Eric gazed at his mother for long, thoughtful moments. “Okay, let’s cut to the chase. What do you really need from me to keep Elonia and the hundreds of way too attractive elven girls who keep giving me calf-eyed looks when they think I’m not looking, safe?”

He winced under the sudden weight of his mother’s gaze. No longer playfully sparring, now judging and measuring him with the full might and power of the Winter Queen herself.

“What I would ask of you is no small thing, child of my blood.”

Eric groaned. “No it isn’t. Not when you start calling me ‘child of your blood.’ How can that be anything but foreboding as fuck?”

“Language!”

“Sorry.”

Her mother thoughtfully tapped the table with one exquisitely lacquered nail that of course gouged the finely polished hardwood beyond repair. Not like an animal’s claw… more like a vorpal blade. Eric found his eyes drawn to that tapping digit as assuredly as the ticking of a metronome counting down the beats to his doom.

“Eric, how many of my men do you think a hundred of your revenants could take on?”

Eric locked gazes with his mother. “I would wipe your entire force off the board in minutes.”

It wasn’t any kind of bluff or boast. Just a simple statement of fact.

Aurelia flashed a sad smile. “And you say it with such confidence. Because you truly believe it. No acting skills or bluffing required. Excellent.”

Eric sighed. “Spears and any thrusting blade, either orc or elf, are all but worthless against them. If musket balls hardly make a dent, mother, what chance to arrows have? The only thing that will make a dent is an orc’s axe. Maybe. And in real life, as I saw countless times over the last few days, axe blades that actually find a gap in shirts of mail and steel helms tend to get stuck when biting into my revenants. Save for two extremely fortunate decapitation strikes, just one reason why my troops DO secure the hooks of their mail shirt collars to their helms, because the needs of the living are irrelevant, every other lucky striker got disemboweled for their trouble, my revenant’s wounds healing just as rapidly as their opponents crumpled.”

Eric gazed at his thoughtful looking mother for long moments. “If orcs three times as massive as your soldiers can’t take them down with axes, what chance do the light quick sabers so like the one I used to favor have of doing more than cutting bloodless skin?” He shrugged. “Of course, it would be different with cavalry. That’s where sabers really come into their own. But I’ve noticed a distinct lack of anything but archers among your forces. Archers and a handful of mages, all of whom are armed with quality sabers as a backup weapon, and that’s about it.”

Aurelia nodded. “I know. The perfect defensive troop for manning keeps. As for our pike and cavalry...” she sighed. “Orc gunshot and most especially cannon changed our situation drastically from the techniques that served us so well when claiming our first territory. At that point, we were forced to fight defensively, making use of fortified structures, forests, midnight raids, and WWI trench warfare techniques to the fullest. Techniques that brought us six months, before goblin purse strings proved just how flexible Earth’s administrators were to external pressures.”

Hard eyes gazed into his own. “A trait that has caused us untold suffering. A trait that I have high hopes we can finally use to our own advantage.”

Eric frowned. “It’s a stupid question either way, and not worth thinking about. Because I’d never turn my revenants against Elonia’s people.” Eric swallowed. “My people. No matter how much they get on my nerves, trying to get my sister and I to dance to their tune.”

Aurelia nodded. “It pleases me considerably to hear you say that, my son. To know that I never need call my own flesh and blood kin-killer.”

“Then why—“

His mother raised a single lacquered finger, silencing him instantly. “How many orcs could a thousand of your Revenant berserkers bring down in a single charge?”

“I can get up to speeds of 120 miles per hour. Easily. And maintain it without any drain to my stamina for hours. At that speed, my men are smashing into my foes with what are effectively essence hardened spears, at nearly five times the speed of a charging knight.” Eric flashed a tight hard smile. “You’ve studied and lived through more history than I could even imagine. I think you know damn well what that would do to any infantry regiment organized as loosely as the orcs are, armed with what amount to short spears, the occasional axe, and nothing else.”

