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Chapter 31 Rising arc
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 09:48:19 +0000 UTCPdf and epub versions below. Marcus took a deep breath, arms like lead and legs like jelly. At least his Royal Guards wouldn't care, which m
Pdf and epub versions below.
Marcus took a deep breath, arms like lead and legs like jelly. At least his Royal Guards wouldn't care, which meant he could pant as he wished, but holy Hells he was sore.
He should have known that Elly’s insistence on taking over his martial training was a trap. A vicious, elegant and ruthless trap that delighted in knocking him to the floor.
Oh, she pretended otherwise. Even played at being a good instructor, teaching him some ‘basic’ tricks and techniques. Marcus groaned again, shaking his arms to get some life back into the useless waste of muscle.
His Royal Guards stiffened, Marcus straightening after a moment. He wiped any trace of exhaustion from his face, nodding at Elly as she joined him. By her grin he wasn’t overly successful, but he kept it up regardless.
As a kid he learned willpower was one of the fundamental building blocks of magic, and the School of Life had sharpened it further. This was nothing.
Hells, it seemed the only thing she was actually impressed by; my ability to endure suffering.
“How are you feeling,” she asked, tone innocent. Her eyes weren’t, and though she had to look up to stare at him properly, she all but seemed to loom. “You exerted yourself quite heavily out there.”
Marcus cleared his throat, tone almost perfectly normal. “It was good practice. Nothing I won’t be able to keep doing.”
“Good, good.” Elly sniffed, Marcus raising an eyebrow. If she expected him to smell like roses and sunshine after just throwing him into the dirt over and over, then sh- “Why do you smell like healing magic? You said you wouldn't need it for such ‘trivial bruises’.”
She can smell different kinds of magic now?! “OMarcus took a deep breath, arms like lead and legs like jelly. At least his Royal Guards wouldn't judge, meaning he could pant as he wished, but holy Hells he was sore.
He should have known that Elly’s insistence on taking over his martial training was a trap. A vicious, elegant and ruthless trap where she delighted in knocking him to the floor.
Oh, she pretended otherwise. Even played at being a good instructor, teaching him some ‘basic’ tricks and techniques. Marcus groaned again, shaking his arms to get some feeling back into the useless waste of muscle.
His Royal Guards stiffened, Marcus straightening at the que. He wiped any trace of exhaustion from his face, nodding at Elly as she joined him. Judging by her grin he wasn’t overly successful, but he kept it up regardless.
As a kid he learned willpower was one of the fundamental building blocks of magic, and the School of Life had sharpened it further. This was nothing.
Hells, it seemed the only thing she was actually impressed by; my ability to endure suffering.
“How are you feeling,” she asked, tone innocent. Her eyes weren’t, and though she had to look up to stare at him properly, she all but seemed to loom. “You exerted yourself quite heavily out there.”
Marcus cleared his throat, tone almost perfectly normal. “It was good practice. Nothing I won’t be able to keep up with.”
“Good, good.” Elly sniffed, Marcus raising an eyebrow. If she expected him to smell like roses and sunshine after just throwing him into the dirt over and over, then sh- “Why do you smell like healing magic? You said you wouldn't need it for such ‘trivial bruises’.”
She can smell different kinds of magic now?! “One of the guards was wounded. It felt only right to offer my assistance.”
The Royal Guards seemed very determined to stay well enough out of this, which he supposed was fair. Him dragging them in regardless was his right as King. Probably. He’d make a law starting such or something.
Elly grinned, turning away and towards the tent. “If you say so. What do we have to do now? I had so much fun it seems to have slipped my mind.”
“The meeting between Loyalists, Moderates and Isolationists,” he replied, more than happy to move on. “Slapping down the usual infighting, you know how it is. Promoting Baroness Soema, choosing a temporary Heir, pressing our advantage now that the war weakened the Moderates standing, the works.”
“Ah yes. Should be fun. I personally would be somewhat hesitant to play my hand after my long-term trading partners straight up invaded the place, especially when I used to argue for more cooperation and less security.”
“There is that, yes. Mind if I do the talking?”
Elly shrugged. “They’re your nobles. Go nuts.”
