NOVEL NEXT 303. The Game Is On
King's Rise was particular, as a city. Its tall ramparts separated it from the outside world, an impassable frontier that made those standing before them wonder if they held the right to even look at them. The Fringe was the granary of the city, stemming from peasants living their daily lives and mercenaries hungry for a higher spot in the city and luxury. The Bourgeoisie was exactly that, a higher spot, access to more advanced technology, education, opportunities.
Birth outside King's Rise guaranteed death, or at least an uncertain fate in the hands of provincial Counts. Birth in the Fringe would almost certainly end in a life of servitude, or to the claws of a Rift's monster. And birth in the Bourgeoisie promised a bright future, as long as money flowed in the family and luck was on your side.
Birth in the Court was very different. Glenn's eyes widened as he passed the checkpoint, with Lucian practically kicking away the Watchers, special soldiers assigned to guard every rampart. The Royal Tower stood like a sore thumb, a gray and gilded structure covered in powerful enchantments and surrounded by countless hovering, protecting stones. The city below it, much smaller in area compared to the rest of King's Rise, was absolutely breathtaking.
There were no crowded spaces, no piled-up houses, no badly thought-out streets, no billowing smoke, and no clouds of hissing steam. Instead, it was a small, contained paradise. Luxurious manors, all diverse in shapes, sizes, and design, covered with green lush plains pulsing with vitality. Glenn took a deep breath, feeling as if the air itself was of higher quality in this place—and it probably was.
It was still wide enough in area for Glenn to not see it in its entirety, but the difference between the Court and the rest of King's Rise was so striking it didn't even come into question. His manor on Longhorn's Street looked like a pile of rubble compared to the constructions in this place.
"So beautiful, and yet so damned rotten on the inside," sighed Lucian. The Prince shook his head and pointed at a small barge docked to a tree, floating above ground. "Here's our transport. Well, my transport, but I'm more than willing to share."
"Show the way, Lucian," grumbled Sahro. "We've wasted enough time with those Watchers as it is."
Glenn helped Liara jump into the boat. The Black Heiress was very careful not to damage her precious dress.
"Lucian, is the Court just countless houses, or is there anything else of note?" Glenn asked curiously.
"Well, there are a few entertainment facilities; I know about a zoo, and an arena for high-ranked fighters," Lucian said as he untied the boat from the tree. "But in all honesty, the primary hobby of an aristocrat is trying to get into everyone else's bedsheets and beat the world record for alcohol ingested. Nothing much to do when you're already rich and set for life."
"I would have thought with all this free time and resources they'd nurture as many powerful prospects as possible, not..." Sahro searched for the right words, "...fool around like dogs in rut."
Lucian sighed. "Tell me about it. Thankfully, there are as many debauched families as respectful ones. You may call them the traditionalists. On the other side are the, er, innovators. People like Sir Exan, who rose from small-time families and dominated their fields thanks to incredible skills."
"No need to guess which side we're on, then." Glenn sat in a mattock as the vessel rose in the air. "That's one thing not too complicated. Medieval politics are rather simple. What about the churches, how implicated are they? In the noble lifestyle, I mean?"
Nelg suddenly jumped out of his soul and leaned over the rail guard, taking in the view with his own eyes. "It sure looks better than the Bourgeoisie. Much cleaner. Still, I think I prefer our manor to this place."
Lucian glanced at the doppelganger before replying to Glenn's question. "Remember the arena I mentioned earlier? It's managed by the Blood & Iron Brotherhood. Almost all the nobles of the Court have excellent relations with the Golden Church, which is understandable considering that most of their gold is kept in the Dragon's hoard." He noticed Sahro's confused gaze and clarified, "The banks. That's how they call it."
He looked over the boat's edge before sighing and sitting on the rail guard. "The Church of Onnea has a central cathedral housing the best priests and priestesses, ready to intervene at any signs of wounded nobles or nascent Rifts. The Royal troops are also charged with taking care of those, of course."
