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Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 64 - Scions of nobility - Part One
🕑 Added 2023-05-02 16:05:51 +0000 UTCOgre Tyrant: Chapter 64 - Scions of nobility - Part One
Remotely checking in on Gric, I was relieved to find that he appeared to be alright. The death of his Summoned projection had been particularly gruesome and I had feared that some form of trauma would pass onto Gric himself.
Reassured, I shifted my focus toward resettling the Felids.
After taking on my true form and wearing a new set of clean clothes, I used my authority to return to Acheron.
The Vine Heart had hidden away inside one of the crude huts I had created for the refugees. No doubt to avoid scaring the refugees any more than it already had.
With a thought, I used my authority to relocate the Thorn Heart to the bank of The Grove’s lake.
The Felids were still gathered where I had last seen them.
I was unsure if Sebet had told them I would be coming, but the leaders of the Felids moved to greet me as if they had anticipated my arrival.
The tallest of the Felids was only three feet tall and roughly six inches of that height came from their large ears, and unlike the Gnolls and canine Kobolds, the Felids didn’t have a single dominant fur pattern or colour.
To their credit, the Felid leaders did not appear to be openly afraid of me. Or, at least, I didn’t think they were. Their bestial features made it difficult to identify more subtle emotional reactions, so there was a chance that they were just putting on a brave front and I simply couldn’t tell the difference. I didn’t know much about cats either, so the movements of their ears and tails didn’t offer any insight either.
“We greet Living-Mountain and pay respect,” the three Felid leaders declared in unison, lowering their heads briefly before staring up at me with their rich emerald eyes.
Living-Mountain. It wasn’t an entirely inaccurate name, all things considered.
“You are welcome in my lands,-” I replied before looking at each of them in turn. “-Stalks-Shadows, Spirits-Whispers, and Wind-Dancer.” Pulling information from the registry on the fly was almost second nature to me at this point.
“Many thanks to you, Living-Mountain,” the tallest Felid, Spirits-Whispers, bowed his head respectfully again, the milky white pupil of his scarred left eye shimmering slightly as the damaged lens within caught the light.
All three of the Felid leaders bore a collection of prominently visible scars. Some looked older than others, but most appeared to be comparatively recent.
“Do you know why the Slavers took you and your people?” I asked curiously.
The three Felids glanced uncertainly at one another.
“Taken for Slaves, Living-Mountain,” Wind-Dancer replied respectfully but also with a clear note of hesitation in her voice.
I realised the mistake I had made and decided to shift topics.
“Can you tell me about your old home?” I asked. There was a chance that I might be able to Conquer the floor containing their original home and restore it to them. However, my primary concern was matching them with an environment they would be accustomed to.
“All is ashes...” Stalks-Shadows replied hoarsely before taking a long pull from one of the waterskins that had accompanied the rations provided earlier.
It took a moment for the Felid’s words to properly sink in. “They set fire to your home.” It wasn’t a question. Now that I knew what to look for, I could see the signs for myself. Each floor of the Labyrinths was finite. If the Felids had been escaping the Slavers by climbing trees or hiding in tall grass, it made sense that the Slavers would simply set those environments ablaze to drive the Felids out of hiding.
As a whole, the Felids had the numbers to claim a territory of their own. Several other Species had established that precedent already, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the Felids wanted the same.
“What do you want in a new home?” I decided to actively steer the conversation toward the primary reason for my visit. “If I can, I will give your people a place to settle that is similar to what you once had.” With Hana and Kohana’s help, there was a very real possibility of replicating the plant life as well, but I decided it would be best to keep that to myself for now.
“Shelter, food, water,” Ghost-Whispers answered earnestly. “Lick wounds, grow strong.”
On a certain level, I had expected as much. Most monsters didn’t seem particularly attached to the environment they lived in. Ghost-Whispers had summed it up in three words. Shelter, food, and water. So long as they were accounted for, a tribe of monsters would be reasonably content.
“Alright,” I considered the trio for a moment before deciding. Exerting my will, I transported the tribe from Acheron and into the open meadows of Sanctuary. “This is Sanctuary. My home, and yours as well, if you want it to be.”
Located just beyond the fields and orchards, the meadows were a common destination for children and their minders in the early afternoon. Many of them now looked at the new arrivals with mild curiosity.
The Felids closed ranks around their children, no doubt expecting some sort of ambush. However, when nothing happened, they slowly began to disperse again.
“Many children...” Ghost-Whispers gasped, turning this way and that.
“Many different children...” Stalks-Shadows rasped incredulously, staring at a small horde of screaming and laughing children as they chased their Gnoll minder through one of the shorter patches of grass.