Marcus nodded, pulling up his Kingly face as they moved towards the meeting tent. A larger structure, big enough for a dozen people to stand comfortable around a folding table. Elly was likewise growing colder, the friendliness and mocking tone vanishing beneath discipline.
Heh. Kingly face.
It was the last moment of humor he allowed himself before letting the mask slide fully into place. Confident, deliberate, unflappable. The image of unassailable nobility.
So Marcus walked into the tent containing three of the most powerful men and women in the country, two of which he’d considered his so-called rivals. But that had been the wrong mindset, he’d realized. The wrong way to look at them.
The Moderates and Isolationist lobbied for policies the Crown does not currently pursue, that much was true, but that did not make them rivals. It made them nobility, not peers, and Marcus was not a particularly powerful Baroness. Neither was he a Duke, governing nearly a third of the Kingdom.
He was the King. Hargraf and Soema both owed him their loyalty, the former more directly than the latter. Elly hadn’t been wrong when she said Hargraf was in a difficult position.
The Duke was more than eager to profit from controlling nearly all trade with the Empire, but now there was no trade. No potential alliance to facilitate. Now there was war, and Hargraf looked very much like he’d allied with the invaders.
Not that the man had done so, of course. He’d already be hanging from a tree if that had been the case.
The three others were already inside, Duke Helios the first to notice. The man straightened, followed by his fellow Duke and finally the Baroness. All three remained silent, most likely because of the look on Elly's face. It was carved from granite, sweeping over them before landing on Hargraf.
But, as agreed, she didn’t speak up. Marcus cleared his throat. “Duke Hargraf, your nephew has been caught attempting to bribe a commander of the Royal Mirranian Army, trying to secure himself a position of command. What do you say in his defence?”
“Only that he is eager to offer his apologies in person, should you see fit to release him from confinement,” Hargraf answered, his weathered face showing no emotion. The man bowed. “As that has not yet happened, you shall have my apology instead. He is young and foolish, though this blunder has no doubt taught him a great deal.”
“And you, Baroness Soema? It came to my attention that the Duke’s nephew only saw fit to act so brazenly because Baron Grayad whispered sweet temptation during pillow talk.”
Soema bowed her head. “Baron Grayad acted foolishly himself, and has been reprimanded by both myself and his father. The young act before thinking, especially while in love.”
“That I have little doubt of,” Marcus replied, tone somewhat dry. “Yet it highlights the current issue quite nicely. The political infighting has to end. The Empire is here, and it is here to conquer the last independent land on Ablios. I don’t care for your plausible deniability, though it has spared both your subordinates the noose. The infighting ends.”
Duke Helios, the man having remained as silent as Elly, raised an eyebrow. The leader of the Loyalists hadn’t been involved in this particular plot, though seeing how the man was currently enjoying a position of trust, neither did he need to be. Soema bowed her head again, a tad lower this time. “Your mercy does you credit.”
“Mercy has nothing to do with it,” he replied, waving at Elly. “One of the main issues, as my wife has observed firsthand, is the power imbalance. An issue that has only grown worse since your alliance, then the invasion. You, Duke Hargraf, are scrambling to switch income streams now that the Empire has shown itself an unreliable trading partner, and you, Baroness Soema, are worried your faction won’t survive the invasion at all.”
No immediate reply came, though Duke Hargraf almost looked nervous. The man held no real power anymore, not with his army far from ready and his lands on fire, so Marcus could rather easily destroy the man's political career. Kill him for gross incompetence, even though that would cause issues after the war.
“Baroness Soema, in light of the current crisis I am elevating you to the rank of Duchess. Your territory has long since been without one, and despite recent tension between the Isolationists and the Crown, you are a stabilizing element within the kingdom. I am, however, limiting this nomination to a term of five years. After this period all Barons in your territory will vote on a new Duke, though the Crown reserves the right to veto candidates or favor them, depending on their performance.”
Soema blinked, actually seeming surprised. Hargraf, in contrast, looked almost defeated, probably assuming the favors granted to the Isolationists would subtract from his territory. And had Marcus been a more vicious man, or rules without Vess to advise him, he very well might have done so.
