Windsom Indrath
I had been dragged to Corvis Eralith's position by what I had presumed was the presence of the Asclepius Clan—their whole existence a scar on my consciousness.
However, it seemed that only the lesser was present in front of the crude shack belonging to the human clan known as Wykes.
Corvis Eralith spoke with impressive fervour, entirely immersed in his human disguise.
It was a development I found particularly pleasing; this 'Leòn Leurenzian' persona, much like his dwarven 'Finn Warend', would undoubtedly prove highly useful to the Great Eight's plans for Dicathen.
He preached of justice and the righteous retribution of Epheotus, flawlessly regurgitating the divine concepts I had so carefully planted in his mind during my visits.
In every measurable aspect, Corvis Eralith appeared to be the perfect lesser to invest in. He had even independently identified a cell of Alacryan insurgents, manoeuvred from the shadows by Agrona Vritra, who had foolishly allied themselves with a human noble family.
And yet, despite his undeniable utility, I could not entirely shake a nagging suspicion that had lingered in the back of my mind for quite some time regarding the boy.
It was not that I feared a mere lesser, of course—such a notion was deeply absurd—but rather, I was wary of what he might truly represent.
The impossible reincarnation of Great Lord Mordain's half-breed son.
I remembered those ancient days vividly.
I had been given the rank of Overseer of Dicathen for one singular achievement: I had located the Lost Prince of the Asclepius Clan hiding upon this primitive continent.
It happened centuries prior to the betrayal of Agrona Vritra, and centuries after the utter dissolution of the race known as the Djinn, back when I was still just a hatchling.
I had found the Lost Prince fraternising with the ancestors of the modern elves—a crude and savage population of forest-dwelling lessers—and engaging in a scandalous, abhorrent affair with their chieftain: an elven woman named Elenoir.
The two produced a son in a mere matter of months, naming the half-breed Eralith. It was the very same name that Lady Myre herself later decreed would become the official title of the modern elven royal family, a decision made for reasons I dared not question.
I had spied on them, desperate to uncover where the remainder of the Asclepius Clan lay hidden, but my efforts bore no fruit.
Mordain Asclepius remained one of the most ancient and formidable beings in the entire world, second in authority and power only to the Lord Protector himself.
After a few decades of failure, I decided to force the issue and attempted to assassinate the half-breed, Eralith.
I succeeded by capitalising on a bitter rift that had formed between his parents. Lord Mordain had been frantically trying to convince his wife to relocate her people to a sanctuary he called 'the Hearth'—undoubtedly the hidden refuge of the Asclepius Clan.
But the stubborn elf, Elenoir, bluntly refused to listen to her husband. In her foolish pride, she drove him away, effectively banishing the Highprince of the Asclepius Clan, a divine being whose majesty eclipsed all but Lord Indrath himself.
With Mordain gone and Eralith left solely by his mother's side, I seized the opportunity and struck.
I managed to kill the boy. But his mother... that creature was no mere lesser.
Integration Stage. A mythical plateau of power theorised millennia ago by a visionary High Sovereign of the Vritra Clan; a realm of magic considered an absolute legend, one that only lessers could ever achieve.
To make matters worse, she had somehow acquired an Asuran Beast Will: that of an Hamadryad.
It was only due to Lady Myre's direct and sudden intervention that I survived the encounter.
I had started to fear that the son of that monstrous lesser might have been reincarnated in Corvis Eralith, but nothing proved my doubts.
Calling upon a few political favours I had long held in reserve across Epheotus, I requested an audience with a Phoenix of the Amintor Clan—loyal vassals of the Heaven's Host and steadfast servants of the Indrath Clan.
But nothing; Corvis Eralith was no reincarnated person.
Amongst the highest clouds, made invisible by my aether arts, I observed Corvis Eralith's fight. He was strong, the lesser, my investments had truly been repaid and every word of his dripped with fear of his gods.
Truly nothing seemed to have changed in his loyalty to Epheotus, Everbosk as his people called it, since I first visited the fearful princeling.
