think the encounter with the Blood [Queen] has gotten to her. As it has Eden.”

Max glanced to the prince, “Why is he not sparring then?”

“He did… But quit after failing to land a strike on Emi.”

“Ah. Emi is a difficult target to hit.”

The King chuckled, “Evidently.” The two fell silent for a moment, content with watching the entertaining battle, “Listen, Max, I wanted to speak with you.”

“You want me to join Salae, I take it?”

“Yes. Your talents in magic, as well as your attitude to save all you can has left me in a bind. I want you, bah, I need you to join my kingdom. Whatever you want, it shall be done. Money, artifacts, gear, weapons, rare materials… Companionship…”

Max looked at the old man, regarding him with a raised eyebrow, “Abolish slavery.” Tobyn opened his mouth, shutting it tight a moment later. He hesitated, which gave Max enough information. “Right, slaves must remain.” Max’s voice was bitter.

“It is not that simple. Lester fought for years for Salae’s reformation. I, particularly, do not care either way. Slaves are a part of life to me, but I can live without them if needed. But others do not feel the same. I do not rule with total authority, see…”

“But you do have authority? You could do something about it, but you choose not to. A perfect argument for those who do not grasp enough about politics. You say you don’t care either way, but your refusal is out of ease for yourself. What about the [Slaves], do you think they want to be where they are? What’s more important, your comfort or their lives?”

The [King] stared off into the distance, a somber smile forming on his lips, “Lester said something incredibly similar to me once. It amazes me how similar you two are.”

“Are we? I’ve never met the man.” Max’s words were harsh.

“I cannot do anything about slavery. At least, not in my life. A change of such magnitude would take years, years I just do not have. Shall we speak with Eden? I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

In the back of Max’s mind, his verbal agreement with Lesterwood’s leadership rung. He had already given his word to stay with his founder city… But they would understand, right? After all, Mayor Silverjewl and Sir Dows expressed their regret that such things as slavery still existed. In all honesty, he could live in both places. Teleportation was nice like that.

With a sigh, Max stood and followed the [King]. He would hear the terms of this agreement before making any true decision. Maybe even talk it over with Silverjewl and Vel.

As the two crossed the designated sparring field, Eden scrunched his nose. At first, Max thought it was just the face the prince was making towards him, but as Eden twisted around it became clear something was wrong. Then it hit him, iron. The smell of iron. Or blood.

The tent was knocked away by a contorted arm. An amalgamation of multiple crimson body parts sprinted through the now cleared area. Eden was trampled, but otherwise uninjured. The monstrous clone’s bulky frame jostled awkwardly as it ran, giving Max enough time to teleport and push Alia out of the way.

But not enough time to dodge himself.

The blood clone exploded, self-destructing to finish its purpose. Kill the being who took everything.

As blood rained down, the broken body of Max remained. In the moment just before the explosion, he managed to summon a small wall of water. While it didn’t protect him fully, the explosion didn’t kill him outright.

Emi laid spread out, wounds encompassing her also. Although not as potent as Max’s, she was still in critical shape. She crawled forward, manipulating water to heal Max. She fell unconscious a few moments later.

Tobyn looked on with horror. Eden and Alia looked shaken, but otherwise unharmed. But Max and Emi… They were… Emi would live, given enough time and potions. Max on the other hand… Maybe if a healer was present. But they all left with the assault. He knew Max was a healer himself, but…

Tobyn didn’t know the extent of Max’s powers. He didn’t know about the Divine mana Max carried. He didn’t know Max could rival proper Healers when it came to medical knowledge. For the first time since Bella ran away, the [King] didn’t know how to proceed.

He watched as Max pulled water to himself, battling to stay awake. He watched as Max’s broken fingers dug into the dirt, and his artificial arm melted away to fuel different spells. But that was all Tobyn could do. Watch.

He had seen countless soldiers die in battle. He had caused many of those himself as his orders demanded movement into dangerous territories. He had been wounded himself, only for others to take the death blows for him. Just a few hours ago, his arm was removed only for a [Knight]’s to be sacrificed instead.

