“I haven’t lived for a century and a half just to be taken out by a lout like you.”

The Alchemist of Summer’s Elixir, speaking to the of Baraheim

She had been known by many names. The Errant Knight, once. The Butcher at the Golden Fields, Greyslayer, Ninelives. Titles and names had stuck to her over the years, as she leveled, and she’d made quite a name for herself.

Stina Walsh, , stood at her (admittedly short) height, an air of relaxed proficiency emanating from her. “I don’t need an appointment, son. I’m here to invoke an ancient tradition, and complete a quite old oath. If you want to stand in my way, be my guest.” She said bluntly to the two gate guards.

“I’ll have you know I’m a , level 15, and I’m the head of entrance security for the entire palace. And I’m saying that you won’t get one step past me. . So there.”

Stina half-smiled, and shook her head ruefully. “What’s your name, son?”

The man puffed up, indignant. “Shane. Shane O’Hannen. And I’m not your son, madam. I’m forty-six years old, and I’d like to be referred to with proper respect.”

“I get that you’re just doing your job. But respectfully? Shut up.” Stina slammed the pommel of her sword into his stomach, and pushed him aside, stumbling, onto the grass.

She turned to the other gate guard, an older man who looked like he’d seen more than his share of chaos, who just nodded to her respectfully and stepped aside. The older man, a , hadn’t gotten to the high teens level-wise by putting himself unnecessarily in harm’s way.

She nodded back to him and strode through the open gates, into the palace. Her first real challenge was a set of Bound. While she guessed they had less than 5 levels apiece, they counted more as level 15 threats, due to their greatly enhanced physical attributes, though at the expense of their mental aptitude.

Still, she slashed out at the first one, her blade lodging in the poor creature’s chest. She let go, repositioned, and realized something unpleasant: though she had powerful passive Talents, she would need to conserve her active Talents for the duel, meaning she couldn’t as easily dispatch the Bound before her. She sidestepped, dodging several sword slashes, sidestepped again, moving swiftly-- and slammed into a tall, lithe young man, who looked less than 30, and who held an ax in one hand and a tall metal shield in the other.

“So you’re the old woman who used to stand to the Throne’s right, killing for that codger Brosian. Well, I guess in a way I’m your newer, younger, better successor.” Prinner Wilholm lashed out with the ax, its razor-sharp, harsh edge biting into Stina’s flesh.

Level 20 earned!

Class Advancement unlocked!

🠊 Level 20!

Talent — gained!

Talent — gained!

Talent Advancements unlocked!

🠊 gained!

🠊 gained!

“You’re dead meat, Walsh. You’re a relic, a has-been. Brosian had, what, twenty levels? Twenty-two? Something like that. My liege has, what, twice that? Sure, you might’ve been a few levels higher than I am now when you were my age, but that’s the thing-- in your early 30s, you plateaued. I’m not even 30 yet, and I’ll be damned if I don’t reach at least level 25 before the year’s out. I’m building up, and you’re about to be just another minor obstacle in that path.”

“Are you done talking?” Stina asked, mildly annoyed, having pried her blade free. “You’re young, you’re arrogant, you’re sloppy. . It’s wasted on you, but let me show you good form.” Walsh disarmed him of his ax, sending it flying across the floor, and slammed her blade into his eye, sending him reeling back.

“You crone! You waste!” Prinner covered his eye, stumbling back, dropping his shield as he did. Stina dispatched the rest of the Bound, strode swiftly past Prinner, but not before leaving a deep gash in the side of his chest.

She carefully worked her way through several halls dotted with Bound, and kicked open the throne room door with ease. “False King of Esultare! I challenge you to a duel, here and now, to the death of one or both of us!” She hollered after taking in the space and preparing herself.

The King was standing, back to her, facing the throne, seeming to be inspecting the massive, multicolored crystal spire that towered behind his seat of power.

Announcement made, the had no scruples about a shock attack. She called upon her level 30 Talent, one she hadn’t invoked in more than a decade. “.” She spoke clearly and evenly. As she sprinted toward her target, she whispered more Talents. “, , .” As she moved, years dropped from her like leaves from a tree, and by the time she was halfway across the room she was thirty years younger. As she went for the kill, three steps away from the , she looked not a day over thirty.