Paranoia doesn't suit a dragon, least of all an Indrath, I reprimanded myself.
Corvis Eralith was just an anomalous lesser, nothing more; the only thing truly noteworthy about him was his luck to be born in time and be chosen as the Epheotus' pawn.
Bairon Wykes, Lance of Sapin, crashed to the ground next, Corvis Eralith driving his sword into the back of the human mage.
I started my descent from the sky, intending to observe the aftermath from a closer vantage point.
Corvis Eralith was now approaching the patriarch of this human family, the one who had been swayed to Alacrya's side. Not that it was surprising; lessers always had the wretched habit of being easily manipulated by Agrona Vritra and his clan.
My gaze drifted back to Bairon Wykes. Corvis Eralith spared him, knowing his value to Dicathen—the boy's father had informed him of the Lances' existence, and he had rightly deduced Bairon's identity.
However, what if Corvis Eralith was attempting to hoard this power for himself, rather than acting strictly as an extension of Epheotus? Such paranoia was unbefitting of a being of my stature, but the Commonwealth of the Great Eight had grand designs for the boy.
I could not allow this lingering doubt to fester any longer.
I had to be absolutely certain that Corvis Eralith harboured no sentiments or loyalties that might be traceable to the half-breed son of Mordain Asclepius.
In the eyes of the Great Eight—outside of the Indrath Clan itself—my assigned role was simply to oversee the lesser civilisations. But that tedious, demeaning task was far from the whole truth.
My position had initially been created to hunt down the renegades of the Asclepius Clan, well before the theories arose suggesting they had joined forces with Agrona Vritra upon his rebellion.
These theories even posited that it was Mordain Asclepius himself who had pushed Agrona Vritra to assassinate his own father, exploiting the deep connection his daughter, Dawn Asclepius, shared with the Vritra Clan.
But no matter the truth of those ancient politics, I had to completely dissipate my doubts regarding Corvis, while simultaneously reminding the lesser exactly who his masters were.
I touched down softly upon the scorched soil of the human estate, effortlessly catching the battered lesser before his knees could hit the ground.
His Guardian Bear cast a low, sideways glance towards me, her beastly instincts immediately recognising exactly what I was.
"A truly admiring feat of servitude, Corvis," I said. "Lord Indrath shall be pleased."
From the folds of my uniform, I retrieved a small crystal vial containing a potent healing concoction brewed by the healers of the Indrath Clan—masters of the Vivum arts of aether.
I poured the glowing, viscous liquid into Corvis Eralith's mouth, firmly massaging his throat to force the unconscious boy to swallow the draught.
Once his breathing steadied, I unceremoniously propped the lesser against the thick flank of his bond, Selene 17.
The Guardian Bear had been forged by Wren Kain IV, deemed a mere failed experiment by the reclusive Titan, and carelessly abandoned in Dicathen until she had eventually bonded with this boy.
"Your creator would be... surprised to hear you survived," I told the Guardian Bear, which growled back at me mentioning her creator. "No, the Indrath Clan will not separate you from Corvis Eralith."
As I waited for Corvis Eralith to regain consciousness, I approached the fallen human Lance.
The treaty between the Commonwealth of the Great Eight of Epheotus and the High Sovereignty of the Alacryan Dominions explicitly prohibited direct Asuran interference in the squabbles of lessers.
However, if I steered Corvis to execute the compromised Lance himself, it would serve two distinct purposes while still maintaining the treaty:
First, it would purge this festering paranoia—this distinctly un-dragon-like dread clawing at my mind—that this mere lesser might be the reincarnation of a halfbreed.
Second, it would act as the next vital phase in his grooming, forging Corvis Eralith into the perfect, obedient proxy for both Epheotus and, first and foremost, of my Lord.
Corvis Eralith
The river of time's currents echoed in my head as I slept, on the border between life and death. I could hear the distant churning of the Warworn Rapids, and the peaceful lull of the Truce-Waters mixed into one symphony of the afterlife.
A biting cold seeped into my bones, and I subconsciously reached for the warmth of my newly acquired fire magic to banish the chill.