Eric took a thoughtful sip of wine, his mind racing with fresh possibilities. “And If I’m wearing my 500 pound mithril mail, which will weigh me down brilliantly against wind resistance, I’m betting that I can go even faster. Maybe a hell of a lot faster. Especially if I’m only pushing myself for a couple of minutes so I don’t deplete my stamina. At the speeds I bet I can reach… I think my revenants would hit like a thousand bowling balls smashing through ten thousand pins.” Eric winked, saluting his mother with his glass. “And that would be my boys just getting started.”

His mother frowned thoughtfully, tapping the table once more. “Ten for one then. With confidence. I would settle for even five.”

Eric furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

His mother smiled, shaking her head. “Next question, my beloved heroic son. The sixty odd cannons you left here before visiting Eve, would you consider formerly feting them to your sister?”

Eric gazed at his mother for long moments. “I left them here deliberately, Mother. Because I did want you and your people to have every advantage against further aggressors. They were prizes of war. Free for whoever captures them to use, according to the rules of this farce of a game. So, as far as I’m concerned, they were captured by the faction that needs them, and should go quite far in assuring you the safety you’re clearly desperate for.”

His mother gazed at him for long moments. “I cannot tell you how many hours I spent studying the madness you somehow embraced with those cannons. Firing volley after volley in just a handful of seconds. Batteries of a half dozen or more you’d make vanish than appear wherever you needed to unleash death upon our foes. Using those weapons to far greater effect than anyone before you has ever managed, no matter their class or level.”

Eric gazed at his mother for long moments. “That’s saying something.”

“Indeed it is,” she said with a smile. “Eric? How many elven lives would you say each of your cannons is worth?”

Eric’s heart began to pound. His forehead broke out in a cold sweat as he gazed into his mother’s gentle forest green eyes for long painful moments as the tension built and built, until he suddenly got it. Finally, he understood.

He clenched his jaw. It was all he could do not to turn around and race for the hills, then and there. He was wearing his mithril mail at that very moment. He was pretty sure he could hit 200 mph, maybe more, far more, before wind resistance really began to kick in and his thighs actually got a good burn.

And there wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone would be able to match his speed.

He squeezed his fists tight, ignoring the tinkle of shattered glass, his hand now covered in sweet golden wine.

And all the while, his mother pinned him with that same gentle smile, haunting him with her hopeful gaze.

His voice was tight and raw when he spoke. “How much are they offering?”

“Three hundred.”

“That’s bullshit. Each is worth a thousand. At least. With a battery of six and enough black powder and shot... I’d tear right through anyone.”

“Using all your abilities, revenants, and surgical strikes, Eric. Not via the cannons alone.”

Eric flashed a bleak smile. “But if their goal is to defang me… and that is the goal of my enemies, isn’t it? And with the Blackfang orcs wiped off the board, I know damn well who it has to be. So they better factor in all those things together. My synergistic strength is their burden to bear.”

His mother dipped his head. “Well said. You may use all your tools at once, so they’d best factor in the consequences as a whole.”

Eric gazed at his mother for long moments. “Do they really fear me that much?”

His mother flashed a sad smile. “Of course they do. You near single-handedly destroyed the Blackfang alliance and successfully eliminated every goblin assassination squad you came across. Highly trained killers no one normally spots until their target’s long dead. And they have Rica.”

Eric swallowed, lowering his gaze. “Shit.”

His mother gently patted his hand. “We have an advantage, my son.”

He snorted. “And what would that be?”

“They have no idea how many cannon, or revenants, you actually possess.”

Eric flashed a tight, hard smile. “No, they don’t.”

Hopeful green eyes locked with his own. “Eric, are you willing?”

Eric sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

“No, mom. I don’t really think I do. Not if I want to keep Elonia safe in a world full of assholes determined to kill her.”

Eric winced under his mother’s probing gaze.

“Yes,” he forced himself to say. “If the goblins, or their pet administrators, are pressuring us to give up the cannons… and are promising you troops in return? You damn well better bleed them for everything you can!” Eric flashed a hungry smile. “And I bet they have no idea how many cannons I claimed, do they? If you could sell even five, for a concession of five thousand men… that would make all the difference. And we’d still have countless cannon left.”