“Your people are not the first I have rescued,” I commented somewhat absently as I allowed the mana-rich air to assist in regenerating my expended mana. “Take a few days to explore and make up your minds on whether you would like to stay.”
“We are free?” Wind-Dancer asked nervously.
“You are free,” I replied and motioned to the iron collar around her neck. “The keys I found during your rescue did not fit the other collars, but I will have someone remove them,” I promised.
Most Slave Collars were made of leather and could simply be cut off once I lifted the Enslavement. However, while simple in design, the locking mechanism built into the iron collars made them a different beast entirely.
As far as I was aware, the humans had all worn buckled leather collars, so it was strange for the felids to be treated so differently. The relative harmlessness of the Felids compared to other monsters only made it all the stranger.
The three Felid leaders bowed their heads in gratitude and one by one the other Felids did the same.
Our conversation had not been particularly private, and my voice carried a long distance in my natural form. So it wasn’t hard to assume that the other Felids had heard everything.
I nodded in return and then relocated myself to Sanctuary’s hospital.
I didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes before Wraithe came to investigate the cause of my visit.
“We have freed a large number of Slaves,” I explained somewhat distractedly while looking through the window beside me. “They will all need to be treated. Most will only need the salve, but some of the Felids will need more intensive care.”
“Felids?” Wraithe asked curiously, her rat-like tail twitching with interest. Unlike Sebet and Gric, Wraithe was not in the habit of actively attempting to read people's minds.
“A lot like the furry Kobolds,” I replied, deliberately making the distinction from the scaled Kobolds that were reptilian rather than mammalian.
“Oh!” Wraithe hopped a little in her excitement before settling down again. She was working on a compendium of Species as part of a treatment guide for the other Surgeons and was always excited to add more to its contents.
“The Felids are in the meadows at the moment, but they probably won't stay there for too long,” I cautioned. “There are a few hundred of them, so make sure to bring enough supplies. Also, they have been ensnared with iron collars, so be sure to bring someone who can remove them,” I cautioned while feeling somewhat guilty that I was delegating the entire affair to Wraithe rather than handling it myself. “There are also just as many humans staying in Acheron until I can integrate them elsewhere, so you can take the Gateway when you are ready.”
“I will see it done!” Wraithe chittered excitedly. “The junior Surgeons have been itching for a chance to prove themselves! This is just the opportunity for them!”
I nodded approvingly in agreement. “There were no life-threatening injuries that I saw, but make sure to perform a thorough assessment yourself before assigning them to one of your less experienced Surgeons,” I cautioned, more out of concern for the former Slaves than doubt in the capabilities of the Surgeons.
“Of course!” Wraithe agreed determinedly, “This is also a good opportunity to have the senior Surgeons test their mentoring skills!”
I nodded again, then motioned toward the window. “Where are Emelia and Tobi?” I asked, concerned that their beds were empty and there was no sign of Tobi’s parents.
Wraithe gave me an odd look. “I thought Gric would have told you, my Tyrant?” She shook her head and regained her focus. “The last treatment from Ophelia exceeded our expectations...Emelia and Tobi made a significant recovery. They are still quite weak, but they both insisted on leaving...The remainder of their recovery is best accomplished by rest, so I thought it would be best to let them go.” Wraithe shifted somewhat uneasily.
“That was the right call,” I agreed supportively after overcoming my surprise. “Do you think it was because we destroyed the Liche?” I asked while considering the implications. “Have you approached Kohana? She was scarred by the Liche’s Spells as well, so there is a chance that she might be restored by Ophelia’s treatment too.”
“Indeed!” Wraithe’s energy picked right back up again. “I had much the same thoughts and already made the recommendation!” She looked up at me expectantly.
I smiled approvingly, “Great minds think alike.”
Wraithe chittered happily and hopped from one foot to the other. “I must see to the new arrivals! Excuse me mt Tyrant!” She sped away and began calling out orders to the nearest Surgeons.
Leaving her to it, I resisted the urge to return to The Grove. I had no immediate need to rapidly replenish my mana, and being so close to my family would only make things more difficult if or when I needed to leave.
Instead, I relocated myself somewhere private and then took on my human form in case I needed to move amongst the Werrians and Semenovians.
Disguise in place and my identity secure, I made myself comfortable and began remotely viewing each of my champions in turn.
It would have been unfair to say nothing of consequence was happening, but I didn’t see any need for my involvement either. I began taking short naps, sleeping for ten or twenty minutes at a time before checking in on my champions and repeating the cycle.