Where was I? My eyelids felt like lead, yet I fought to pry them open.
A naive, desperate part of me hoped I would open them to my bedchamber in the Royal Palace.
I wanted to be back in Zestier, with Berna sprawled lazily across the floor. I wanted the crisp morning breeze rolling through the wide-open window, carrying the rich perfume of the Elshire Forest.
I wanted the chirping of Soleil, her familiar greetings, Tessia hammering on my door while Grandpa bellowed at her to stop, and Mom and Dad waiting patiently in the hall.
Instead, my vision focused on a scene of absolute devastation.
I was lying against Berna's thick coat, but that was where the comforts ended.
The sprawling estate of Fiery House Wykes, situated in the countryside west of Marlow, had been reduced to a smoking ruin. Stubborn flames still licked at the shattered masonry—the lingering aftermath of my brutal clashes with Draneeve, Otis, his soldiers, and Bairon.
The lifeless body of the Lord of House Wykes, with his cranium pierced by my Bubblespell, lay unmoving a few meters away.
The dying fires provided the only illumination in the freezing Sapinese darkness on this thirteenth day of Winter, their hungry crackling the sole sound piercing the heavy silence.
Berna nudged her heavy snout gently against my side, a low, urgent rumble vibrating in her chest. Her large, vibrant green eyes bore into mine, desperately trying to communicate, but my mind was too clouded, my body too profoundly spent to understand.
Turning my head by agonising degrees, I searched the rubble for Lance Thunderlord.
What I saw congealed the blood in my veins.
Windsom Indrath stood tall and imperious near Bairon's unconscious body, Fiorwato still piercing him and stopping his magic like a power switch.
His eyes that looked like mirror galaxies turned to look at me.
"You are awake, good," the Overseer of Dicathen said, extracting my weapon from Bairon's back with a ruthless movement of his wrist before offering it to me. "Your weapon Corvis."
I scrambled to my feet, eager to kneel and play my part right, but my body protested as I made my every movement, forcing me to the ground.
"L-Lord Windsom!" I exclaimed. "I-I apologize for the scene!"
"Don't bother kneeling Corvis," Windsom said, retreating the cane-like case of Fiorwato too, but not offering it to me. "You have served Everbosk well."
I took Fiorwato confused, not understanding what Windsom was doing. The Overseer of Dicathen then moved back toward Bairon.
"There is still one thing I require from you, Corvis," the Dragon said and my heart started to race despite my every attempt to stay calm. "We can suffer no the Vritra servants to live. Bairon Wykes has to die."
"W-what?!" I stammered, not knowing what to say or do.
Killing Bairon?! No! I couldn't kill a Lance, not one as powerful and as important as Bairon!
"But Lord Windsom, we need Bairon! He is innocent in all of this!" I exclaimed, but my voice came out weak—both because of fatigue and anxiety. "He is a Lance, he will be a breathtaking soldier against the Vritra!"
What even was the reason for Windsom to desire to kill Bairon? It didn't make any sense! The Lances have been made to defend Dicathen against Alacrya by the Indrath themselves in the first place!
"Your optimism is commendable, Corvis, but naive," Windsom said. "Lances have died and new Lances have been made for centuries before the birth of you or your family; they are expendable. Now, do it."
"W-why me?" I asked, trying to buy me time.
"We Asuras cannot do anything to guide you lessers directly, but you have already done all of this yourself, Corvis," Windsom said. "It is only right that now you finish what you started."
Windsom narrowed his eyes, as if he was trying to bait me into something. He was reasserting Epheotus' ownership over my person, I realized. Maybe because I had spent so much time without direct instructions from the Overseer of Dicathen and he now thought necessary to remind me my place.
I stood up, helped by Berna and leaning over Fiorwato, using it as a cane even if the blade was still unsheathed.
Bairon remained entirely motionless; Windsom must have done something to paralyse him, ensuring the Lance couldn't flee the moment he removed Fiorwato from his back.
I knew Windsom and the rest of Epheotus couldn't care less whether or not Bairon was affiliated with an Alacryan sympathiser.