His mother gazed thoughtfully at him. “Why do you say five?”

Eric shrugged. “no idea. But considering that Newark had only five hundred orcs, half the territories I captured had similar numbers, and it was only when goblins and administrators were squeezing the guidelines till they bled, or at least that was my impression, that hundreds of orcs in every territory became thousands. So… five thousand versus the sixteen thousand I took out, yeah. I can see them bending the rules sufficient to allow you that much of a concession at least.”

His mother gave a thoughtful nod. “I see.” She smiled warmly. “It is indeed my hope that they’ll allow me to lock in those five thousand men. At least.”

“And that would make all the difference, wouldn’t it? You’d suddenly have over seven times your current forces.” Eric scratched his sad excuse for a beard, grinning at his mother’s frown of consternation. “Whatever you do, mom, no matter how tempting it is to sell out quick, promise me you won’t sell a single one of those cannon for under a thousand men.”

Aurelia’s eyes positively twinkled, her frown instantly turning to a beaming smile. “You have a deal, my son.” She gave a thoughtful tilt of her head. “And what if I could entice them to take on a few hundred of their men? Bluff them into thinking, say, a full thousand would see you bankrupt of revenant reinforcements? Would you be willing to accept a trade of 5 elven conscripts per revenant?”

Eric gazed at his mother for long seconds. “Ten, mother,” he said roughly. “For troops that require no food, no water, no rest, no logistical nightmare of supplies and constant drain from any coffers, troops that suffer no damage from blood loss, exposure, or cold, soldiers with an average level of 40 or more that take absolutely no damage from arrows or spears or even musket fire, save for an exceedingly lucky and rare critical strike… troops that can heal their wounds with every kill...”

His mother’s lips tightened, pinning Eric for long moments with her brilliant sapphire gaze. “And those are the very arguments I will be making, should our enemies wish to neutralize you of a thousand or more of your troops, sadly underestimating the extent of the power at your command. I will do everything I can to push for ten.” She sighed. “What I’m hoping is that you will be amenable to five men per revenant. Because as gloriously deadly as your troops are… we have at our disposal, thanks to my wonderfully talented son who continues to surprise me, access to a territory with a dozen portals leading to pocket realms exactly the size of the territory itself, absolutely filled with beasts and challenges and competition enough to see hundreds… no, thousands of our men slowly but surely scaling up the ladder of progression with dedication, teamwork, and planning.”

She saluted a blushing Eric with her glass. “Most impressive of all, it is not a mere twelve Ashland-sized pocket realms they have access to, but, according to the dreamer responsible for the forging, countless levels for those who continue to rise up the ranks and dare its challenges. Thus, my beloved son, the opportunity for our own soldiers to advance to the cusp of Bronze is potentially unlimited.”

Eric smiled despite himself, for just a second savoring the sweetness of his mother’s unreserved praise. “Well, yeah. You know what? Ashland is pretty awesome,” he said, before quirking a wry smile. “Too bad I’ll never be able to savor its wonders for myself.”

His mother raised a polite eyebrow. “Really.”

Eric sighed and nodded. “Really. And no, no one told me that. My Interface didn’t even mention it. It’s just… well, I’m sort of the anchor of its existence. At least on this side. For me to use it to ascend is like a city builder sim where you use your own ladder over and over again to climb to the clouds, with nothing under your feet. I doubt I could even enter them if I tried, and even if I did… I doubt I’d get anything out of it. It would be as if the dungeons were an extension of myself. Nothing could possibly put me in peril, and my ability to grow for it would be no greater than my ability to grow from a digital training simulation.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s just a gut feeling, but on the off-chance I might just rip a hole in reality even trying to enter it, I think it’s best that I leave those delves to those who can actually profit from them.”

His mother nodded solemnly, squeezing his hand. “Then trust your gut, my son.”