Marcus moved on before the Duchess could recover from her surprise, turning to Duke Hargraf. “No matter the outcome of this war, the Moderates are in serious financial trouble. Your lands will need time to recover, trade with the Empire will struggle—be that because of annexation and a shortage of trade goods or due to rising tensions when we fight off the invasion—and you will keep plotting to fix it. Your niece will become the new overseer of all monster processing in Redwater, and your House is to receive twenty percent of its profits. It won’t replace what you have lost, but it will stem the financial bleeding.”
“I…” The Duke trailed off, recovering more quickly than the Dutchess. “That is beyond generous, you Grace. I gratefully accept. My niece will perform her duties admirably.”
“She's smart, I’m aware. That’s why I chose her. Helios, your son will be named Steward of the Crown for the remainder of this war. Should both myself and Elly perish, it is his, and your, duty to oversee the transition of power.”
The Duke nodded mutely, seemingly not wishing to interrupt now. Marcus looked at the three politicians, eyes growing colder. “This is an offer, my Lords and Lady. An invitation to work alongside the Crown. It is also a warning. Step out of line, work against the Crown, and these gifts will be revoked alongside your right to life. Am I understood?”
The three nobles bowed, Elly looking at him with a gleam of interest in her eyes, and Marcus let time stretch for a few seconds before speaking again.
“Very good. Let’s work out the details, and then we have a war to fight.”
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
Marcus grimaced, Vess looking at him as she took back the empty potion vial. He put one hand on his forehead, closing his eyes as he resisted the urge to hiss in pain.
“It will get better,” she soothed. “The more the headache subsides in frequency the more they hurt. One, perhaps two more and your memory fatigue will be healed entirely.”
He shook his head, focusing on a relatively simple magical exercise to distract himself. Five telekinetic matrices sprung to life, taking up five quills and dry writing on the desk. “I sure hope so. The closest it has come to being a true danger was when I almost tripped down the stairs, but now we’re at war. If these come mid-battle it could well turn deadly.
“So it could,” Vess agreed, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Which is why you won’t be alone. You and Elly together make for a very strong pair, as do the Royal Guards fighting with you. If it does happen, retreat. Better a blow to your reputation than your skull.”
“Glad to know you’ll be a safe distance away, at least. You being immortal and everything makes combat a terrifying prospect.”
Vess grinned, her eyes seeming to darken. Literally, at that, slowly shifting from green to a deep blue. “Oh, I won’t be far. It will be fun to properly let loose. The blood on your face, the ache in your limbs, holding a sword drenched in blood. One of life’s hidden pleasures.”
“Sometimes I forget you’re actually a demon,” Marcus replied dryly. “But good to know you’ll be having fun, I guess.”
“Don’t worry, young sproutling. I’ll only kill those who aren’t you.”
“Don’t call me that. And you mean ‘you and yours’, right?”
“I said what I said.”
He shook his head, wincing immediately when it aggravated his headache, and spent the next few minutes clutching his traitorous head. Breathing through the pain, his familiarity with it not making the experience any more fun.
“You did well with the Dukes and Duchess,” Vess said, keeping her voice low. “Binding Hargraf close to the Crown will keep him from turning against you fully, and Soema owes you for her new position. Helios would probably have stayed loyal even had you given him nothing, but honoring his son was a good move and solidified ties of loyalty to go beyond your father. I’m glad our planning worked out.”
Marcus snorted. “Your planning, you mean. I’m a middling politician at best.”
“The King is not powerful because he is a master of all things,” she replied. “Knowing when to listen to advice is a skill far more important to rule than almost any other.”
He grunted, feeling the headache recede ever so slowly. “You’re only nice to me when I’m in pain. I find that suspicious.”
“Yes, you’ve caught me. By being nice and helping you, my ultimate scheme of being your friend is growing ever closer to fruition. Soon I will enjoy such benefits as… so remind me what I get out of this contract again?”
“A sense of purpose?”
Vess folded her ponytail over one shoulder, giving him a look. “Yes, purpose. Let’s go with that. I’m going to interpret your snark to mean the pain is receding.”
“So it is. I’m going to walk off the rest, show my Kindly face and all.”
She shrugged, bending to retrieve a book as he turned to leave. The moment he stepped outside the Royal Guards moved to follow, leaving Vess unprotected in the process. A bit harsh, but the demon was immortal. There was nothing anyone, save for a very skilled mage, could really do to her.