In the novel, the Asuras had spared Blaine and Priscilla Glayder despite their direct collusion with the Greysunders to serve Agrona.
This was never a matter of treason. Stripped of the grandiose rhetoric and its thin veil of righteous justice, Windsom was essentially asking me one simple, brutal question:
"If Lord Indrath commanded it, would you kill the very Dicathians you wish to protect?"
No!
I turned to look at Windsom and through an aching throat, I uttered the word of command:
"Unleash."
—
Physically, I was in peak condition.
Inner Current coursed through my nervous system like a torrential river, flooding my nervous system with the restorative chill of Trucewater. The setting light of Mordain bathed the Sapinese countryside in bruised shades of amber and gold, the distant peaks of the Grand Mountains standing as silent spectators to the violence that was about to unfurl—again.
Mentally, however, I was utterly devastated.
The Trucewater anchored my concentration, forcing my consciousness into a sterile flow state, but it couldn't rewrite my emotions; it only marginally dulled the ache.
"Uncle?" Chul's heavy hand shook my left shoulder, while Berna nudged my right flank.
"I'm all right. We just need to make a few corrections to the plan," I murmured, calling Solleandro with a sharp whistle.
The golden canary elegantly pierced the membrane of the Bubblespell concealing us, bowing his tiny head as he alighted upon my outstretched finger.
"Yes, my Highprince?" he asked.
"We will not attempt to draw the Overseer's attention," I commanded quietly. "It is simply too dangerous."
"As the Highprince desires," Solleandro proclaimed. "I shall return to New Farethra, then."
With a subtle shift of REmould, I dissolved the features of Leòn Leurenzian into the visage of Kai Crestless.
Then, I began the raid on the Wykes estate all over again.
—
Having fought Draneeve twice already, I required no assistance from Chul to finish him this time around.
The moment I shattered the spymaster's guard, effortlessly shrugging off the violent interference of his runic magic as it attempted to ignite my skin, I dismantled the Alacryan leader in three rapid, ever-changing and ruthless strikes:
First, shifting into the dwarven identity of Finn Warend, I invoked Massbinding. Just as I had done in the previous loops, I applied sheer, opposing gravitational forces to cleanly snap his right arm and strip him of his kukri.
Second, I dissolved the disguise to return to my true form as Corvis Eralith. Channelling every ounce of my boiling frustration toward Windsom into the thrust, I drove Fiorwato straight through the Alacryan's abdomen, feeling the blade sever flesh and spine.
Finally, the appearance of Nabyun Asclepius washed over my features. The Flame of Dicathen flared to life, utterly devouring Draneeve. The roaring, rainbow-tinged inferno reduced the Alacryan to swirling ash, executing the spymaster for the third time.
Leaving the remaining Alacryan forces to Chul, I pivoted toward the estate of Fiery House Wykes above, and that aristocratic bastard, Otis—bracing myself to endure the wrath of Lance Thunderlord all over again.
—
Once again, I tried to reason with Bairon, attempting a different angle to pry his eyes open to the truth. But his indoctrination was rooted far too deeply. Even though invoking Lucas's name visibly rattled the Lance's composure, it simply wasn't enough to force him to turn his back on Fiery House Wykes and his father.
I should have expected as much.
In the novel, it took the brutal death of Lucas, nearly being butchered at the hands of Cadell Vritra, the catastrophic loss of the war, and months spent surviving in hiding alongside my Grandpa just to begin fracturing Lance Thunderlord's worldview.
The man was unyieldingly loyal to his principles, no matter if they were wrong—I had to grant him that.
Now; Berna and Bairon were locked in fight, my Guardian Bear throwing claws with Lance Thunderlord as I caught my breath after defeating each and every the guard of Fiery House Wykes.
With the thunderous clash of Lance and bear as background noise, I studied my surroundings. I had to know if Windsom was watching, because if he was then all of this was useless.
I could defeat Bairon a hundred times, kill Draneeve a thousand more and execute Otis for millions of repetitions, but if the result was always that of Windsom ordering me to put to death a Lance then all of it would be useless.
