Morning found the Heilong Estate in shambles. It was as though a giant spoon had scooped a chunk out the middle, leaving nought but charred slumps behind. There were cringing hunks of steel welded together by the cool night air. There were crushed artifacts. There were bookshelves flipped on their heads, their insides crisped brown. Broken pillars studded the land and mounds of crushed glass shored up the mess.

The two towers which made the bulk of the estate still stood, which was lucky. They had too much steel in them to totally bowl over. But they still looked shabby as hells. Their insides had been scraped clean by the Purple Air, their windows blown open, and segments of stone sagged out of the walls.

Dorian whistled as he sauntered along the camp. Already they were rebuilding: a swarm of servants and soldier —mostly bald, musclebound labor folk—milled to-and-fro, driving steel carts loaded with thick metal sheets, hammering nails into place, barking orders. Dorian smiled. So he’d joined a troubled family, but it’s okay! He was here to help rebuild.

“Keep it up, fellas!” He called, smiling to a passing troupe of workers. A dozen bald heads glared at him as one. It looked like a very angry basket of eggs.

Oh, right. I was the one who caused all this, wasn’t I? This one really couldn’t be blamed on him! How was he to know this plane had some hidden quirk of Fate?

Dorian scratched his chin as he went. He wasn’t used to being a part of something. Teamwork wasn’t his thing. Having minions was his thing.

Nor was he used to cleaning up his own [messes]. Usually his plans were designed so someone else would have to deal with those pesky things. That was the implicit deal he’d made with the world: he took the shits, everyone else did the wiping.

Now he’d been forced into an altogether less fun kind of deal. A deal with General Bin Heilong, who he was on his way to meet. The man had insisted on a meeting at first light. Something about a briefing. The typical military nonsense, delivered in stern bark which, Dorian assumed, was supposed to convey that the man was not to be trifled with.

“Do not come late,” Bin had said. “The matters I have to discuss with you are of utmost importance!”

At Dorian’s nonplussed look—“I do not say this lightly, child! You are bound by your duty to the clan to obey!”

So here he was.

He came to a stop at the center of the pit, where Bin was snarling orders at a host of men in uniform. They wore fancy, thick-brimmed caps, and their uniforms had so many medals on them Dorian could barely see the fabric beneath. ‘Very important people.’ Probably his second-in-command, and officers, and so forth.

Bin stopped as soon as Dorian came into view.

“Dismissed!” he snapped. “Off with you lot. Go.”

A flurry of salutes, a stammering of boots, and they were left alone.

“Follow me,” said Bin, his perpetually narrow eyes even narrower.

***

Bin led him to a perfectly square box. Its outsides were plated steel, run over with gold etchings. A massive Artifact brimming with arrays. By the runes inscribed on it—among them symbols for silencing and blocking— Dorian could guess at its workings. It was a black box. No sound in, no sound out.

Wordlessly they stepped in, and Bin sealed the door behind him. Up until the moment the door-frame touched the wall, Dorian could still hear the outside world; muffled, but audible. Then the door slid into place, and it was like all sound was turned off. He was jarred by the silence. If not for the sounds of his breathing he would’ve thought he’d gone deaf. So I was right.

The inside was as boring as the outside. There were two stools and a lamp, all steel, no windows. The walls were carved with the same gold runes.

“So—“ Dorian started.

“Halt!” cried Bin. His eyes ricocheted across the room, watering frantic red. “Not safe!”

He slapped a button on the walls. The runes flared like throbbing veins, then sank into the walls. The quiet reigned once more. Dorian got the sense that a war horn could’ve blared right outside and they wouldn’t hear a thing.

Bin’s eyes scrunched shut.

“The Patriarch…is dead.”

A pause.

“…Excuse me?” Dorian blinked. “Which Patriarch, pray tell? Surely you can’t mean—“

“I do.” Bin pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Patriarch of my Family, the Heilong, and now yours also. The entire First Army of the Azcan Oasis, too. Gone. Like that.”

Dorian’s smile slunk off his face as Bin’s words sank in. Dorian squinted at him.

Is he serious?

The man’s face was serious as stone. Dorian wasn’t sure the man had made a joke in his entire life.

“Might I ask—how the hells is that possible?” said Dorian slowly. “Are you certain of it? Wasn’t the war effort going well?”

“It was,” said Bin, his eyes squeezed painful shut, teeth grinding. “And then it wasn’t—in the course of a day. I am as certain as I am of anything. I checked his lifeline artifact this morning. Cold.”