Their camp was a hive of activity, as usual. Four days of marching had seemingly worked out the kinks in its organization, everyone seeming to move just a little more smoothly as routine was established, though Marcus supposed only about a quarter of the soldiers here had any real battle experience.
But the benefit of training fresh recruits, despite all the many downsides, was obvious. Glaring, almost, as whole companies stood to salute his passing. Men and women who’d trained to fight for him and Elly, not for some Lord. Not for those who administered their lands, but for the Crown.
No nobles promoting officers based on family ties rather than competence. No veteran soldiers with prior allegiance. Just ambitious farmers and hard-knuckled women signing up to earn coin with a sword in hand, their only true point of loyalty being to one another and the person paying for it all.
Him.
Well, that and loyalty to the country, seeking a legal means to kill or following family traditions.
Still, how much money it cost. With Hargraf now also taking a fifth of one of Redwaters most lucrative income streams, the treasury was becoming light. Too light, some would argue, though the invasion had put that argument to rest.
A problem for another time. He entered a quieter section of the camp, filled with craftsmen more than soldiers, and Marcus hummed quietly as he kept moving. There was something, though. Something in the air. He’d been feeling it even before the Empire attacked, the drums of war beating in the far distance, and this felt similar.
Similar but different. He performed a sweep for the demonic, an old habit from the School of Life, and the matrix weaved together without pause. Not a regular one, either. No, this was specifically designed to trace the faintest sources of influence, though he’d expected many false positives due to his own mages.
Still, it calmed his mind as the magic swept forth, retur-
Instinct screamed as he heard metal cleave through air, his first reflex to summon his defensive suite. His second was to step to the side, a small and measured move focused wholly on speed. A blade passed over his shoulder, missing his skull by no more than an inch, and bit lightly into his cheek.
The cut stung, but Marcus was already moving. Spinning up his defenses, his concentration shattering as his own Royal Guard turned the near miss into a full body tackle. They went down in a tangle of limbs, his martial skill failing him as the madman pushed a dagger past his defenses and into his side.
Pain blanked his mind, but as conscious thought ceased animal instinct roared to life. Marcus weaved his shield, the shield he’d spent hundreds of hours perfecting, and it snapped into space moments later.
The Royal Guard was pushed back, pain hissed into Marcus’ mind, and something felt familiar. Instinct gave the answer where reason would have needed time, his mind focusing on a single word as the mad warrior threw himself forwards again.
Shapeshifter.
His full defensive suite snapped in place, the demon bouncing off it almost comically, and a moment later a small shape was thrown to the ground. Marcus looked down, realizing it was a mistake the moment he did it, and then it exploded.
Light and sound crashed into him like a wave, but his often-overlooked sensation tolerance and environmental protection finally saw some use. The light was filtered away, nothing more than a brief flash of distraction, and the sound reached his ears as nothing more than a particularly loud clap.
The remaining Royal Guards, however, flinched back. Stunned, grasping their helmets or blindly stumbling backwards. Marcus didn’t pay them any more attention, categorizing them as temporarily useless and focusing back on the demon.
Four out of his five matrices were occupied, one remaining free. With his stunned guards so close elementalism was out of the question, so a telekinetic tentacle of pure force sprung from his shoulder. Curled around his body, shooting unerringly at the shapeshifter.
The demon sprung to the side, stepping closer as Marcus fully rolled to his feet. He stepped aside again as it got close, the thing managing to correct course quickly enough to cut at him again, but compared to Elly’s blows, the hit barely drained his shield.
It seemed to realize that, shifting as armor started falling away. Shouting was starting to spread throughout the camp, nearby soldiers and craftsmen pulling away from their work to assist, but all were too far.
He even saw Vess approaching atop her own mount, face carved into cold fury and wielding a lance of all things. It would take long seconds for her to get close, though. Too long, as with everyone else seeking to assist.
His tentacle of force twisted, clipping it in the leg as Marcus stepped closer. His inertia damper fell away as arcane space groaned, the single moment all he needed. The demon cried in alarm as its body twisted, split in two as reality tore apart. One half fell to the right, almost perfectly cleaved in half, as the other fell forwards.
Vess arrived seconds later, lance and mount vanishing as she jumped off. A curved sword appeared in their place, Marcus’ Royal Guards slowly getting up.