Hours passed and I became more familiar with Semenovian politics than I would have liked. I began recognising nobles by their voices as much as their faces or choice of clothing.
They were scared. Not just of the approaching Confederate armies, but of the Semenovians' mysterious backer, of me. I was unknown to them, and that caused doubt and uncertainty, which in turn evolved into fear. No doubt, that fear would evolve into terror if they saw my true form.
The primary concern raised again and again, was the uncertainty regarding the issue of their peerage. Specifically, whether I would acknowledge it and extend the same rights and privileges they had under the now-fallen Empire.
Political answers that obfuscated the issue under conditional pretences had been attempted but ultimately rejected. The more truthful answers were also rejected. Not because those asking the question believed they were being lied to or fooled in any way, but because they did not like the answer.
The hard truth that many of them would soon learn, was that I wouldn’t just ‘grandfather in’ their noble titles and associated privileges. The Semenovian royalty might do, but it would begin and end with them. Once they learned of the titles and the power they provided, perhaps they would understand the reasons why acknowledging social titles wasn’t worth the effort and wouldn’t convey the respect they believed they were entitled to.
Ultimately, I didn’t particularly care about the nobles' concerns. They were more than welcome to face the Confederate advance for all I cared. Saving the common folk was already compromising my integrity far more than I was comfortable with.
However, where I could assume not all Werrian commoners owned Slaves, I couldn’t extend that same assumption to the nobility. There was no way that the nobles hadn’t owned Slaves. So if they wanted to stay behind and die, I wasn’t going to stop them.
As the hours wore on, it appeared that King Savva was of a similar inclination. He gave the final holdouts an ultimatum. Trust him and fall in line, or be left behind.
It was generally met with the response I had expected. Nobles were not keen on being told what to do, and several opted out of Savva’s proposed alliance outright. Most of those who left were hangers-on to the Semenovians’ allies, and the Semenovians didn’t seem particularly put out by their absence.
One by one, and after a thorough vetting by Gric, Savva and the nobles exchanged oaths. Savva swore to respect the status of the nobility and existing titles, but only within the limits of my laws. In return, the nobles swore oaths to abide by my laws.
Some of the nobles had resisted the idea of swearing oaths with their lives as collateral, but Savva had truly lost his patience and his wife didn’t seem particularly interested in talking him down either.
Once the oaths were exchanged and the holdouts were removed, King Savva and Queen Katia began the time-consuming process of inviting their newest subjects and explaining their obligations.
A formal plan of evacuation hadn’t been finalised due to the required territories still undergoing Conquest. However, it hadn’t stopped the Semenovians from establishing evacuation points on their end. It was just as well, given that there was no real telling how long the evacuations would take and under what circumstances.
The more prepared the evacuation sites were, the better.
Sebet remained true to her word and was abducting family members of the Slaves to fulfil her oath. While I didn’t approve of her methods, I was glad that Sebet was taking her oath seriously despite avoiding the most extreme consequences through clever wordplay.
My remote viewing and rest schedule was causing me to lose track of time similar to watching too much television over the weekend in my former life. I had a vague idea of what time it was, but not how much time had passed.
Contrary to my earlier misgivings, I had not been called upon or required to intervene on my champions’ behalf. Faine, Randle and Jaine had made a point of making themselves available to King Savva and Queen Katia as a courtesy and demonstration of solidarity. However, they outright refused to become involved in the Semenovians’ politics on any meaningful level.
It was their attendance in what seemed like an endless cycle of planning meetings that influenced my perception of time the most. Relocating hundreds of thousands of people was no easy task, and the Semenovians were struggling to come to grips with that reality. Just as the Asrusians had before them.
Gric attended every meeting but said little. Whenever he chose to speak, it was almost always to correct a half-truth or face-saving lie told by one of the nobles. I could tell that the arrogance of the nobles and the pride they held for their hollow titles aggravated Gric on a primal level.
Still concealing his true identity, Gric was not able to directly bring the full weight of his title to bear. However, Gric was not shy about expressing his disdain and displeasure to the King and Queen.
Unlike his vassals, King Savva ‘knew’ that Gric was a Faction leader and held a much higher title. As a result, both he and his wife took Gric’s advice and chastisement equally seriously. The fact that Gric had killed a man with a single strike couldn’t be discounted as a factor either.
The first pair of Conquests were completed without warning and I felt an invisible tether form between my Demi-Plane and the Semenovian Labyrinth.
I resisted the urge to seize the territory right away and forced myself to be patient.