Uh. Dorian stared at him, scarcely trusting his ears. Are you telling me that the leader of the clan I just got roped into—the pillar of the military who led this whole damned war—is dead?!

He felt like a husband in an arranged marriage, lifting up his supposedly lovely bride’s veil—only to see a face ridden with warts and rotting teeth.

“What the fuck?”

“Indeed,” said Bin dryly. “Which is why I bid for you.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t like you. In fact I find you a stuck-up prick. You have a maddening disrespect for the law. You flout authority. You talk back. And your face… is stupid.”

Bin sighed. “However! I had no choice in the matter. Don’t you see?”

A spasm ran up his cheek. “If I did nothing, this would mean the end of the Heilong. Perhaps the Oasis!”

Dorian twitched. His morning optimism was quickly going up in smoke.

“If you truly are a Hero,” said Bin. “Now is the time to live up to it.”

Dorian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If this was true, this changed everything. He could hardly get a feel for the scope of this news. It was the mental equivalent of trying to hug an enormously fat man; he was having a great deal of trouble wrapping his mind around it.

He really wanted it to be untrue.

Which was, weirdly, how he knew it was probably true.

“Okay!” he said, scattered thoughts streaming about his head, plans rejiggering in real-time. This would really need some deeper thought. He’d need to fix a lot of things. But the first step was obvious.

“Time to evacuate!” He declared. “Let’s get the hells out of here. If something could wipe the Patriarch and his army out that fast, we’re definitely screwed! If we start now, we could be out of here in a week’s time—“

“Unthinkable!” snapped Bin, red-faced. “How—how dare you suggest such a—“

He cut himself off with a groan. Then he began messaging his temples. “Never mention such nonsense to me again,” he whispered. “Run? Like sniveling rats?! Never! I would not stand for it. No-one in the Oasis would stand for it! This has been our home—for generations! We defend what is ours. It is our way. That is the way of my father, and his father, and his father before him. Flee? Ha! I would sooner die!”

Dorian cursed inwardly. Crap. Pride and honor, back at it again! Culling the gene pool since the dawn of man.

“Besides, I suspect tomfoolery,” said Bin, nose held high. “Perhaps they lured the Patriarch into the trap—say, the lair of a Spirit Beast King— and ambushed him there!”

Clearly the man was even deeper in denial than Dorian. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that apparently, some troupe of Ugoc savages had roundly trounced his family’s most mighty army. It had to be trickery, apparently!

Seeing his self-delusion only made Dorian more resigned to reality.

This really is going to happen, isn’t it? And just when things were looking up! Blast!

Bin cleared his throat. “They shall find we will not be so easily cowed on our home grounds.”

But Dorian could tell Bin didn’t totally believe his words. There was a trembling energy to him. A stiffness of the jaw, a herky-jerkiness to his every move. He’d never admit it, but the man was scared shitless.

“Also. We have you, Hero.” He leveled an expectant—desperate—look at Dorian. “What say you? Have you any thoughts on the matter? I’ve paid handsomely for you, as you well know! I expect better ideas than to flee like craven mudspawn.”

“Hmm.”

Dorian rubbed at his chin.

At first glance, they seemed totally screwed.

On second glance…. they still seemed totally screwed.

Shit.

The Heilong Patriarch was at the very least a Peak Earth Realm fighter. To wipe him and his army out without a trace took more than even a Sky-Realm fighter; it likely took divine might. The powers of a god.

To even have a hope of matching that...

To start, they had to get those Wizard Staffs into production. Immediately. And more.

“Fine. I do have another idea,” said Dorian at last. “A good one. Well—as good as you’ll get, at least.”

“Spit it out.”

“I’ve designed a weapon. A weapon that’ll let anyone—from the mightiest general to the lowliest street urchin—down a Profound-Realm beast, at no cost to their own reserves. So long as we can procure the Spirit Stones, that is. Think of it as a rapid-fire cannon for the masses.”

“Oh?!” Bin’s brows shot up. “That’s quite the claim. Can you prove it?”

“Of course. The designs are have already been tested in the Artificer’s Guild. We can begin production immediately.”

For a few seconds, Bin gaped openly. “Truly?”

Dorian could see it in the man’s eyes. He wanted to believe.

“Why hadn’t you mentioned this before?! This could change the course of the war!”

“It can!” said Dorian, quirking a smile. “Imagine: you could add thousands of fighters to your ranks in an instant. You could wield every man, woman, child, even—it would transform the defenses. Like that.”

