Arcturus followed the flustered functionary through a series of underground corridors connected to the amphitheatre, idly wondering at exactly who had commissioned the subterranean rooms, and what had inspired them to build a bonafide war arena at the entrance to a dungeon. He could hazard a guess it was to play into the natural competitive spirit that seemed prevalent in Adventurers in any universe, but the sheer volume of grandmarks that the structure must have cost to build…

Unless they had some powerful Earth-aspected mages with them.

...was probably less than he thought, he revised immediately. Arcturus pointedly ignored the smugness he could damn near feel radiating from his inner subconscious, and didn’t dwell on what was wrong with him that he was under the impression his inner monologue had distinct emotions from his own.

“—sorry about all this, Lord Voltaire.” The functionary was saying as Arcturus tuned back into her. “Lady Highblade is known for her impulsiveness, but this was not expected. We had no idea she was going to declare a betrothal upon her defeat. Frankly, we doubted anyone would be able to defeat her. She’s considered a prodigy among the younger generation of Nobles. The competition wouldn’t have appealed to anyone above Apprentice rank, you see, and—”

“It’s not your fault.” He interjected as politely as he could while stymieing her word vomit, his left hand tapping on the metal of the helmet under his arm. “I knew you had no idea the moment you raced into the arena looking like someone had just stolen your favourite… Well, whatever it is you love.” He finished less-than-grandly.

The functionary sighed in audible relief. “Thank you, my lord. It’s hard with these things. We commoners try to avoid the interplay between the Houses, if you’ll pardon my directness, and feeling caught up in the middle of it is... Uh…”

“Stressful?” Arcturus suggested.

“Yes.” The functionary said with a grateful glance over her shoulder. “Stressful is a good word for it, my lord.”

Arcturus nodded in agreement as they turned another corner and the functionary slowed down, looking at a large door at the end of the corridor guarded by two silver-armoured knights.

“You should know, my lord: Lady Highblade is not used to being told ‘no’. I recognise your name from the Regalia family registrar, and honestly, her attitude is famous in Regalia. What Solaria wants, Solaria often acquires. Be careful, my lord.”

Arcturus raised his eyebrow, wondering at her bluntness before he remembered he was still in his armour — and that his Charisma score was also pumped up considerably by it. For a regular Terran… Well, her sudden offering of unwarranted advice seemed to make much more sense as he put one and two together.

“Thank you.” He said with a smile. “Also, if I could ask a favour?”

“Yes, my lord?” She asked with a flicker of nervousness. Not even his Charisma, it seemed, could fully smooth away her trepidation at dealing with Nobles. The instinctive worry about something bad, as well, riled something disapproving deep within him. What happened to the Noblesse Oblige he was told about?

People are pigs. The girl probably thought you wanted something for your ‘kindness’.

“I came to the area today to register, actually, for a license. Is there any chance you could help me out?”

Her eyes widened and her relief was almost palpable as she smiled at him. “Of course I can! We normally have a physical, mental, and magical test to rate our prospective delvers; but after that performance… I’ll have the paperwork drawn up and ready for you upon your departure. B-Rank will suffice?”

“C-Rank.” Arcturus said with a shake of his head. “I’ll earn my rankings the proper way.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “I… I just assumed, with the Telekinesis…”

“I understand, but C-Rank will suffice.” He said again more firmly.

“Of course, my lord. C-Rank it shall be.” She assented with a bow of her head. “Was there anything else?”

“Yes, I have some friends in the stands. Registered Adventurers, with the Party led by an Adam Warman. Could you fetch them for me?”

“Oh! You brought retainers? Very good, my lord.”

Arcturus blinked at her assumption, then decided against correcting it. When in Rome, or in this case, Valaria…

“Oh, my lord, forgive me… I need to ask your full name for the license.”

Arcturus waved off her apology with an easy smile. “Of course. Arcturus Regis Voltaire.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she chose not to press. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.”

Arcturus glanced back down the corridor, then back to Luscille. “I take it I just need to…?” He nodded to the door.

“Ah! I’ll announce you, my lord, one moment.” She said with an apologetic smile, before hurrying down the corridor towards the door. Arcturus followed more slowly, Tylariel’s lessons playing in his mind as he allowed the functionary to take the necessary steps.