Eric grinned. “Fortunately, I can enter any other dungeon just fine, so long as I wasn’t involved in, well, the dream of its forging. And I’m pretty sure that if I visit enough dungeons… clear enough territories… I’ll profit mightily, even if I’m denied access to my own treasures.”

Aurelia laughed. “That you’ve achieved so much that you must qualify your inability to enter your own wondrous creations highlights your ascension as a Contender like nothing else. And as much as Ashland’s delves are off limits to you, you are certainly free to enter the territory and profit from its economic growth and development to glorious mercantile heights, no?”

Eric nodded. “You better believe it.”

Elonia gracefully rose to her feet, gesturing for Eric to follow. “Come, my son. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

A bemused Eric was content to follow, admiring the graceful architecture, exquisite portraits, pastoral landscapes and exquisitely graceful statues lining the alcoves and walls, doing his best not to feel too flustered by the wide-eyed looks of awe and reverence being flashed both Aurelia’s and his way, uniformed men and women bowing on one knee so low it was almost a kowtow, yet moving with such grace that they seemed to dip for but a moment before hurrying on their way.

“What level are your men?” Eric asked curiously. “And what level would fresh conscripts be starting at?”

“Our present troops are between levels fifteen and twenty. As for fresh conscripts...” she sighed. “I’ll be lucky to get consent for the greenest of newbloods. Level five at most.”

Eric winced. “That’s not good.”

His mother smirked. “Just one more reason why dungeons with near limitless space and resources, dungeons which our highest level scouts report reset every night, will be our salvation, my son.”

“As long as you don’t get those newbloods killed,” Eric noted, eyes widening when they left the central palace wing to behold a grinning Aurelia gliding their way on a hatchback like vehicle sans any wheels at all. Yet it wasn’t hovering along a cushion of air, or using repulsion magics, but riding on mana streams alone, according to Eric’s Unified Perception.

He couldn’t help whistling in admiration as Annika patted the plush leather seat beside her, his mother effortlessly sliding into one of the back seats. “Hop in, hero. Let me give you a lift,” the freshly made up girl said with a cheeky grin

Eric couldn’t help smiling back as he leaned back, admiring the padded seating as Annika shifted gears Eric got a headache just looking at, and their vehicle immediately took off south, rising to an elevation of five feet.

Eric admired the sight of the grass whipping by below them, coves of trees passing by at speeds almost, but not quite as fast as Eric had sprinted with his revenants, what now felt like a lifetime ago. He enjoyed the wind in his face until Aurelia’s polite cough caused Annika to wince, before quickly pressing a button that suddenly blocked off the roaring wind blowing back their hair.

“Sweet set of wheels, girl,” Eric teased. “Despite the lack, of, well...”

“Wheels?”

Eric nodded. “Exactly,” he said, now feeling like a passenger in a high speed train admiring the scenery flying by. “Oh, look. There’s Greystone,” he said, pointing to the walled town he had taken over, not that long ago. “Have you visited, yet?”

Annika nodded. “We did. Blue Corp will allow us to rent what land we like for farming, and we offered to hire the survivors to work in whatever capacity suited them best.”

Eric’s lips curved in a relieved smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. The girls have been through a lot, so...”

“We’ll treat them with silk gloves, promise,” Annika said, patting his thigh with a gloved hand as the beautiful scenery of forests interspersed with a few fields filled with lush, growing crops. Eric was surprised to spot a few very human children waving happily at them in the distance. Along with a few stern-faced adults armed with crossbows, glaring at them from the palisade of what Eric’s interface declared a tiny friendly farming community they quickly passed by.

“I’m almost surprised to see people, for all that this area was populated by countless thousands, I’m sure, just a year ago. And you’re not objecting to the farmers or townsfolk using crossbows?” Eric smiled. “Very liberated, and it will certainly help protect them from any wandering beasts, though I hope that doesn’t become too much of a problem.”