But no matter where I looked the Dragon, adept in the aether arts of the Edict of Spatium, was nowhere to be seen.
It meant I just had to gamble on this loop.
Torrents of lightning roared and crackled around Lance Thunderlord as he clashed with Berna. Arcs of pure electrical mana snapped like whips through the air as Bairon drove his spear forward in a devastating lunge aimed straight for the bear's neck.
Berna snapped her head downward, catching the electrified shaft squarely between her teeth. Her fangs blazed with sizzling flames, both combatants locked in a brutal stalemate, snarling and grunting as they strained to overpower the other's hold.
I forced my focus back to the present, casting Windsom's looming shadow from my mind.
Sprinting toward the Lance, I closed the distance with Fiorwato slicing cleanly through the charged air.
I called upon all four elements at once. The distinct emerald gems making Fiorwato's blade flared to life in unison, answering the blinding activation of the Quadra-Elemental Greatrune across my lower back.
A volatile symphony of mana trailed my blade as I broke into a rapid double-spin, pivoting hard on the ball of my foot to violently multiply my kinetic momentum.
I became a walking hurricane: a localised tempest of roaring gales carrying a deadly payload of fractured stone and superheated water, kept forcibly liquid only by the sheer, crushing atmospheric pressure of my mana.
"Berna!" I bellowed.
Reacting instantly through our subconscious bond, my Guardian Bear released her bite and reared up.
Invoking her innate gravity magic, she increased her mass a hundredfold and slammed her impossibly heavy paws squarely down onto Bairon's square shoulders, pinning the Lance in place.
Empowered at the absolute last microsecond by the Articles of Justice and Balance, my quadra-elemental storm collided with the Wykes.
As the devastating strike connected, the gemsteel of Fiorwato let out a deafening, brassy resonance that blared like a military trumpet.
And yet my fleeting triumph was shattered by the sheer, unadulterated power of Bairon's peerless lightning magic.
With a world-shaking roar that thundered like the fiercest of tempests, Lance Thunderlord's silhouette rose from the very centre of my quadra-elemental storm.
The outline of his arm ascended with agonising slowness, brute-forcing its way upward against the crushing weight of the elemental onslaught.
"Thunder's—Hand!" Bairon Wykes chanted, his voice echoing like a thunderclap across the Sapinese countryside.
The five distinct forks of lightning, the signature of his devastating spell, ruptured the air.
Instead of lashing outward, though, the electrical currents condensed into a hyper-dense, crackling sphere that violently destabilised the equilibrium of my quadra-elemental vortex.
A microsecond later, it detonated, bursting into a myriad of deadly javelins of blinding energy.
Berna reacted faster than me. Tackling me to the turf, she pinned me flat beneath her massive bulk to shield my body from the impending electrical bombardment.
Operating on pure survival instinct, I conjured a vacuum-sealed Bubblespell over us both, rapidly reinforcing the translucent dome of water mana with layered Articles and thick, interlocking plates of stone and earth mana.
My bond growled in pain, the power of Bairon enough to harm even her when fully focused.
I conjured Bubblespell after Bubblespell, but none did work; despite my sight being covered by Berna's fur, I still heard my Bubblespells being pierced like paper under Bairon's many javelins.
"Berna! Berna, get off me!" I screamed, thrashing beneath her overwhelming mass in a frantic attempt to break her hold. "You're going to harm yourself! Or... or worse!"
She refused to yield, stubbornly enduring the bombardment until the apocalyptic storm finally passed.
When she eventually pulled back, it was already too late. Her beautiful hazel coat was a ruined battlefield of its own now: patches of fur were completely carbonised, and angry, branching Lichtenberg figures of scorched skin ravaged her broad back.
A sickening wave of agony crashed into my own mind. Despite her desperate attempts to dam the sensation and keep it from seeping across our bond, the connection was simply too deep.
I felt every raw, searing nerve ending she was trying to hide; she was completely spent, utterly incapable of continuing the fight.