The woman exchanged some quick words with one of the two silver-armoured guards — both women, Arcturus noticed — outside the door, and then turned to gestured to Arcturus as he approached.

Both women eyed him disdainfully, then nodded to the functionary. The one on the right stepped in front of the door, while the one on the left slipped inside it.

The Bureau official turned away from the remaining guard with a bob of her head and hurried over to join Arcturus. “They’re just announcing you to Lady Highblade. I’ll leave you with them, my lord, and try to find your retainers and then get your license for you. I do hope everything goes well for you.”

“Thank you…” He blinked. “Heavens, I didn’t even ask your name.”

“Luscille Clement, my lord.” She said with a bright smile. “I’m one of the Junior Administrators for the Bureau.”

“Thank you for all your help, miss Clement. You’ve been invaluable.”

Lucscille blushed at the compliment. “My lord is too kind.” She bowed at the waist after she spoke. “I think I’ll take my leave now, if there’s nothing else Lord Voltaire. When you’re ready to collect your license, I’ll see you at the Administration building, on the second level.”

“It’s a deal, Luscille. Good luck.”

“You as well, my lord.”

Luscille hurried away without a backward glance, and Arcturus turned to finalise his approach to the door and get the mess of his supposed betrothal out of the way. The last thing he needed was some insane Noble’s daughter treating him like a pet while he was trying to prepare himself for what was essentially going to be Valaria’s most controversial coming out party.

Maybe that had been a poor choice of phrasing, but Arcturus didn’t care.

“You will wait here.” The guard informed him matter-of-factly as he approached, her tone speaking volumes of the thinly veiled contempt she seemed to hold for him. That was probably unsurprising, given he’d just injured the person it was assumedly her charge to protect.

“No problem.” Arcturus responded easily, and without the desire to make a fuss. He’d drawn enough attention to himself, and the amount of mental facepalming he’d been doing over how recklessly stupid his choice to go all-out had been was enough to compress his brain, had he been doing it physically instead.

He was supposed to be incognito until the Masquerade, and instead he’d gone and gotten betrothed to the Heiress of a High House.

Not a great move there, Romeo.

Arcturus ignored the quip and opened the ‘Codex’ option on his HUD as he waited for word from the guards, quickly perusing the section he’d acquired on House Highblade. A founding House of Valaria — that was just fantastic — with a tradition of martial excellence, and a legacy of advanced Fire and Air elemental attunements; most commonly Solarfire and Lightning.

The Lord of House Highblade was also, apparently, traditionally the High Marshal of the Imperial Legions garrisoned in Valarian territory; granting them considerable influence over the offensive arm of the Imperial forces in the Dominion. Conversely, they had little to no interaction with the defensive arm of the military, which was controlled by… House Honorum. Of course it was.

Arcturus tried to remind himself that House Honorum were, strictly speaking, loyal and oath-abiding subjects of House Valoura and had been since the Empire’s inception. It didn’t lessen his inherited dislike, especially after what Leon Fortunis had done to Tiberius, but it definitely softened the anger that bubble in him as he considered the bastard holding such a position of prestige.

The way the Empire organised its military was fascinating, though, to a student of martial history like Arcturus. The Imperial Army was a purely defensive unit, whose only and overriding purpose was the safety and security of Regalia and the dominions that gave fealty to the Emperor, including Valaria. Unofficially, each section of the Army was distinct from the other, owing to the manner of their recruitment from their homelands to protect those homelands. The Valarian Dominion’s forces were completely different when compared to the Mourndren or Caesarian — the name still made him smirk — Dominions’ forces.

The Imperial Legions were the second half of the armed forces, and were strictly responsible for external matters. When it came time for the Empire to expand, or to check an uppity neighbour, it was the Legions that were deployed to carry the Emperor’s censure to his foes. Once again, each Dominion’s Legions were distinct, and had their own quirks and strengths that made them distinct from each other. The organisation of both the Army and Legions was universal, to avoid confusion, but how they fought — even the strategies and tactics they used, at times, remained diverse and ever-evolving.

It made combining units both powerful and, if not done right, potentially disastrous.

But the uniqueness of the strengths of the military outweighed any synergistic issues, and had guaranteed imperial dominance for thousands of years. Of course, Archons also helped with that.

Imagining facing Imperial Legions and Archons made him shudder. That would be a nightmare.