“Our land is claimed, child, and in the safest of White Tier zones. Wandering predators should be at an absolute minimum, especially should we be blessed with much-needed soldiers and settlers in the months to come,” his mother said, sipping wine from a chilled bottle in the back seat, her relaxed smile making it clear she was enjoying the ride through the countryside as much as he was.

“As far as them making use of your favorite Gilton equalizer, yes. We are permitting the townsfolk light hunting crossbows with a hundred pound draw weights or less. More than sufficient for taking out the eye of any orc, or for any needle bodkin so slip between the links of orcish mail, or the hide of the very few predators we will do our best to make sure never trouble our serfs or citizens.”

“But not your troop’s elven mail, I take it,” Eric said with a smirk, gazing at Annika’s own masterwork hauberk of silvered steel links, tightly yet expertly woven to provide both flexibility and exquisite protection. Annika winked and grinned right back, acting as if the flash of terror she had shown at their interrupted meal had never happened, and her retreat, merely retrieving their hovermobile. A conceit Eric was happy to play along with.

“Of course not,” his mother said with a chuckle. “Not that I doubt any classless farmer would be stupid enough to antagonize the most merciful and conscientious masters they could hope to have with the Sylvan faction now united with my daughter at the helm. But our armor is most definitely made with the comfort and safety of highly trained archers in mind.”

Aurelia’s lips thinned with displeasure the moment they entered the one territory that had surrendered.

“Ah. Here we are. Pilmsburg. Our one territory without any significant increase in mana, potency, fertility, ideal dungeoneering sights, or any other resource of significance. Still, decent enough land for farming or establishing a manufacturing center.”

Eric gave a noncommittal nod, knowing full well that if he had actually conquered it, the territory would be anything but mundane.

His mother caught his gaze in the rearview and flashed him a knowing smile. “Oh well, what is done is done, and we’re extremely lucky that so much territory we now claim, or have access to, is blessed with so many boons.”

“One more reason to be thankful for a hero not afraid to make a difference,” Annika said in a husky voice that actually made Eric flush, earning an agreeable nod from his mother in back as she continued sipping her summer wine.

Not that Eric blamed her cracking open a second, or was it third? Bottle already that morning.

She avoided losing any sense of status sitting in the back seat, acting as if she were the star of her own show. As if Eric and Annika, claiming the front seat, were but her chauffeurs. Especially if she wanted the pair of them to mingle. A flash of insight his ‘What The Other Party Wants’ perk, allowing Charisma and Perception to synergize perfectly when it came to sensing the wants and needs of others, made exquisitely clear.

Too bad his less than perfect Charisma meant he was still more than capable of making a social klutz of himself, and was pretty sure he still did so on the regular. He was just able to appreciate his follies after the fact, in ways he had been comfortably numb to, just a year ago.

Besides, as his mother’s pleased smile made abundantly clear, it really was good wine.

No doubt far sweeter to the tongue than the taste in Eric’s mouth as they drove through Solaris long enough to admire the grand mage’s academy overlooking a picturesque European town nearly empty save for a dozen elves racing to greet and swear their eternal devotion to Aurelia and her champion, the Headmistress of said school going so far as to greet Eric with a fierce hug, introducing him to both her smiling husband and awkwardly grinning son, saying so much with her tearful smile and trembling words without uttering a single thing best left unspoken by them all.

And the soft curse escaping Aurelia’s lips made it clear she sensed it as well.

Father and son, both flush with vitality, alertness, embracing the moment, grateful to be beside the woman of their lives. Very much living, breathing individuals. And simultaneously no more real than a dream.

“Our academy will be ready before you know it, my queen!” Gushed what could well be the most powerful classless practitioner of the arcane arts on Earth, genuflecting once more before an indulgently smiling Aurelia. “Thank you for having such faith in my program, Your Grace. With your continued benevolence and support, we’ll bless this world with hundreds of arcane scholars who can do more than just cast a handful of already forged spells. We’ll mint ourselves graduates who actually understand the fundaments of magic. Young scholars able to break new ground, catalyze wonderful breakthroughs, and advance the field of arcana itself! We just need, well, staff. And students. Ha ha.”

