A man lay on the floor of the cell before him. The pathetic creature was curled in a ball, shivering as drool pooled beneath his cheek. Occasionally, a spasm wracked his entire body, usually accompanied by a pained moan as the wretch’s eyes twitched wildly.

Jugo could only sigh. It seemed like every week was the same. If their guest would only be a little more…co-operative. It had all started so well, and then that damn Voice had to come and visit. It was too late by then! The goose had already been cooked and he wasn’t about to release the wretch.

Especially not with the tantalizing visions of future power he had let slip that first night.

Things had started so well. Their guest had been more than willing to share information about the weapons of his homeland. Massive ballista that could fire over the horizon and decimate cities. Bows that could fire one hundred or more arrows a second. Self-powered carriages that could destroy buildings with ease.

True, all of these things could be replicated with magic - at least with enough power -, but their guest had said his people had managed it without a drop of mana. This was a weapon that even he, who had not a drop of talent for spellcraft or Ki Arts, could pick up and be a threat to even Journeyman mages. They might be beyond the interest of world spanning superpowers like The Eternal Storm and The Deep Earth, but it would represent a paradigm shift amongst the lesser nations not seen in generations.

That wasn’t even getting into the potential stealth applications. If these devices really did require no magic, then most nations defenses would be entirely useless against them. If he was careful, he could bring many of his rivals to their knees before they even knew what was going on. Especially since their guest had implied, they were far, far cheaper to produce that the equivalent magic items. Some of the more powerful nations in the world might have enchanted versions of these “guns”, but his small nation certainly couldn’t afford to produce them.

Worth every bite of those fine meals he had given their guest. At least so he had thought, until he started inquiring for deeper information. The wretch had told him he didn’t know! How could he not know how these weapons function. Especially after he claimed to own one of them!

At first he had thought the fool was seeking better incentives. Money, food, a nice home perhaps. He had almost given in. Almost agreed to such…bribery.

In the end though, he couldn’t stand the thought of this fool growing fat off his largesse. So, he had had his guest moved into his current room. After that, negotiations had become more forceful. He would get this information. It was too late for anything less than acquiring massive advantage. He risked much in going against the Herald’s decree, and this creature stood in the way of the gains that could be had.

At least he truly hoped this otherworlder was playing him. If he had truly risked so much for nothing…That was truly the worst-case scenario.

Nodding to the advisor on his left, Jugo indicated that they should begin. The man left, but he could hear words being spoken faintly on the other side of the door. Liam, his ever-faithful steward, stood at his right and gazed at the prisoner through the scrying orb. The man tutted as the sound of speaking continued on the other side of the door, eventually leaving to tell the two on the other side to speak elsewhere.

Jugo himself paid it little mind. Liam had always been more mindful of such breaches in protocol, calling them “inconvenient” and “disrespectful”. Frankly, Jugo himself merely wished to get this over with as soon as possible. If it was faster, he would rather have had the wizard running communications in the room with him.

He peered closer at the scrying orb, hoping for any sign that today would be different. That this time, he would get something worthwhile. If the gods saw fit to send him a sign, however, he missed it. It appeared to him that today would just be another disappointment.

As he thought that, a guard entered the cell and kicked the prisoner. When there was no response, Jugo nodded his assent and the guard the blow a few more times until the wretch finally seemed to realize what was happening. An unfortunate side affect of some of their other attempts to loosen the man’s tongue had left him with difficulty distinguishing reality from dreams, but usually enough pain did the job. At least for a while.

“Subject One, wake up!”

After being moved down to the cell, the fool had insisted for weeks his name was Jordan or some such. They had broken him of that eventually. He was a research tool. A data point. Nothing more. A wretch like him didn’t need a name and he would not let his researchers form attachments.

Jordan was a name. A connection. Some sign of a greater whole that was due respect and care. Subject One was an identifier. Cold. Emotionless. Analytical. People could ignore Subject One’s cries of pain much like they might a rabbit they were testing a new spell form on.

Jugo was unsure just how far they had broken Subject One, but he suspected even the man himself did not remember that his name had been Jordan. Most likely only himself, Liam, and his head guardsman remembered that particular fact.

For the best. He thought to himself as Subject One shakily forced himself to his feet.

The tall man’s head had been shaved. They had found flees and lice attempting to colonize it and the researchers had not been happy. Now he was dunked twice a week in a bath mixed with potions meant to repel pests and remove all hair from his body.