“Her Ladyship will see you now.”

The cold voice cut through his thoughts and Arcturus dismissed his Codex, turning back the guard at the door. The long, black-haired woman gave him a flat look as he appraised her and Arcturus nodded back to her, striding for the thick metal door as it was swung open.

Within the chamber beyond were another fourteen guards, based on his quick tally as he entered, and six handmaidens fussing over a figure lounging in a high-backed chair at the centre of the square room. Armour and weapon racks were present all throughout, and the faint smell of coppery blood lingered in the air, as if it had never fully been cleansed from within.

When he entered, the eyes of almost every Highblade Knight in the room zeroed in on him, and not only were every one of them women, but they were not happy to see him if the cold anger mirrored in every pair of eyes was anything to go by. He silently gave thanks for his Charisma and Willpower scores, or else he was almost positive he’d have already been gutted or mildly terrified by the sheer level of murderous intent each of the armoured females was giving off.

“Welcome, Lord Voltaire.” Elethea greeted him when his gaze finally found her, noting that her eyes had been healed and the remnants of blood cleaned away. In fact, she looked strikingly different now that she was out of her armour: Her long, wavy hair — looking for all the world as if she had been born with a natural balayage — was left loose to frame her face, and between the bangs her startling eyes were fixed on him. Now that they weren’t bloody, Arcturus could see each of her irises was a pale shade of grey, with speckles of gold interspersed within them. An ocular side effect of her powers, perhaps. He’d read that such things could manifest physically.

“It wasn’t as if you gave me much choice, Lady Highblade.” Arcturus responded with a hint of the annoyance he felt. “After that pronouncement, not speaking to you would have been impossible. All due respect, I have to ask what you were thinking. Choosing a husband based on who could put you down in an Arena seems like an egregiously reckless way of doing things.”

“Oh?” She asked with an arched eyebrow, leaning forwards to watch him.

“Yes.” He said firmly. “Any slimy old idiot with more power than decency could have jumped in there and ragdolled you at a moment’s notice. I’m still surprised you didn’t get flattened by someone before I came along.”

“You are aware the tournament was only for young Nobles, yes?”

“Young is relative on Terra, my lady.”

“There was a distinct age cutoff.” She said with a smile.

“It’s still a ludicrous way of choosing a husband.”

“I agree.”

“Then what the hell?” He demanded, a surge of annoyance breaking his polite tone. “I just wanted to test my mettle, not become embroiled in some battle-crazy girl’s matchmaking game.”

The guards drew their swords in one motion, and Arcturus’ eye twitched. He was tired, he was bloody, and despite his wounds being healed his mood had gone from exasperated to aggravated in moments after interacting with Elethea. It wasn’t as if she had even done anything to deserve it, per se, but the whole situation bothered him. It reminded him of his early days, when he’d been helplessly swept along on the tides of his own heritage, and only Tylariel’s training had eventually given him something solid to stand on.

Even then, he was still shackled to the bloodline he had embraced. He might have accepted the shackles, as much for his friends’ stability as his own sanity, but that didn’t mean the chains didn’t chafe now and then.

Thus when the guards drew their swords, as if he were in the wrong for not appreciating being toyed with, Arcturus released his Aura.

An Archon’s aura, Tylariel had taught him, was directly proportional to the level of their aetheric control and the raw power that they had to work with. Everyone was born with a core of Aether that they could tap into and harness as they trained and grew, and for Archons this core was both denser and more pure. As they got stronger, their core would grow with them — until they plateaued due to age or were killed in battle.

No one had the answers for why Archons suddenly grew frail around their mid-fourth century, or fifth century in the case of especially powerful ones; it was simply understood as a fact of life.

‘Growth’ was simply a metric to rate someone’s ability to unlock and increase their Aether core. The Ranking system did something similar, in that it allowed people to ascend to whatever capability they had the drive and tenacity to pursue. The point, of course, was that Archons were built differently to most people — even among Nephilim — and their aether cores were more pure, and more dense than other people’s. This meant that when they unleashed their Auras with intent to overwhelm, especially if they had sufficiently high levels of Arcana or — in Terran terms — Aetheric mastery like Arcturus did…

The guardswomen staggered against the walls to steady their suddenly weak legs.

...it was extremely hard to stand up to, no matter how strong a conventional soldier might be. If it had been Tylariel in his place, they likely would have curled up on the floor in pain.