Aurelia flashed a fierce, pleased smile, glittering eyes filled with a hunter’s intensity. Cold-sober in an instant, the socialite enjoying her morning buzz had instantly transformed into a predator seizing the jugular of the sweet, juicy prize before her.

“Excellent! I knew that if there was one scholar capable of forging a fully comprehensive curriculum covering all the fundamentals in the very first semester, it would be you, dear Arci.”

The woman before her paled. It was all she could do, not to step back. “Your Grace, of course I will do as you ask. But to truly understand even the basic fundamentals of magic in a single season to the degree one needs to actually unlock—“

She froze and physically trembled before the Winter Queen’s smile, and all Aurelia did was give her cheek a pat that could only be called affectionate. “A gifted scholar and a wizard at breaking down the most esoteric concepts into bite-sized chunks that even my daughter, victim of the must mundane of backgrounds, could near instantly grasp. A headmistress that I have no doubt, absolutely no doubt, is more than capable of teaching hundreds, no, thousands of young bright minds on the cusp of adolescence the secrets to unlocking their own potential, assuring multiple Advanced Arcane Class options will propagate when they dare the pods after a single semester under your exquisite tutelage.”

Arci’s eyes widened with horror. She looked to be on the verge of tears. “I… yes, my beloved mistress in all things. It shall be as you say. Forevermore, it shall be as you say!”

“Of course it will,” Aurelia said with an oddly playful wink Eric’s way. “And in honor of our champion’s own brilliant capitalist spirit, your way shall be paved in wonder and gold. For every ten student who have access to even a single combat-worthy Advanced class at level 1, I shall expand your budget, staff, accommodations, and, of course, award you a personal boon. And that boon shall be increased for every additional ten students who can follow suit, and for every single student who will have access to a single combat-worthy Adept tier class at level 1… or after Compressing their core as a Conscript, for however long it takes.”

Arci’s eyes widened, filled with fear, wonder, and a hunger for prestige, recognition, and the creature comforts of exorbitant wealth that was utterly transparent to Eric, as was the seed of terror she strove so desperately to hide.

Solemnly, Eric stepped forward, clasping the trembling woman’s hand in his own. “Surely you understand. For I have no doubt my mother will absolutely delight in generations of esteemed scholars to come from these vaunted halls in the centuries to come. Scholars who, perhaps, will forgo interface enhancements for as many decades as it takes to so intuitively master the arcane arts that Elite Classes might one day be available to them. But now, on the very eve of war with a thousand different banners covering an entire world that would see us fall… we need every talented student to be ready for battle, for the very survival of our race.” He gave her hand a very gentle squeeze. “And we are counting on you to do it.”

To Eric’s surprise, she sobbed, falling to her knees. “It will be as you say, Prince Eric. I swear it!”

Eric winced inside, though keeping his face a mask of gentle concern, which he truly felt, free of the sudden spike of anxiety, carefully stepping past an unexpected trap.

“Of course I make no claims of royalty or nobility. I’m just a free agent, nothing more.”

The headmistress blinked. Her eyes widened and she began to tremble, as if only now seeing him for the first time. “My Pri— I mean, Eric Orcbane, defender of our race. I will make sure every staff member and every student lives up to your expectations. To your moth— I mean, the Winter Queen’s expectations!”

Eric nodded, saying the words that most need to be said. “And I in turn swear that neither your son nor your husband need worry about being called up for any expected draft, or duties.” He hurriedly spoke on, sensing the extreme panic she could no longer hide in her gaze. “I too sense that they have paid a price in Constitution for their rapid arrival here on Earth. It goes without saying that no member of the Sylvan Alliance would ever force them from the sanctity of their home here in Solaris or otherwise cause them undue stress under any circumstances.”

He turned to his mother, now gazing at him with such hawklike intensity. “Isn’t that right, Mother?”