The acquisition teams needed time to gather their supplies and relocate to another floor. While I ‘could’ simply take the territory now, and then send them all back to the Semenovian capital through a Breach, it would only cause disruptions to any sort of momentum the team had worked hard to build.
Passing the information along through Gric as an intermediary, the news whipped the Semenovians into another frenzy of activity.
Temporary administrative positions were assigned sparingly despite the impossibly high number of volunteers. With the evacuation so close to being a reality, many nobles who had been putting on a brave front now cast aside much of their pride in the pursuit of skipping the queue to safety.
Unfortunately for said nobles, the King and Queen were not gentle about refusing and even punishing the nobles that attempted underhanded means to secure a position. However, as a conciliatory measure and a means of maintaining control, the children and youths of the nobility who had not yet reached adulthood would be allowed early access to evacuation.
The teams of architects, engineers, and their families were added to the list as a matter of course alongside a contingent of soldiers and their families.
They had not publicly announced as much, but the King and Queen intended to send Vadim and Irina, their children, to oversee the evacuation from within my Demi-Plane. I understood the decision and respected their position as parents. However, I was concerned that Vadim and his sister wouldn’t be up to the task of corralling the nobles, let alone administrating so many displaced people.
Even with Gric’s assistance, it would all be an uphill battle once people began to realise the reality of their situation.
While many would be glad just to be alive and safe from harm, there would always be troublemakers and people who would succumb to panic. Strong leadership could mitigate the worst of it, but I wasn’t sure the Semenovian Prince and Princess would be up to the task.
Then again, I knew very little about them and hoped they would surprise me.
Gric led the first wave of refugees through the city and into the first floor of the Labyrinth. Partially as a means of saving the mana for a Breach, it also allowed Gric to confirm that Qreet, Dar, and their teams had moved on.
After confirming their absence, I absorbed the territory into my Demi-Plane.
Intended as a processing centre, I elected to keep the territory adjacent yet otherwise disconnected to the greater territories of my Demi-Plane similar to Acheron and Tartarus.
Conveying my intent to Gric, I remotely Summoned a projection of Ochram to assist with erecting any necessary structures while I waited for the next floor of territory to be made available.
I remotely Summoned twelve more projections of Ochram before Senn and Garn completed their first Conquests.
Both teams had completed their Conquests within twenty-six hours, soundly breaking the Asrusians' record.
After giving their team time to move on, I annexed the territory and added it to the periphery of my Demi-Plane. Resisting the urge to place them beside the core of the Asrusian Kingdom’s Faction, I instead placed the territory to Sanctuary’s west, allowing them the opportunity for a port on the other side of the immense river.
Making allowances for future trade and travel was important, but I doubted the Semenovians, as a landlocked nation, would take to the water any time soon. In that respect, they would be much like the Asrusians.
As the territory settled, I relocated myself to the former Foothold at its centre.
Besides certain aesthetic elements, the Foothold looked just like every other Foothold I had seen within the Asrusian Labyrinths. I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much, but it did.
With a thought, I had the ground swallow the Foothold whole and sent it to the depths. Then I relocated myself to the river’s edge.
Exerting my will, I raised a natural stone harbour from beneath the water. The Goblin merchant navy was small, but they currently held a monopoly on maritime trade. Providing a harbour would encourage trade and travel to begin that much sooner and provide the opportunity to fish for small aquatic Beasts in the river.
In a similar vein, I erected a long row of large thick-walled, but otherwise roofless and doorless, buildings that could serve as warehouses or emergency shelters. Next, I formed a large wide road of solid stone leading from the harbour to the place where the Foothold had once stood.
My efforts had only taken a few minutes, but I had found it somewhat mentally taxing to work so far out of my comfort zone. Resisting the urge for perfectionism and absolute symmetry was uniquely tiring.
Relocating myself to the isolated processing area, I decided it was time I learned how to make a building rather than just hollow boxes.
Shadowing a group of architects that were tackling the objective of erecting the primary administrative building, I realised that most of my perceived incompetence was rather unfounded.
Setting aside aesthetic and decorative elements, my biggest mistake was that I was deliberately creating empty spaces instead of buildings with a clearly defined purpose.
A house is not typically a single large room. The walls dividing the space into multiple rooms would help support the roof's weight, provided they were sufficiently robust for the task.
As an experiment, I slowly erected a small apartment complex.
By the time I was finished, the apartment complex had swollen to many times its original size and drawn a considerable degree of interest. Although, not all of that interest was particularly positive.
Reminiscent of a utilitarian concrete monstrosity from the sixties, the building appeared to be structurally sound enough, but it had an unmistakably sterile and soulless quality that was impossible to overlook.