"Right now, we're heading to the Mortelli's estate, which has been repurposed for this event. It has already been scoured by the royal investigators of any suspicious stuff, so don't worry about it," Lucia winked at Glenn. "The disgraced family is currently under interrogation, and won't be let go for a long, long while."
Glenn crossed his arms pensively. "That does make me think, any idea where the fucker is? From what I gathered, he teleported away, right?"
Lucian's face darkened and he clenched his teeth. "This fool dared to refuse a royal order. Even today I still can't believe it. I swear it, if I ever find him again, I'll force him to eat the soles of my boot until his jaw stops working. Only, and only then will we start the flaying."
Sahro raised an eyebrow. "Flaying?"
"Pretty standard stuff for those who betray the kingdom." Lucian waved away dismissively. "Anyway, what do you want me to do about the Sorenas?" He grinned wickedly as he saw a morbid glint in Glenn's eyes. "I have to say I like what I'm seeing."
"Sounds real weird when said this way, prince," mocked Diamanes. Lucian flinched and glared at the purple hand, only to disregard its comment.
"For now, let's keep it quiet." Glenn decided. Sahro stood up in protestation.
"You want to let these al'awghad run around like nothing happened? Are you serious?"
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Glenn raised his hands in a placating manner. "Oh no, don't worry, the bastards will get what they deserve. Lucian, do the nobles know you're going to be part of the ceremony?"
Lucian shook his head sheepishly. "I wanted to surprise everyone in sort of a first official appearance, with all the stuff at the Horizon Gates being pretty much covert op' and all that..."
"Good." Glenn nodded. "Keep it that way, and show yourself when you hear the signal."
"Which signal?"
The corner of Glenn's lips curled upward wickedly. "Oh, don't worry. You'll recognize it right away."
***
Nobles who earn or inherit a Count's title get two choices. They either leave King's Rise to establish a County in Munirp, bringing workers, soldiers, and other ambitious people with them, to exploit the country's natural resources, or, they stay within King's Rise, occupying a set piece of land. The disgraced Count Mortelli had chosen the second, staying within the Court's walls like each of his ancestors did. This was no source of shame, for most nobles made the same decision.
There was no lack of work for those who dirtied their hands in King's Rise, and Count Mortelli was a person who wasn't scared to do so. With the support of his family and his connection within the army, he quickly rose to become the commander of the Wolves Order. Mortelli even forced Redan the Ice Wolf, the living legend, to leave his post as the commander before banishing him to the Sewers.
But as the Gods will it, the karmic wheel spun around and Mortelli lost everything, fleeing away from Munirp for some damp dark hole somewhere in the world. At least that's what most nobles thought of him, even those who had close relationships with him.
Talor Rosenborn felt the old, traditionally aged wine touch his lips, and closed his eyes in delight. This award ceremony was just another pretext to party and have some fun, but he refused to let it fool him.
'The family needs results. The Devil's Hand and his teammates should be present during this evening. I need to do all I can to rally them to our cause. I just hope this minor issue with the Sorenas' daughter won't be too much of a problem...'
Years of preparations for the plan had finally been set into motion, and an opportunity to break the fragile balance had finally appeared. If they could bolster their forces with just a few more elite fighters, then maybe...
"Sir Rosenborn, are you thinking of your upcoming marriage?" A lady of unusual beauty approached him, her light blue eyes contrasting with her red, flashy dress. Talor bowed at the waist and elegantly gave a kiss on the back of her hand.
"Duchess Sorenas. I have to say that I am honored to be the recipient of your proposition—"
Duchess Sorenas waved away dismissively before taking a swig of her red wine. "There's nothing to be honored about, my dear. The Sorenas hold many regards for your house, and creating alliances with interesting prospects is our specialty, after all."
Talor squinted and forced back down an insult, instead keeping a polite smile and affable expression. "Of course, Duchess. I simply meant that a Count household might be a little below your standards, and for that we are very grateful for the opportunity you present us."
His thoughts were the opposite of the words coming out of his mouth. 'This old hag thinks she can worm her way through the innovators' hearts by sending her mercenary daughter to me? I'd rather cut my balls off than marry some sort of muscle-brained fool covered in crusty scars.'