His headache returned with a vengeance, but spatial manipulation was the first attack he’d thought of that wouldn't kill his guards. For all its horrific power, it was surprisingly precise.
Marcus turned to Vess, a question on his lips, and stopped as he saw a crossbow being raised behind her. Runes were etched along the bolt, runes he recognized from his time in the School of Life, and he moved a split second before the woman fired.
The bolt tore through his shield, his adaptive recharge matrix unraveling at the disruption runes etched into the projectile, and he felt it slam into his lightly armored shoulder. Marcus fell backwards, rolling with the blow to get back to his feet.
A moment later he was surrounded by Royal Guards, bodies pressing close as he cursed under his breath. He could hear an arrow finding flesh, unsure who was hit, and spoke through the pain with gritted teeth.
“Form a perimeter ten feet away, now.”
Even he realized how cold his tone was, but the guards obeyed quickly. Vess turned to him once the human shield was gone, pushing magic through her contract. Marcus nodded, eyes glancing left and right.
Soldiers had come to investigate, unsure of what was happening, and Marcus couldn't trust a single one of them. Not now, not even his Royal Guards. His contract with Vess was essentially impossible to fake, but everyone else?
Where there was one shapeshifter there could be a dozen, though as he breathed calm returned. Another wave of magic traveled outwards, showing no other demons—Vess aside—close by.
“Form up facing outwards,” Marcus barked, turning to the closest captain. “Thirty feet out, no one leaves the formation. Full shield wall.”
The man started bellowing for order at once, one of Elly’s old veterans. Good. Without chaos any other assassins would have trouble getting a clear shot, especially once shields started snapping into place. Anyone who turned inwards would be seen by the Royal Guard, if those turned inwards he’d see them himself.
Adrenaline was keeping the pain in check, for now, and with Vess watching everyone and everything he could take a moment. Solidify his defenses, think of the next logical step. A shapeshifter to distract him—kill him if able—and a mundane assassin if the demon failed. But one back-up plan was no backup plan, so if he was the one to arrange his own assassination there should b-
Marcus gasped as air was forcefully extracted from his lungs, the feeling profoundly wrong in a way he hadn’t encountered before. Vess turned to him, panic in her eyes as he grasped at his throat, and for a delicious moment he realized it must be an old air elemental indeed if it could bypass his natural resistance.
He pushed out more magic, filling his body with it as until it could take no more, but the pressure only lessened slightly. A matrix sparked to life, Vess poured what he was pretty sure was a water breathing potion down his throat, neither her efforts nor his own did anything. The liquid was pushed out, his own matrix failing when he realized he knew no spell to counter this.
His vision darkened, space sparking wildly as he mentally grabbed it without using a matrix or runes, and Marcus pushed. Vess stepped closer as two feet became two hundred, the Royal Guards and confused soldiers pushing back.
The effects lessened more, but not enough. He could vaguely see a cloud of rolling winds rise in the distance, coming closer to strengthen the asphyxiation, and as his eyes unfocused he pushed more. Space pushed back, his raw manipulation of reality unraveling as his mind started running low on oxygen.
He heard crossbows open fire and knew it would do nothing, not against an elemental that powerful, and heard Vess pivot as another presence bloomed. Something dark, dripping with power in a way few things did.
The Demon Knight. Marcus gasped in great gulps of air moments after another weapon fired, a bow draped with intent so focused on death that the elemental could do nothing to change its path. Marcus didn’t care about the details, not when blessed oxygen was finally returned to his lungs.
Vess murmured soothing words as Marcus fought the urge to hyperventilate, knowing steady breathing worked better yet feeling tempted to succumb to base instincts. He saw Elly arrive a moment later, blazing with Life energy to the point he knew it could be no one else but her.
He waved his hand when Vess pointed her weapon at the Queen, not trusting himself to speak. Vess seemed to understand regardless, sheathing the weapon with a hiss.
Elly crouched next to him, ignoring everyone else. “What in the Hells happened?”
Marcus tried speaking, only managing to cough loudly, and decided Royal Decorum could go fuck itself. He let himself fall backwards, staring at the sky as he tried to control his breathing.
What the fuck did just happen?