Small, circular burn marks were present at various points on the subject’s body. They were presents from the head guardsmen, meant to stimulate his memory or punish bad behavior. The man did so love his lightning magic. Bruises could also be seen, though the guards tried to limit strikes to the sides and stomach to prevent an overabundance of them.

Perhaps most concerning, if this guest had been a subject of his realm and Jugo therefore responsible for his health, was a certain glaze to the man’s blue eyes. A difficulty focusing and a habit of looking to the ground or distant corners.

That had been the product of many different appointments with his various researchers and guardsmen. In the end though, Jugo was of the opinion it was the Lieutenant Head Guardsman’s Dream Magic that had finally caused that particular peculiarity.

“Subject One,” the guard continued. “Have you had time to think about our questions?”

The prisoner’s entire body shook like a leaf and he looked as though he might piss himself in fear. A certain focus returned to his eyes, but they rolled in a panic as his body refused to move and deeply ingrained instinct kept him from meeting the guards gaze.

“P…Please…I...I don’t know anything!” He started crying, “I swear I don’t know anything! I wasn’t a mechanic or scientist…I was just a math teacher!”

The guard stepped forward threateningly, “Shut up Subject One!”

The barked order had an immediate effect, causing the prisoner to stand tall and close his mouth. The shaking that had wracked his body was still present, but muted as the wretch fought it.

“Good,” the guard said with a cruel smile. “Now, let’s try answering that question again. Have you thought about the questions the researchers gave you.”

Subject One licked his lips, before taking a few attempts to give a clear answer, “Yes, I have thought about the questions.”

“Good, good. I am glad to hear that. The chef brought down a fine meal you know, just for you if you can give us something useful.”

Subject One started crying again at that. It was amazing how much a good meal could make you feel human again, and they had been sure to show him that several times over the course of his stay. A good meal, and then sleep in a comfortable bed. It truly was paradise, and it could be his.

“I…I think I remember something.”

Jugo perked up. This was off script. Usually by this point Subject One would be begging them to believe him as he claimed he knew nothing. Now, though, they might have a lead. This was very, very good.

The guard looked happy as well. Subject One was not the only one due a reward if their guest remembered anything. Jugo had been very clear about that. Anyone who was successful in…assisting Subject One’s memory would be handsomely rewarded as well.

“Good to hear. Why don’t you tell me what you can remember.”

“We..well,” their guest began, “I, I can’t promise anything. But I remember this TV show I watched once. Do you remember what I told you about gunpowder?”

“Yes, a controlled explosive meant to propel these...bullets correct?” When Subject One nodded he continued, “What about gunpowder?”

“I…I remember one of the ingredients.”

That had Jugo out of his seat as he approached the scrying orb. Finally, after weeks, real progress.

“I can’t promise anything, like I said I saw it in a TV show. In it though, the main character made gunpowder and one of the ingredients was something called saltpeter.”

Jugo looked toward his Steward, but the other man shook his head. He had never heard of this “saltpeter” either. Perhaps one of the Alchemists would know. Then again, perhaps not. He’d spoken of “chemistry” and the “elemental table” before, but none of them could make heads or tails of most of it. They had managed to track down a handful of the names, such as Cobalt and Phosphorous, in a single tome for Expert level potions. Unfortunately, no alchemist of such a caliber had blessed his nation in centuries.

Either way, Liam was on the job. He had already sent a messenger to bring one of the royal alchemist to Jugo’s thrown room. They would share everything they knew soon enough. Looking back to the Scrying Orb, he saw that the guard had continued talking.

“-know about getting this…saltpeter?”

That really sent Subject One shaking. The prisoner obviously knew they were interested. He just didn’t know if it would be enough to get him the reward that had been mentioned. Now he was desperate for it though. Jugo could see it in his eyes.

“I…I don’t remember.”

The guard put on a look of disappointment at that. He frowned and gave a dissatisfied grunt, before turning to leave. As he put his back to Subject One and began approaching the door, the prisoner reached out a hand and cried out in desperation.

“But I remember it involved manure! And straw! And I think you peed on it…”

The guard was turning back around, but this time he looked angry. Jugo couldn’t blame him. What kind of lie was this supposed to be? Was Subject One trying to prank them? He was working himself into a rage, about to order Subject One beat from one side of the dungeons to the other, when Liam spoke up.