The duchess chuckled mirthlessly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "In addition to the young talent your house is training, we've heard of your recent developments and... possibilities concerning the Mortelli estate. Rumors of the promotion of a young nobleman have reached my ears, and let me tell you that I, like many others, am very optimistic about the identity of the lucky candidate chosen by His Highness."
Talor bowed once more, opening his mouth to thank the duchess, when the usher suddenly slammed his shoes against the marble floor, drawing attention to him.
"Hero of the War Beyond the Wall, Leader of the Expedition into the Beyond, one of the youngest Archmagi in history, Glenn the Devil's Hand!"
All eyes turned to the large double oak doors opening, revealing a handsome young man stepping into the room. Talor heard the Duchess gasp, probably for the same reason he took a step back. That mercenary, Glenn... His left hand was as purple as the vest he was wearing, and something about him was slightly terrifying. Talor couldn't exactly put his finger on what, but at the moment, he was starting to reconsider the plan. A small, one-eyed creature with tiny wings appeared on Glenn's shoulder, glaring at the assembly.
"The Black Swordsman, the Red Lightning, Sahro Sand of the Black Heirs!"
Sahro stepped in, his cloak fluttering behind him as steam hissed out of his brass and steel prosthesis. The Black Heir looked around the ballroom with hostility, his fists clenched and teeth gritted. He looked like he was ready to pounce and devour them all. A red-furred fox rubbed its back against Sahro Sand's leg, purring.
"The Desert's Rose, the dangerous and beautiful Liara!"
The Black Heiress stepped in, inviting gasps of awe and adoration. With one glance, she robbed all the men of their hearts, and with another of every woman. A small, round, and slightly ridiculous bird flew around her before perching itself on her finger. She smiled softly, the ballroom practically glowing from her otherworldly beauty.
An unnatural silence took over the ballroom as Glenn, Sahro and Liara stood next to each other. The Devil's Hand was grinning like a mad demon, looking at the nobles and their guests like cattle ready to be slaughtered. A pulse of Mana surged out of the young man, washing over them and their protections. The lights flickered, threatening to go off, until a broad laugh finally broke the silence.
The sound of something heavy stomping on the marble stone approached them and Talor turned his head, paling when he recognized the approaching figure. Like a bear in men's clothes, dressed in a black suit with dark furs too small for him, with the fabric threatening to snap at any moment from the bulging muscles, Duke Noir, the Iron Fist, Commander of the Dark Gate, and one of the legendary heroes of the War of Four Fronts.
The bear laughed before taking a swig of ale in a tankard the size of a barrel. "Hero of the War Beyond the Wall, ay?"
The Devil's Hand frowned. "I didn't know about that title, but sure, yeah. That's me."
Duke Noir grinned and pressed down on the young man's shoulder. The pressure was like a powerful shockwave that forced the nobles a step backward and made breathing an effort.
"You look strong! Wanna become part of the Dark Knights?"
Talor's eyes widened. The Dark Knights was one of the most important Knight Orders in the kingdom, composed only of the most elite monster-killing-machines. In addition, they were only composed of Aura users, so for them to invite the Devil's Hand, an Archmagi, it was unheard of!
Glenn looked up and down at the Duke, unfazed by the pressure. "Er, I'm fine, but thanks."
Duke Noir blinked confusedly before exploding in laughter, his ale almost dropping on Glenn, only to stop inches away, floating in the air. The liquid returned by itself into the barrel mug, before ending up in Duke Noir's mouth.
"Very well! My invitation still stands, Hero!" He turned to Sahro and Liara and raised his mug at them. "And that counts for you two, Black Heirs! My order doesn't discriminate. We only care about power, and power you have!"
He turned away and returned to the tables covered in food, chuckling broadly and stuffing himself up. Glenn glanced at the Duke, puzzled, before shrugging dismissively. His eyes slid over all of the guests, and finally, he sighed. The musicians and bards chose that exact moment to finally start playing, forcing the tense atmosphere to melt away.
Glenn crossed his arms, a wicked grin on his lips.
"Alright. The game is on, people."