As Evascir told me, differently from all Guardian Bears, Berna's spellcasting was entirely dependent on the volume of raw metals she had consumed prior to combat.
And she had burned through every last ounce of her internal reserves, using the digested metals as a physiological catalyst to transmute and wield the four basic elements of mana. She was completely empty now.
"You don't have your beast to protect you any longer," Bairon said, his tone full of anger as he stepped toward and his feet freeing dangerous discharges into the ground. "This is the power of Fiery House Wykes, intruder; this is my power."
Bairon Wykes launched himself at me, utterly ignoring the blood welling from his forehead and seeping through the seams of his armour to stain his tunic and mat his pale hair.
His sole, consuming goal was my annihilation.
In that split second a chilling realisation washed over me.
This was not the Bairon Wykes I knew from the pages of the novel, and he never could be. By his own admission he would have sided with Alacrya before all the events of the novel—events I was adamant on preventing.
He was nothing but a blind zealot, entirely hollowed out by the toxic indoctrination of Fiery House Wykes.
And, most unforgivably of all, he had dared to hurt my Guardian Bear; my innocent, silly Berna.
I was the Arbiter of Fate: the absolute authority to determine who deserved salvation and who warranted execution belonged to me, and me alone.
Bairon Wykes would not be amongst the spared.
Lance Thunderlord surged forward with the devastating speed of the lightning he commanded, his spear descending in an ominous, lethal arc.
I didn't even attempt to raise my guard. Instead, I anchored my feet, relying entirely on the jade bracelet around my wrist (yet to be destroyed in this third loop) to absorb the blow while I primed a devastating counterattack.
The spearhead struck me dead in the sternum. The kinetic force was completely negated, though the stunning, paralytic shock of Bairon's electricity still washed over my chest; a sensation I ruthlessly flushed from my nervous system using Trucewater.
With a sharp, brittle crack, the jade bracelet overloaded, fracturing into a shower of fine green dust.
I didn't miss a beat. Sweeping Fiorwato upward in a brutal, skyward arc, I ignited the maroon Flame of Sapin along the emerald blade.
Woven seamlessly into the fire were a thousand microscopic Bubblespells, each one containing a highly compressed sonic spell.
The flaming sword fizzed and crackled with the tiny orbs, effervescent, like a very carbonated soda, and slammed directly into Bairon's lowered guard.
Then, the payload detonated.
The overlapping sonic booms erupted simultaneously, roaring with the concussive fury of the fiercest of World Lions.
The sheer kinetic recoil hit like a battering ram, launching me violently backwards through the air, but Lance Thunderlord was sent hurtling right alongside me.
We crashed into the earth on opposite sides of the ruined Wykes courtyard.
Despite the crippling damage radiating through our respective bodies, we both forced ourselves back to our feet almost instantly, driven by sheer adrenaline and stubborn, unyielding intent.
Searing sparks of lightning burst to life within Bairon's palm, rapidly condensing into the brightest light of the night.
Bathed in the cold moonlight cast from high above by Elenoir, we stood deadlocked across the blasted expanse of the estate, tens of metres apart, weaving our final spells.
Bairon cocked his right arm back like an Olympic javelin thrower bracing for the hurl of his life; only, his weapon was forged from the pure, untamed fury of supercharged electrons.
Channelling REmould, I shifted into the dwarven form of Finn Warend. I retrieved his crossbow from my dimensional storage ring while simultaneously drawing up a dense bolt of compacted stone from the cratered dirt beneath my boots.
In a fraction of a second, I engraved the crude ammunition with a matrix of overlapping Articles, preparing Massbinding to accelerate the projectile to the velocity of a cruise missile.
Time seemed to dilate, stretching into an agonising crawl as I sighted down the heavy weapon, aiming dead at Bairon's lower legs.
Inner Current locked the course of actions into my mind: shatter his mobility, close the gap in the ensuing chaos, and drive Fiorwato straight through his spine in an exact replication of my execution strike from the previous loop.
Three...
Two...
One...
The standoff broke and we unleashed our attacks in the exact same heartbeat.