“My liege. I believe he is telling the truth. Or at least believes he is. Perhaps the Head Guardsman and his Lieutenant can confirm? They are very good at picking out lies. Still, I do not think he would choose something so…preposterous as his lie after all this time.”

Jugo calmed himself, slowly accepting his advisor’s words. At the very least they could have an expert on such things talk to Subject One.

#

In the end, Jugo’s Guardsmen had agreed with Liam. It was good. A minor victory. They were finally getting somewhere. The problem, which Jugo came back to again and again, was that it wasn’t enough. They had made progress on getting a single ingredient for one part - a key part to be sure, but still only one part – of the least of the weapons Subject One had described.

And now, once again, it felt like he had no choice but to keep pushing for more. He kept taking these steps. Seeing how far he had come and how much he had to lose. Hearing the whisper of some great payoff just around the corner.

And every time it came back to bite him.

A massive part of him just wanted to cut his losses now. Kill Subject One. Kill every researcher, enchanter, and alchemist involved directly with the project. Hide the bodies and forget it ever happened. Go back to slowly amassing power for the nation and hope his grandchildren might finally bring their people to a higher stage. Just like his grandfather had and his grandfather before him.

Which is why just as large a part of himself screamed to keep going.

If one subject wasn’t enough, collect ten. If ten weren’t enough, one hundred. What Subject One didn’t know, another might. Or they might know something else that jogged Subject One’s memory. Keep collecting them until he had enough.

Or he could expand the team. Run more experiments. Attempt to collect information from various churches or libraries across the region that might bridge what this otherworlder said to what they already knew. Get more geniuses and savants from across his nation to consult and grow the knowledge.

The question was, was he brave enough to go directly against the Herald’s demand like that? Subject One had been an outlier, somebody he already had in his palm long before the Herald and her Voices were looking. In addition, all of his resources had been internal. Individuals he already had on retainer so their time in his castle would not raise suspicion.

If he started looking for more subjects or expanded the team, it would draw attention. There was no getting around that. It might only be local attention at first, but how long before more dangerous individuals took notice? Eventually someone would notice, and there was no denying that fact. If he continued, he would need either support or to be very good at knowing when to stop.

Which was why this was all so frustrating. The risk of disaster or the certainty of mediocrity? If only the gods would see fit to send him a sign. Something to show which was the right path and the direction to glory for his people.

As he sat at his dining table, deep in thought, he could not help but wish he had someone to share these burdens with. Liam was capable, and Jugo trusted him more than most, but at the end of the day he was an advisor. Not a partner. Someone to rule rather than truly confide in.

“My liege,” A voice cut through his thoughts and he was abruptly pulled back to the present.

As much as it felt the visitor in the dungeon consumed his every waking thought, that simply wasn’t the case. Being a ruler required far to much from an individual to always be stuck on a single subject. Perhaps he would be able to distract himself with the more logistical side of leadership.

“Yes Liam, what is it?” He asked, as the older man placed a letter in front of him.

“Further correspondence from the Herald my Liege.”

Liam’s face did not show his nerves, but the additional sweat on the man’s face did. Despite his…less than fit physique, the man made it a point to always be clean, professional, and above complaint. He would allow few things to bring him to a sweat, and it was an easy tell for when the man was worried.

“Surely if one of the voices had visited…” He began, a faint sign of nerves slipping through in his forced tone despite every effort to control himself.

“Nothing so exciting my lord.”

He swore the generally rule bound, highly professional Steward whispered thankfully after saying this. Any chance of surety was covered, however, by the show of taking a deep breath in the following moments.

“The letter was delivered by a bound wind elemental. One the guard on duty estimated to have been the equivalent of a C rank adventurer, if not a B. He said the creature appeared in a whirlwind, handed him the letter, and left without a word. We do not know for sure it was from the Herald, but it is hard to imagine someone else sending a message in such a way…”

As his advisor prattled on, Jugo took up the letter and began to exam it. Fine calligraphy in gold lettering read simply King Jugo III of Theln. More gold leaf created a beautiful fillagree along the borders of the crisp, white envelope, unstained by a single spec of dust despite what must have been a long trip. Truly, something he would have had framed and treasured as a historic piece of his reign in other circumstances.