Her blade cut towards her opponent, the world seeming to slow. As her strike made contact with his unarmored back, time resumed its normal pace--

And she was thrown back twenty feet, slamming onto the ground, her blade shattered in one hand, her skin charred and bleeding, her bones feeling dense and slow.

The turned to her, and his eyes were made of crimson hatred, his entire body covered in an oily sheen of crystalized power. “You think I care about your arrogant little challenge? I have more important things to do then dispatch relics of a softer age, you idiot.”

“You know, you and your entourage all have something in common-- being miserable, power-hungry bastards with no sense of decency or basic respect for one’s fellow human. It’s a wonder it took you this long to collapse into unrestrained villainy. I mean, listen to yourself. You sound like some kind of…” She went in for the kill as she spoke, stabbing and slashing, using every Talent she had- each one brushed aside like a few grains of sand in the face of a thunderstorm.

“I have the luxury of arrogance, you insect. I’d show you respect if you could even scratch me, but no, even at your best you’re not able to land a single hit on me, let alone be my equal. Devoleon, at his zenith, could at least wound me, but you’re just… nothing.”

“Then why am I still alive?” She said, tauntingly, before being backhanded across the room once again. This time, when the bells rang, she embraced the rush.

Level 31 earned!

Talent Advancement unlocked!

🠊 !

Talent Suite unlocked!

Every earned below level 20 merged: gained!

She rose, her youth burning in her veins like molten gold, showing a version of her six and a half decades then she truly was, in her twenties, her prime, at a peak of duelist skill that transcended any that had succeeded her.

Still, with all her abilities, she couldn’t lay a finger on the of Esultare, the highest level person on Esun. It was, in truth, the ultimate test of her skill… and she was failing badly.

She continued to try to strike at Stillbottums, dodging out of his reach as soon as he tried to incapacitate her. Finally, she took a great risk, slashing out with all her strength-- and shattered one of the ’s fingers, though she failed to cut it off.

Retreating swiftly, a great deal of her endurance spent in an instant, she heard the bells again as the roared in pain and spat a Talent she’d heard of only in stories: “.” A passive Talent, that ensured the King’s mental and physical resilience at all times, making his body as hard as metal. Definitely a level 30+ Talent, and one that would not help him with his injury now, much to his ire.

Level 32!

Another level. If she survived this, she thought as she desperately tried to regain her breath, she’d be at least two levels higher, which was certainly a nice cherry on top, if she won, that was.

Getting his pain under control, the glared at her, stalked over, and ripped her blade from her grip, breaking it over his knee. She was within ten levels of him-- she had a chance, the knowledge burning in her as she backpedaled, realizing she had no blade with which to utilize her cadre of Talents.

She hit a far wall as the stormed closer. She wouldn’t die like this, without even a blade in her hand. It was an insult she would not stand for. She was more than this, more than some minor inconvenience. Her irritation built, then boiled over into something physical.

Level 33!

Talent —

The end state of the Talent her student had gained, earned eighteen levels later, in a vastly more powerful form.

Her will, made manifest as a four-foot-long blade of silver and steel, cut into the ’s flesh as he approached. “You’re just a . I’ll kill you like I’ve killed every other petty tyrant who attempts to despoil this good land.”

She went on the offensive, pushing the royal back, toward the throne, her new, improved weapon fully able to channel her decades of talent and honed skill. She shattered two more of the man’s fingers. Then, as her confidence swelled and the man stumbled onto the foot of his throne, his left hand lashing out for balance, he made contact with the crystal spire behind the throne.

Level 42!

gained!

Class mutation unlocked!

🠊 Level 42!

gained!

gained!

He towered, ten feet tall, his eyes orbs of red fire, his grin made of shark’s teeth, his skin like a rhinoceros’ thick gray hide.

“Ah, Duelist of the West. It’s been some time since I’ve matched strength with one of your caliber.”