She solemnly nodded. “Indeed it is, my son.” Before sweeping the woman now sobbing with gratitude in an almost motherly embrace. “There there, my dear. I too am glad that they survived the unexpected perils of an unusually rough transference. I know that they serve as your bedrock, and will inspire you to ever greater heights!” She flashed her gentlest smile to the woman sobbing her gratitude and eternal loyalty. “I know you will deliver onto me nothing less than your absolute best. So if there is anything we can do to help your son or husband adjust to the peculiarities of Terran life, do let us know.”

“Thank you, Your Grace!” The woman gushed with tears. “We will serve you to our dying days, I swear it!”

Aurelia kissed the sobbing woman lightly on both cheeks, giving the still bowing husband and son polite nods, waved her blessing to the dozen others that hadn’t dared look up from their kowtows, before slipping back in the car, Annika waving at Eric to join them.

Eric smiled at the father and son. “I think you’ll like it here. There’s lots of potential for excitement and adventure, here on Earth, and I hear you all have access to a handful of very sweet delves.”

The father flushed, chuckling awkwardly. “Forgive me, my prince. This is the first time I’ve… but yes. I used to be something of an avid adventurer myself… until the woman before you caught my heart, and a new calling filled my soul.”

Eric nodded, happy to see the headmistress slip so effortlessly into her husband’s protective arms. “Then, should your duties permit, I’d say that once the community to come has mapped the local delves and you feel you’re ready, it would do you good to explore those depths with a delving group that has your back.” Intent eyes locked with the man’s own. “Level up. And when the moon is full, take your son. I think you will find the experience… invigorating. For both of you.”

The man visibly paled. “Yes, of course my Prince… I mean, Eric Orcbane. But my son… for all that he has benefited from his mother’s fascination with the fundamentals of magic, he has never actually entered the pods.”

“It’s my fault!” The headmistress sobbed. “I held him back. I was so hoping he’d be the one to follow in my footsteps!”

The boy grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, my lord. My parents are a bit gushy.” He flashed a bemused grin. “Between you and me? I’d love to follow in my father’s footsteps.”

“Then I’d say give it a go,” Eric suggested to the freckle-faced lad. “Can you use a wand?”

The boy snorted. “Of course!” He said, before wincing under his parent’s glares. “And I can cast any cantrip or first tier elementalist spell. But… yes. Wands are quick to cast and master, so, yes… my lord. I can.”

Eric grinned. “Excellent! Then I’d say, when your father’s ready to dare a properly mapped dungeon, join him on his second trip, along with an experienced party, of course.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “My lord, I don’t have access to a...”

The boy froze, a look of awe upon his features when Eric gently touched his brow. “Do you remember telling me the class you most wanted to embrace when you grew up? To follow in my sister’s footsteps? Well guess what, Yiovri. If you want it badly enough… you can claim it right now.”

The boy began to shake, his face a mask of rapture and horror in equal measure as he collapsed in what appeared to be a grand mal seizure.

His mother cried out, and Eric did what he knew he must.

Do you wish to grant your Ascended Revenant Access to Tier 2 Evolution Pods?

You have chosen yes!

Master Necromancer Class & Contender Status successfully bypasses Spacial limitations!

Your Ascended Revenant has successfully chosen a class!

The boy paled, his seizures passing seconds later, now gazing at Eric with a look of terrified adoration. “Master! It worked! I… I did it! I’m an Elementalist! I see it all so clearly now. I understand everything!”

The boy began to tremble and visibly sob, falling to his knees before Eric.

“I’m no one's master!” Eric snapped as he lifted Yiovri back to his feet, glaring into the terrified boy’s eyes. “Do you understand? I'm just a friend. A good friend who cares about your well-being. And what you're feeling are the remnants of a dream, no more than that. What matters is that you’re awake now. Awake and with the family who loves you. I did nothing but open the door. You’re the one who chose to go through. You’re your own man, now. A Free Agent. Just like me. Let no one tell you otherwise.”

“Yes, Your Grace!” The boy sobbed.

Eric winced, all but flinching under the anxious gazes the boy’s parents were giving him.