Max was a fighter, this much Tobyn knew. The Lost Lord had sacrificed himself to push his daughter out of the way. She would be dead without the intervention.

That was what pushed the [King] over the edge. Not that Max had saved him the previous day. Not that he had brought him and his children to safety. But because he sacrificed everything for someone he didn’t really know. He put himself into harm’s way for Alia, just like he did Bella on his second day on Nava. Max the Selfless. The words hung in the [King]’s mind as he activated one of the abilities of his class.

There were two Legendary abilities the class gave; they took years to master and even more years to accept. The first, a sinister and despicable ability. It kept the [King] alive at the sacrifice of those closest. The second was different, however. It was a great spell, befitting of the title and position. It could lead the blind and bring light into the darkest of hours. But, at the cost of the [King]’s life.

Max’s wounds started disappearing.

Max had to give it to Tiodepth. Whether it was intentional or not, the Leviathan woke him up at the best possible time. Max was given just enough time for the grogginess of sleep to fade. But he couldn’t really think about that now. At least, not while his wounds were so great. In all honesty, the explosion left him in bad shape. But not the worst he had ever been in. Bleeding out while Bishop fought Buzluc still claimed that prize.

His internal organs were damaged, but not enough to threaten his life. At least, not in the time it would take to heal his own wounds. He was more worried about Emi. As she was unconscious, she could not inform him of how bad her wounds were. Just from a glance, Max could see broken bones. But that was enough form him to heal her first.

His water zipped over, beginning on the worst. At some point, Max thought Emi woke up as his own wounds were beginning to sting less. Their bond tether was still muted, however. Someone else must be able to heal, he decided, continuing to work on Emi.

But the screams from the side caused him to look away from his partner. Alia was holding her father, tears streaming down her cheeks. Wounds were surfacing across his body, bad ones. Without hesitating, Max moved his water to Tobyn. The injuries were… Odd… Familiarly odd…

The memory of the [King]’s arm suddenly reappearing flickered in Max’s mind. The scream from the far off [Knight]… The realization hit him, tunneling his vision solely to the King. Max poured Divine power into his spells, but the wounds didn’t budge. In fact, they increased… As Max’s lessened.

A gurgled screech exited the Lost Lord’s throat. He tried to get the [King] to stop. He fought his broken body to move. More and more water formed around Tobyn, as Max emptied his mana pool. His spells did nothing, could do nothing. The wounds weren’t his. The water snapped away and sped for Max. If he healed his own wounds-

His spells failed. Max’s wounds were unhealable. He felt his mana interact with the foreign scrapes and bruises, but something rejected all outside stimuli. Authority bridged between the two men, explaining everything to the Lost Lord.

The [King] was absolute.

Resigned, Max moved the water back to Emi. He could hear Eden shouting. The prince wanted Max to heal his father. A slap landed on Max’s face. He ignored it, continuing with his bond.

Time passed slowly but at some point, Max found himself standing, his wounds all but disappeared, “I can’t heal you.”

“I know.” The [King] squeaked. “My life for yours. It’s the only way the ability works.”

“You didn’t have to do this. I would have lived.”

The [King]’s eyes hollowed, but through sheer willpower he stood. Alia scrambled to assist, but he waved her off. A wrinkled hand raised out and dropped softly on Max’s shoulder. “I couldn’t risk it.”

Tears were beginning to well in the Lost Lord’s eyes. “Why not- Clammy- Your family, your kingdom? What about them?”

“They will be in delicate hands. My wife will be around to guide Eden. He will make a fine [King]. You, on the other hand, will make a fine world.”

“No… No, I won’t…” The words came out spiteful.

“You will. I saw it the moment you arrived in the Plains. Someone so clueless, so young…” Tobyn’s eyes drifted to silver, “Oh? What is this…?”

The King glanced around. Others had arrived at some point, including Vel and some of the faster members of the assault team. But the King looked blindly past the new arrivals. He scanned faces as if looking for someone in particular. His gaze ended slightly in the air.

“Bella. It has been a while.” Tobyn spoke, pain in his voice. He locked eyes with her, clearly able to see her while everyone else couldn’t