Elethea’s handmaidens, surprisingly, handled it better than the guardswomen… and then Arcturus realised they were probably also her guardians, which made the actual number of threats in the room twenty-one, not counting the Highblade Heiress herself.

The Lady herself stared at Arcturus for a long moment as he matched her gaze with his own, already mildly regretting his outburst of temper but refusing to back down. He was tired of every other interaction outside of his immediate circle being some new form of subtle manipulation. His anger had been even more volatile of late, as well, which didn’t help: Especially since he couldn’t even identify the source of the rage that kept bubbling up inside of him. It wasn’t just the lingering effects of his initial arrival, something else was going on — and his lack of understanding as to what it was only made him angrier.

“You’ve made your point, my lord.” Elethea said after almost a minute of silence had passed. “Ladies, please wait outside while I speak to my husband-to-be.”

“But my lady—!” One of the armoured women objected, only to be silenced by a glare from Elethea.

“Outside!”

Arcturus retracted his Aura at Elethea’s words, and watched warily as the armoured women — and the handmaidens — trooped out of the chamber, shooting cold glares his way that promised all kinds of horrible consequences for him if he misbehaved.

It was as if his demonstration had been completely ignored.

He couldn’t help but respect the temerity of the Knights as they left.

Once they were alone Elethea stood up, resting her hands on her hips as she looked him over. As he’d suspected, she was almost exactly 6’1, and the curvature of her biceps showed a meticulously curated, powerful physique. Her posture was straight, and Arcturus tried and failed not to notice the way it threw her bust into sharp relief. She was by no means hefty, but for a woman whose life seemed to revolve around combat and the fitness that came with it, Elethea did not lack for curves. Her chest, hips, and thighs were particularly notable — and her tight-fitting underlayer, designed for wear under her armour, did the opposite of hiding her assets.

Focus up, virgin.

Arcturus blinked upon realising he’d been eyeing her up the same way she’d been doing to him, and forced himself to focus entirely on her eyes. The mystery of how attractive the people he’d met seemed to be, continued to bewilder him. There had to be some scientific reason that everyone seemed more healthy, and more generally appealing.

Meh. Aether.

Arcturus suppressed a snort at his subconscious as Elethea spoke. “I can see you approve.”

“Being beautiful doesn’t make you any less insane.” He retorted.

“Neither does asininnery make you any less regal, or any less handsome.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me right now?”

“Is it working?” She asked with an unabashed smile.

“You can’t be serious.” He protested.

“I am. You didn’t just defeat me, Lord Voltaire, you did so with passion; and at the end, instead of choosing to humiliate me, you gave me the chance to end things with my pride at least somewhat in-tact.” Elethea advanced towards him as she watched him, her hands rising to rest on his chest as he watched her warily. “Do you even understand how powerful you looked? Framed by the sun, blood on your face, with a jawline a King would envy, and that terrifying blade of yours pointed at me like the fury of the Heavens made manifest? It was like something out of a little girl’s fantasy, but instead of the boring prince in shining armour, you were dark, and vicious, and filled with a fury that made my heart race and my knees—!”

“You are crazy!” Arcturus interjected hoarsely, pushing down her hands. ”You can’t base a marriage on a melodramatic rendition of losing a duel!”

“Why not?” She demanded fiercely, switching from sensuous to fiery in an instant. Her balayage hair was tossed in a decidedly haughty manner as she swapped from seduction to recrimination. “Must I conform to some idiotic ideal of the simpering debutante, subject to the lascivious stares of every lecherous old fool with a hoard of grandmarks and no worth or mettle? I am a warrior! I am the Highblade Heiress, and I will have the man I desire! I may not be able to rule my House, Lord Voltaire, but over my mutilated corpse will I see it given to an unworthy suitor!”

“That isn’t what I mea—!”

“Spare me!” She growled. “I have chosen you, Lord Voltaire, and I have seen the worth of your heart in the song of your blade. We have danced in battle, and I have made my selection based on your performance. Your will in this matter is irrelevant. You will marry me, you will give me sons, and once that is done you may go off on your merry way and die in the Blighted Lands for all I care! I want your warrior’s heart, but if I can’t have that, I’ll bloody well settle for your genes instead!”