Dorian saw Bin’s face light up. He didn’t bother to let the man down. He strongly doubted it’d be nearly enough to match whatever the hells Nijo and his band had on hand. Dorian would likely need to pull a lot more crap out of his ass for that.

But it was a start, at least. It was something.

“Ha!” Bin beamed. “Ha-ha!” He swept up to Dorian and clasped him firm on the shoulders, which felt like being clamped by iron tongs. “Child—I’ll admit I’ve had my many, many, many doubts—but if this is true, you shall be worth every lira I’ve spent on you. Every last one! This is superb news, simply superb! What are we waiting for?! To the forges! Demonstrate it for me this instant!”

“Alright, alright. I’m glad to be of use! But let’s slow down a little, shall we?”

Dorian wriggled free of the grip and took a step back. He cleared his throat.

“All of this can be done in the afternoon. For now, I have the first round of the Tournament to prepare for.”

“Ah. Yes. The Tournament. That is of great import.” Bin crossed his arms. “Fine. The weapon can wait a few hours—no more! Return immediately after you are done. Understood?”

Dorian nodded, all serious-like. “You have my word.”

Dorian got the feeling both of knew just how much Dorian’s word was worth. But Bin chose to glare at him rather than press him on it.

“Very good,” Bin grunted. “About the Tournament, then. There is something you should know.”

Bin leaned in conspiratorially. “The Oasis Lord has been briefed on the issue of our Patriarch. He’s already begun taking the necessary measures—opening the Azcan reserves, drumming up recruitment, funding our family and the like. Whatever it takes to bolster the war effort, including raising the stakes of the Tournament.”

“The Tournament is the Oasis’s way to reward its best talents, right?” Dorian nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Indeed,” Bin breathed. “What I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. This year, the prizes shall be drawn from the Azcan Reserves themselves, which hold some of the Oasis’ most valuable treasures. Collected across centuries! They say there may even be relics of the Old Gods in those depths, though I have not been given the privilege of seeing them.”

He leaned in farther, giving Dorian an eyeful of his hawkish nose. “Do not take this lightly! War or no war, the competition shall be fierce. Some of the competitors are the elite of the Oasis—I speak of warriors deep into the Earth Realm, while you are merely at the gates of Profound! And you represent the Heilong now.”

One long, bony finger jabbed Dorian in the chest.

“Do not fuck this up.”

“I see.” Dorian nodded. He grinned, flashing his usual dumb confidence. “Don’t you worry! First prize is as good as ours—“

“First?” Bin barked a laugh. “Did you not hear a word I just said? You won’t sniff first! Young Master Yun has trounced Grand Elders in duels. And that Shen bastard’s been in the Earth Realm since his balls dropped! Hmph. Don’t embarrass yourself. That’s all I ask.”

“Alright, I get it. Relax. I won’t,” said Dorian, rolling his eyes. “But I’ll need a few things from you before the first round starts.”

“Name them.”

He raised a finger.

“One. The Javelin. The first round is at noon. I intend to have fused with it—“

Dorian paused. “Oh. Right. I haven’t told you—I’m actually one of the few people in this realm who’s successfully imbibed the Evernight Basilisk bloodline.”

Bin just stared at him, unblinking, for a long while. At last he licked his lips.

“Yes. I suspected as much, though I hardly dared believe it,” he sighed. “Why else would you ask for so many Scales? And yet it still sounds implausible to hear it said aloud.”

“Ah, great! We can skip over the whole shock-denial-proof-more-shock cycle, then, and get to the point. I’d like to fuse with the weapon. As per our soul contract, you’ll deliver it to me. Now.”

Bin sighed. “Of course. I honor my bonds. You’ll have it. What else?”

“Housing for me and my sister.”

“Simple. Done.”

“Excellent! That’s all. Is this briefing over?”

Bin frowned. “Well… I suppose.”

“Go on, then. The Javelin, if you please!” Dorian rubbed his hands gleefully. “Oh, I can hardly wait.”

Bin glared at him. Clearly the man wasn’t used to being dismissed. “Wait here.” He threw open the door and was gone.

Morning light poured in through the open doorway, and through it Dorian saw the steaming mess that was the Heilong Estate. He took a slow, long breath. There was a hell of a lot of prep to do if they were to stand a chance. He wasn’t even sure this Oasis would have all he needed. He’d have to get real creative—but hey, what else was new?

Time to get to work.