Without access to Dwergi elevators, I had limited the building to ten floors. I felt that any more than that would no doubt cause accidents and incite unrest on general principles.
In an attempt to correct a certain degree of the offensive blandness of the building, I added a half wall to the roof and extended the stairs to allow access.
Circling the building, I tried to introduce details from the older historical buildings I had passed regularly in my home city before coming to this world. However, my efforts met with mixed results and were pale imitations of what I remembered of the originals.
By no means an architectural masterpiece, I decided that doors, windows, and a bright coat of paint would probably be enough to make the building sufficiently liveable.
I was surprised when I noticed one of the younger architects looking out of a fourth-story window. A couple of minutes later, three more architects and engineers had joined him.
As horrifically boring and utilitarian as the building may be, it appeared that the novelty at the least had sparked a significant interest.
I struggled somewhat to wrap my head around their reactions.
It wasn’t like multi-story buildings didn’t already exist. Businesses such as inns and bunkhouses already served multiple patrons simultaneously in a similar fashion, and the apartment complex was just a progression toward more efficient space management.
It didn’t take long for the architects to begin adapting the brutish design into a more aesthetically pleasing form. Under the guidance of the architects, the small army of Ochram’s projections transformed the concrete rectangle into a building that, while tall, wouldn’t otherwise look out of place in the Semenovian capital.
It was the little things that made the biggest difference. Faux moulding that imitated window and door frames, and shallow grooves in the exterior to mimic bricks and mortar. It was the details that would have driven me mad, but Ochram’s projections didn’t seem to mind at all. They appeared to enjoy bringing out the details, humming happily in a deep rumbling chorus while they worked.
The apartment complex had taken me about an hour to create from scratch. The Ochrams had erected a close copy beside it in under five minutes.
Granted, most of my time had been spent trying to recall and refine the overall design, but I also had the benefit of working without mana constraints.
To make the most of my time, I relegated myself to a supporting role erecting the outer shells and internals, leaving the details and refinement to the Ochrams.
With the amount of required housing remaining a somewhat vague concept at best, I temporarily diverted my efforts to erect an official structure that would serve as the actual processing centre. With a similar layout to a Department of Transportation building, it featured a large lobby and waiting area that took up half of the space available on the ground floor.
A long counter separated the lobby from the large meeting rooms beyond and the stairs to the second floor beyond them in turn. The second floor was divided into several dormitories and other facilities instead of offices, intended to serve as temporary housing for whoever would be working at the processing centre.
Behind the processing centre, I made another apartment complex. However, instead of comparatively large spacious rooms, the apartments were limited to a single sleeping space and a washroom. Large by Western prison standards on Earth, the holding areas would provide Gric with a place to send anyone otherwise destined for Acheron or Tartarus.
After completing the processing centre and detention facility, I turned my attention toward a barracks for the soldiers that would be stationed in the general vicinity to encourage order.
Instead of going taller, like the apartments, I copied the Asrusians barracks concept. Focused around efficiency rather than comfort, the entire base was composed of less than half a dozen large buildings.
I then returned to Summoning projections and using my authority to draw large volumes of stone to form foundations, roads, and the rough shells of the apartment buildings.
While not the destination of the final judgement from ancient Greek myths, given the nature of the waiting involved, I decided to name the isolated territory Asphodel.
Throughout, Gric had set the soldiers to work harvesting lumber while he kept an eye on the nobles. The latter became much easier after the nobles decided to begin touring the buildings.
Vadim and his sister Irina were doing their best to project an air of confidence and control in front of the young nobles and the soldiers. I would have believed their confidence to be genuine if Gric hadn’t informed me otherwise.
The more time I spent developing Asphodel, the more uneasy I felt about the territory set aside for the Semenovians lying fallow. While I could justify spending time and effort on Asphodel as a long-term investment, I wanted the Semenovians to develop their territory mostly on their own.
The Asrusians were upset enough already and demonstrating favouritism toward their long-time rivals would only make it worse.
I decided that Asphodel could wait. A processing centre wouldn’t be particularly useful if the people it was intended to process had nowhere else to go.
It was slightly inefficient, but I cancelled Ochram’s projections prematurely to make it clear that my imminent suggestion was not up for debate.
“Prince Vidam,” I nodded my head slightly as a token sign of respect and then repeated the gesture toward his sister who was otherwise occupied in a debate with one of the engineers.
“Champion Fharad,” Vidam gave me a stiff bow, perhaps uncertain where my assumed position ranked in the overall hierarchy and playing it safe to avoid damaging his father’s political standing.