Arcturus stared at her in stunned silence when she finished, noting the red flush to her cheeks and the way it spread across her cheekbones to faintly colour her elegant nose. As the seconds passed, a sudden surge of amusement at the sheer insanity of the situation welled up inside of him, and he abruptly started laughing before he could stop himself.

“Are you laughing at me?!” She demanded in disbelief, sounding both infuriated and mortified in equal measure. “Lord Voltaire, I command you to cease your laughter at once!”

Arcturus snorted at her as his laughter tapered off, shaking his head at the incongruity of her battle persona and private self. On the field she had been every bit a terrifying, and imposing presence: Here, she came across both as assertive and more than a little overwhelmed, or perhaps desperate. Not desperate for a man, but for control; for the right to dictate her own destiny, after being born into an austere bloodline.

It was a struggle Arcturus could, he supposed, empathise with.

“Listen.” He said after a moment’s consideration, drawing her angry gaze back to him. “I appreciate your situation, and I’m… Flattered, I guess… that you see me in such a prodigious light; but I can’t give you what you want. I’m dealing with my own drama at the moment, and marrying into your family isn’t exactly my idea of resolving it.”

“Whatever issues you are facing, I have the power and the connections to make them vanish.”

“I can see why you’d think that, but—”

“I am not accepting no for an answer, Lord Voltaire!”

“Okay stop.” Arcturus said with another flash of anger. “Listen, my lady—”

“Elethea.” She corrected angrily.

“Fine, Elethea. I don’t accept your proposal, and no amount of strong-arming me is going to make me change my mind! However—”

“That is—!”

“However!” He said again, silencing her with a finger raised in warning. “I will agree to spend time with you, as is proper for young Nobles on Terra when they’re courting.” He was recalling the processes from memory, and silently thanking Tylariel for insisting he learn social etiquette alongside combat. “You may call on me at the Rubastra Estate, where I’m staying, and I will consent to spend time with you when I’m available. I plan on delving the Dungeon nearby in a couple of days, so that may not be immediately—”

“You’re a delver?” She asked excitedly, though he ignored her.

“—but will be in the near future.”

Elethea watched him in silence for a few moments, her pale eyes thoughtful as she appraised him. Finally, she reached up to idly twirl a strand of her hair and tug on it in thought. “The Rubastra Estate, you said?”

“Yes, the one in the Old City.”

“I know it,” she said with a nod, voice distant as she seemed to lose herself in thought.

“Very well then.” Arcturus said with a hint of suspicion and wariness. It seemed too easy. “I’ll take my leave, Elethea. Thank you for the… stimulating company.”

Elethea flashed him a brilliant smile, and something in her gold-flecked eyes made him nervous. “A request, before you go?”

“Perhaps.” He said carefully.

“Your full name? It occurs to me I’ve yet to acquire it.”

Arcturus hesitated for a moment, then brushed away his concern. Tylariel had planned for this, after all. “Arcturus Regis Voltaire.”

Elethea’s eyes widened fractionally, and she looked him over once more with a more critical gaze. After a moment, she smiled. “Arcturus Regis indeed…”

Arcturus turned and headed for the door after that, not wanting to linger more than he had to. “Oh, and Arcturus?”

“Yes?” He asked, cursing his luck as his hand hovered barely an inch from the door handle.

“Say hello to Leon for me.”

Arcturus’ heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your friend? Leon Valoris? I saw you talking with him in the stands, before the match. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to the Crown-Prince. Tell him I send my regards, and those of House Highblade.”

Arcturus’ mouth went dry as he remembered the handsome, down-to-earth man equal to his age, and the easy companionship they’d shared in the brief interaction they’d had. His face swirled in Arcturus’ mind, branding itself there like it was seared in by superheated iron. Leon Valoris Honorum. His cousin. His enemy.

Amélie’s leash holder.

His hand grasped the handle and he wrenched the door open, ignoring the alarmed looks of the knights crowded into the corridor as he swept out of the chamber. When one of them tried to step into his path, Arcturus fixed her with a look that made her blanch and step back. He didn’t care. To hell with her.

To hell with all of them.

He’d almost lost sight of his goal over the past month, and now he’d finally met his enemy.

Leon, Leon, Leon…

The name repeated in his mind like a mantra as he stormed through the tunnels and vanished like the aspect of death around the corner.