He forced a smile, and gently squeezed the trembling boy’s shoulders. “Then turn around and greet your parents as the Classer you now are. I think you’ll go far, under your father’s guidance.” He then winked, speaking in a stage whisper his parents could most certainly here. “But I’d definitely stick to the local delves until you’re much, much stronger than you are now.”

The boy jerked a nod. “It will be as you say… Eric Orcbane. I swear it!”

Eric gave the boy an approving nod, turning to go. Before blinking when the headmaster’s desperate grip tightly clenched his own. “Please, my lord...”

Eric calmed the lurch in his heart, seeing the desperation in her gaze. “What’s up?”

She forced a painful smile, Eric sensing so clearly how she struggled, forcing herself to look at a terrible truth… for the safety of one she held so dear. “How long?” She swallowed, shaking her head. “How far must he advance before he can...”

Eric frowned. “My gut tells me level ten should be fine for any territory that has my, ahem, stamp,” he said, cheeks heating under the weight of so many gazes now staring so intently at him.

She blinked at this. “You mean, any territory you’ve...”

“Yes. And just south of us is Picksonville and Ashland territory. They’re both saturated with magic and extremely high levels of spiritual energy that should be very amicable to my… to your family. And if things go as planned, Ashland will be an absolute mecca for adventuring with near unlimited opportunities for pretty much anyone. Greystone is also okay, but Pilmsburg is a dead zone to both your son and your husband. I had no hand in its surrender. Not directly, anyway, so I’m afraid that Queensland, Silvergrove, and Dairyland are off limits unless Pilmsburg’s status… changes.”

The woman before him sobbed, wrapping him up in a tight, desperate hug. “Thank you, Eric Orcbane. For the boon you have granted me and mine, I—“

“Can give me magic lessons,” Eric said with a grin.

“It would be my greatest honor, my prince!”

Eric quickly shook his head. “No one’s prince. Strictly free agent. But some time in the future, when I actually have time, maybe you can help me figure out how to make a few more kickass spells of my own? I get the feeling that the more complicated runic spells I might forge would benefit from the insightful assistance of actual arcane scholars who aren’t basing their entire class on gut instinct and battlefield epiphanies.”

Arci gazed at him for long moments, before solemnly bowing her head. “It would be my great pleasure to do so… whenever you find the time.”

Shortly thereafter, a still flushed and somewhat dazed Eric found himself in the hovermobile once more, doing his best to come to terms with his racing thoughts… and the undeniable fact that he had brought two souls back from the dead.

Souls now listed as greater revenants by his Interface, for all that he had actually declared aloud their freedom. Their autonomy. Were they truly alive? Truly human or elven once more? Was it a question that could even be definitively answered, Eric having not so much raised their bodies as pulled their living potential from a Contender’s insights in the forging of an entire realm?”

He shook his head, having far more questions than answers, and having no idea who he could even safely ask about any of it.

For all that he knocked it, it sometimes felt that intuition was his best guide as to how the world worked. And what did that say about him?

“An entire class forged on battlefield epiphanies?” Annika asked with a teasing smile.

Eric grinned. “And let’s not forget gut instinct. That’s key.”

She chuckled throatily. “A self-taught nightmare for any Sylvan trainer worth his salt. And yet, somehow, you still managed to become one the most feared, and fearsome, Contenders in this tiny corner of the world.”

Eric smirked. “Imagine that.”

“A natural prodigy who would dare to forge himself along the Path of Peril, to hammer the steel of his soul upon the anvil of conflict and ascend past any instructor advising the safer path, the well-trodden path. A path void of the bittersweet taste of blood, sweat, and glorious triumph that is war!” his mother interjected with a smile, saluting him with a once-more filled champagne flute.

“A Contender all our mutual foes would do well to fear.”

Eric closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the feel of the warm morning sun caressing his skin as the wind whipped his hair. The force dome had been lowered, Aurelia laughing with delight when the warm sun waxed transcendent, and a glorious wave of spiritual energy washed over them all.