“I believe it is time that your artisans' efforts are redirected toward raising your people’s first city,” I advised, injecting a sense of urgency into my tone as a reminder of the events transpiring outside of my Demi-Plane.
Vidam spared a few moments to look at the cluster of apartment buildings. “Will you be providing further assistance?” He asked, trying and subsequently failing to hide his foundering optimism.
“Not directly, no,” I replied evenly. “However, if I may make a suggestion?”
Initially disappointed, Vadim eagerly motioned for me to continue.
“The Tyrant is willing to provide indirect assistance that will allow your people to proceed on their own. However, the available pool of potential candidates is currently rather limited.” I paused and took a few moments to look meaningfully at Irina. “Only a handful of members belonging to your Faction currently possess the attributes required for the Class, and only one is currently in a position to unlock the Class without assistance.”
“My sister? Irina?” Vadim guessed hesitantly, “But she already has a Class...”
“She is a potential candidate,” I agreed, “But not the one I was referring to. Unfortunately, he elected to stay behind.”
Vadim’s brow furrowed in confusion and concentration. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. “You don’t mean-”
“I do,” I interrupted candidly. “However, he appears to have already made his choice, so I strongly recommend resetting the Classes of as many of the remaining candidates as possible.” I issued Vadim a quest to that effect that listed the candidates' names and rewarded him for each candidate that unlocked the Pact Binder Class.
Vadim agreed almost immediately and rushed to his sister’s side to pass along the news.
Given how productive Ochram had been, I doubted they would find Cin to be a disappointment. As both an Earth Mage and a Daemon, Cin was able to be Summoned by Pact Binders who passed Gric’s discerning standards. With mana stones and the mana of her Summoner as the only restrictions to Cin’s productive output, I had few doubts that the Semenovians would quickly discover how best to streamline the initial development of their city.
I also had other reasons for recommending the Pact Binder Class.
One of those reasons was stabilising the Semenovian food supply.
Currently, the Semenovians were subsisting on whatever supplies of meat the military could secure from the Labyrinths. My general impression was that the military was barely reaching general demand. So, with that in mind, diversification seemed like an ideal measure for both the long and short term.
Growing crops en masse was Qreet’s specialty and she took a considerable degree of pride in it. She especially enjoyed her unofficial title as ‘The Lady of the Harvest’.
Another reason was supplying on-demand medical care from Wraithe.
No doubt, Wraithe would make her presence known in time and source recruits for a Semenovian branch of her Faction.
Vidam didn’t waste time, passing through the Breach and returning to the old Semenovian capital just as soon as it appeared.
“Champion Fharad?” Princess Irina appeared quite nervous and made a visible effort not to clutch at the folds of her dress.
“You want to know more about the Pact Binder Class?” I guessed, having put both Irina and her mother the Queen on the list of recommended candidates for the Class.
Irina nodded.
“Are you familiar with the Summoner Class?” I asked. “The two are really quite similar.”
“Only that it Summons monsters to fight on your behalf,” Irina replied with a hint of embarrassment.
“That’s about the core of it,” I confirmed, “The primary difference between the two Classes is that the Summoner creates generic examples of the monster in the same way as the Labyrinths. The Pact Binder creates a projection, a copy of a specific monster complete with all its memories and even Class levels.”
“Wh...really?!” Irina gasped in surprise and took a half step closer before getting a grip on her excitement.
“There are limitations with both Classes,” I continued while suppressing an amused smirk. “Spirits, Daemons, Devils and Angels-”
“And Elementals!...” Irina interjected enthusiastically, catching me off guard. She blushed and stared down at her feet, “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt...”
“Elementals?” I pressed, curious to learn more.
“Well...” Irina fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment before taking a deep steadying breath and regaining her nerve. “Mother says they are a sort of Spirit? Like some of the more exotic undead. Only, instead of wrapping themselves in decaying flesh, they join with an element, like water...I’m sorry, but I didn’t realise that is what you meant when you spoke of Spirits earlier...”
I hadn’t, but she didn’t need to know that.
I nodded sagely in agreement and tried not to look like too much of an idiot. “To unlock the Pact Binder Advanced Class, you must learn the true name of one such individual. If you are lucky, you can leverage that connection to learn the true names of others and add them to your portfolio of Summons.”
Irina nodded to show she was listening, but I could tell that she was distracted.
“Something on your mind?” I asked.
“Ah, sorry, champion Fharad, I was just wondering how I am supposed to learn a true name to unlock the Class?” Irina smiled in apology and gave a helpless shrug.
Gathering my mana, I Summoned Cin’s Projection.