As it stood, all it served to do was make him sick. He wanted to tear it up and throw it in the fire without glancing at a word. They would likely know though. One never knew what the wind was whispering in the ears of the Cult of the Storm. Besides, refusing a letter from the Herald would only serve to make him look suspicious. Something he could hardly afford with his current actions.

Calming himself with a deep breath, he gestured for an attendant to bring him a letter opener. As they brought it to him, he flipped the letter over and admired the fine seal set in a sapphire blue wax. The symbol was of a soaring eastern dragon, wrapped in clouds. Within the creature’s claws, it gripped a circle inscribed with The Sky’s Eye.

So, it truly was from the Herald herself. Or at least the desk of the Herald. He vaguely recognized it from a letter his Great, Great Grandmother had received from the Herald on her one hundredth birthday. Nobody else in the castle would know that symbol on sight, it was far to rarely seen in this part of the world, but he did.

With careful actions, he pried up the wax seal. A small letter came out of the envelope, and he began to read.

King Jugo III,

I hope this letter finds you, and your kingdom well. Recently, you were contacted by one of my voices, carrying out my mission to inform the world of what is to come and my will in the coming days. This letter is related.

I call upon the nations of the world for a Grand Assembly. In two months’ time, on the second Friday of the month, I will arrange for the transport of all that would join us in discussing the days to come. Peace shall be enforced, safety guaranteed by We of the Storm. My Father himself vouches for the well being of all who would attend.

It is my hope that we may use this opportunity to prepare for a sudden expansion of civilization in our world, and the building of peaceful relationships with these new additions to our lives.

If you wish to join us, you need only apply your mana to the circle below and you will be registered. On the day of the Grand Assembly, a gate will be opened at the entrance to your castle. Up to five individuals may attend by stepping through this gate. Additional information will be conveyed upon reserving a spot.

Sincerely,

We of the Final Storm.

Surely the gods mocked him with this. A Grand Assembly, one of the greatest political events in the world – something which had not been called in over one hundred and fifty years during the demonic uprising – was being called. And it was to be a good faith meeting about forbidding actions he was currently performing.

He felt sick to his stomach. This was the sort of political event he would have sold his as yet non-existent children for a chance at only a year ago. An opportunity to meet and connect with powerful royals from all across the world. To increase his standing in the local power structure.

He had been asking for a sign, and the gods had truly seen fit to deliver.

With a crash, he brought his fist down on the table and set dishes clattering and flying. He could barely contain his anger at all the wasted work. All the care he would have to take in hiding his actions.

“Liam, cease the experiments with Subject One. Immediately. Prepare to eliminate any loose ends and terminate the project in its entirety. No evidence is to be traced back to Theln or my house.”

Liam was already turning toward the door before the words were even entirely out of his mouth. The man’s look was grim, but he swore he saw signs of relief in Liam’s aged face. Subject One had been a constant source of stress for all of them, and now he would hopefully be gone.

No. Wait. His mind suddenly cried out at him. Something was off. He was missing some crucial piece of information staring him in the face. Why was the Herald calling a Grand Assembly? She had made her will known. That should be the end of it. Her letter implied it was some attempt to organize support for these parasites coming to their world, but that was far to kind hearted for the Cult of the Storm.

Calling out, Jugo ceased the Steward in his tracks. “Belay that order Liam.”

As the man turned to him, Jugo knew he was saying something. He didn’t hear the other man’s questions though, too caught up in his own thoughts. Something else had to be there. There had to be more to it if the Herald of the End, She Who Devours, The Roar of Doom was holding this conference. More than kindness and goodwill.

Perhaps he was not the only ruler unhappy with her edicts. Perhaps enough of them had expressed discontent that she was nervous. Maybe even one of the great nations from Zadophel. Or several. Perhaps this was an attempt to cow them into obeying her edicts.

After all, while she may be stronger than any of them individually a single lion might be prey to a horde of jackals.

He may not even need to lift a finger. A young wyvern, feasting on the remains the jackals left behind in order to grow strong in the years to come. Unable to fight now, but sure to be a mighty predator soon enough.

And if not? If he had misread the situation and this truly was a mission of piece and growth? He could get rid of the evidence at a later date. Perhaps even pin it all on one of his rival nations while everyone was distracted with the Grand Assembly. If he couldn’t take power with the otherworlder’s knowledge, perhaps the land offered by neighbor sacrificed to the Voices would be satisfactory growth.

In the meantime, he had two more months to get further acquainted with his guest.