Easily eight feet tall, even without her armour, the crimson-skinned Daemon stared at me with a confused expression on her Orc-like face for a fraction of a second before recognition flared in her eyes. To my immense relief, Cin opted to remain silent instead of offering a typical greeting announcing my title.
“This is Irina,” I motioned to the Semenovian Princess. “She is considering the Pact Binder Class and requires a true name to unlock it.”
Cin puffed out her chest and smiled broadly, exposing a mouth full of sharp fangs and a long writhing tongue. “You wish to Summon me, mortal?! The almighty Terramancer! Master of Stones! Despoiler of Soils!-”
“Cin...” I sighed and resisted the urge to chastise her.
“Sorry...” Cin apologised sheepishly. “I was just trying them on for size...”
“To be more like Qreet?” I guessed shrewdly.
Cin’s cheeks turned an odd shade of purple as she blushed with embarrassment.
“Just give it time, I’m sure the common folk will come up with something,” I reassured her, reaching up and patting Cin consolingly on her broad heavily muscled shoulder.
Irina looked confused, and I couldn’t blame her for it. Cin had many Orcish features and would have been able to pass as one with ease if she didn’t have a large horn protruding from her right temple.
“Perhaps it would be best if you introduced yourself, properly,” I suggested, giving Cin a nudge.
Cin nodded obediently. “Uh, hello, Human, I am Cin, the Earth Mage. Perhaps you have seen some of my work?” She asked optimistically.
Irina just stared, her mouth hanging slightly agape.
“I am talking, aren't I?” Cin asked nervously, glancing back at me for reassurance and confirmation. “Ochram said I was talking too much, so I started talking to myself, only in my head instead of with words...”
“I think she is just overwhelmed at having met you,” I replied supportively.
“Oh. Oh!” Cin grinned happily and waited patiently for Irina to react.
“You...You’re a...a...” Irina gulped dryly and took a shaky step backward, very nearly tripping on the hem of her skirt.
“A Daemon, yes,” Cin interjected enthusiastically, drawing herself up to her full height with pride.
Somehow, Irina’s face managed to grow a shade paler. “A Daemon...” She wheezed breathlessly, eyes wide with terror.
“A Daemon,” I confirmed calmly, “And her name is Cin.”
Irina stared at me incredulously but seemed incapable of making a response.
“Your mother and father have already been informed, and while I cannot claim that they approve, they at least appear to understand that the Daemons who serve the Tyrant can be trusted,” I warned in as neutral a tone as I could manage. “It is by their efforts that the ground you stand upon now, and that of your future city, was torn from the belly of the Labyrinth. These Daemons are not to be confused with those from your stories and rumours. They are different,” I smiled at Cin approvingly.
In some respects, I saw the Daemons as my adopted children. Besides being responsible for their behaviour, I was always proud to find them going above and beyond the rules I had taught them.
“In time, you will understand,” I reassured her. “However, in the meantime, I ask only that you trust in the Tyrant’s judgement and that of your parents.”
Irina closed her eyes and slowly nodded her head, although she appeared less convinced by my argument and more defeated in general.
A demonstration was in order.
“Cin, why don’t you show the princess what you can do?” I suggested slyly.
Cin twitched excitedly and her horn gave off a dark red light, “As you command!” Cin’s eyes took on a manic intensity and the ground trembled as she thrust her hands toward the sky and five more apartment complexes erupted out of the ground.
***** Irina ~ Tim’s Demi-Plane ~ Asphodel *****
Irina could only look on in disbelief as the Daemon, cackling with diabolical glee, erected several more buildings in the span of a handful of seconds.
The Tyrant’s champion, Fharad, nodded approvingly at the Daemon. “Don’t forget to take a close look at the internal structures as well,” he warned with a stern yet fond tone. “The layout is simple enough, so I don’t want to find out you cut any corners.”
The Daemon nodded emphatically in agreement, “Of course! I just wanted to ensure I had enough material to work with!” She called over her shoulder as she began running toward one of the comparatively older buildings.
It took Irina a few moments to regain her bearings and puzzle out exactly what was bothering her. “She’s like a child...” Irina muttered softly, surprising herself with her observation.
“In many respects, she is,” Fharad agreed, his attention still firmly locked on the Daemon as she disappeared into one of the buildings. “However, underestimating her intelligence would be a mistake.”
Irina elected to remain silent while she considered his words.
Learning that the monster, the Tyrant, that governed these strange lands consorted with Daemons was quite a shock. However, somehow it was the Daemon’s attitude and behaviour that shocked her on a more profound level.
The priests had always insisted that Daemons were little more than bloodthirsty ravenous Beasts that leveraged their perverse cunning to corrupt humanity. Second, only to the evil of Devils, the Daemons were to be purged at any cost.
Only...This Daemon didn’t seem interested in committing acts of evil and depravity at all.
“Have you ever considered the stories the monsters tell one another about humans?” Fharad was still watching the Daemon’s progress through the building, but it was clear that Irina had the focus of his attention.
Irena frowned in thought before eventually shaking her head.
“It’s not very flattering,” Fharad commented dryly. “Butchers, rapists, thieves and slavers. Humanity has been and is all of these things-” He raised a hand requesting her patience. “-but people, individuals, can transcend that darkness and become so much more when allowed the opportunity.”
Irina tried not to scowl in disapproval. The last thing she wanted was to make an enemy of the Tyrant’s champion and risk damaging the tenuous alliance her mother and father had forged. “You are saying we are no different than Daemons?”
“No,” Fharad sighed and slowly shook his head before fixing her with a stern and calculating gaze. “I am saying that Daemons, and by extension, most monsters, can become so much more than their base instincts when given the opportunity. Humans are proof of that.”
Without saying another word, the Tyrant’s champion slowly followed after the Daemon, leaving Irina alone with her thoughts.
Irina had been involved in the politics of her father’s realm long enough to understand that people, humans, were capable of truly abominable things. However, that did not mean that she would readily accept the flawed premise that a Daemon’s redemption was simply a matter of providing an opportunity.
“Why not?” The cold rasping voice caught Irina entirely by surprise and she very nearly released an embarrassing squeak.
Turning about to face who had spoken, the embers of Irina’s anger died almost immediately.
It was another of the Tyrant’s champions, the man who had slain the traitor Baron with a single blow from his fist. Unlike the dark-skinned Fharad, this champion elected to remain fully armoured and kept his face concealed beneath his helm. “Why not?” The champion repeated with a hint of impatience in his otherwise arrogant and dismissive tone.
“Ah, apologies, champion, but I believe I was otherwise distracted and failed to notice the subject of our inquiry...” Irina apologised and did her best to curtsy without looking like a bumbling fool.
Although she could not see his eyes, Irina felt a sudden chill and was convinced that the champion was glaring at her from beneath his helm. “You are quite convinced that your understanding of Daemon nature, despite lacking any evidence to support its voracity, is the truth. Why are you so convinced that a Daemon would be incapable of being more than your petty Angel worshipping sycophants have declared them to be?”
Irina baulked under the verbal onslaught, literally giving ground beneath his ire.
“If the Tyrant entertained such a small and feeble-minded prejudice, yourself and your people would have been left to rot!” The champion snarled quietly. “So do not dare to entertain such thoughts in my presence!”
Irina meekly nodded her head. “I apologise for the unintended offence...”
The champion growled wordlessly at her and then stalked away, directing his attention toward a gaggle of young nobles.
“Of course, this all happens when Vaddy isn’t here...” Irina grouched bitterly. She allowed herself to wallow in her self-pity for a moment. “Ah...maybe it is better that he wasn’t here...” As much as Irina would like to see her older brother taken down a peg, she shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if he lost his temper.
Glancing toward the friendlier of the two champions, Irina’s attention was inexplicably drawn toward the Daemon as well. The two of them were animatedly chatting with one another in a way that seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
As if she felt Irina’s gaze, the Daemon suddenly looked at her and smiled.
Irina shuddered.
When the Daemon looked away again, Irina felt a profound surge of relief. However, catching a familiar scent on the wind caused her to tense up worse than before.
“Irina? Why aren’t you assisting in the construction efforts?” Her mother quietly demanded, passing by Irina's left and continuing toward the Tyrant’s Champion and the crimson Daemon.
Falling into step behind her mother, Irina decided it would be best if she didn’t say anything at all. At best, her mother would find something else to chastise her for, and at worst...Well, Irina didn’t want to consider it.
“I noticed you haven’t unlocked the Pact Binder Advanced Class yet,” the queen commented dryly. “Is there a particular reason you are abstaining from your duties?”
“It’s just...” Irina stared briefly at the Daemon and then directed her gaze firmly toward the ground. “No reason...” She mumbled dispiritedly. The fact that her mother hadn’t batted an eye at the sight of the Daemon meant she didn’t have a problem with the thought of working with one. Arguing her own reservations would only make things worse, so Irina decided to remain silent.
In hindsight, Irina realised she should have expected her mother wouldn’t have any moral qualms over dealings with Daemons. After all, they had so much in common with one another...
