56.

“You stink,” Illyria murmured from her corner of the elevator. The silent ride had been awkward with the princess wedged into a corner as Erak had shoved himself into the transport. Erak tried to take a whiff, but all he smelled was oil and steel.

“It’s the dried blood and viscera. Some sewer water too,” Pomp supplied helpfully. He had erupted from Erak’s neck to stare down at the princess who looked at the little dragon with a small smile.

“Do you feel him at all when he’s inside of you?” Illyria asked Erak. Erak looked at Pomp and waited for the dragon to explain. He was too cramped in the elevator to properly sign to her.

“Hardly feels me, I’m so small. An electric current is all, like running your tongue over a battery,” Pomp said for him. Erak nodded in agreement, noticing the princess’s upturned lips as she battled back her smile.

The doors dinged open and Illyria bolted out of the tight confines, Erak only a step behind as they walked toward the Sword of Empire’s doors. Lights were now active here, illuminating the halls and there was a feel of energy in the air reminiscent of spring. The world may be burning beneath her, but the Sword was waking up.

Illyria was bouncing with each step, increasing her pace as she walked further down the halls and toward the bridge. By the time they entered the ship, Erak was forced to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. She was bristling with energy, nearly vibrating as the doors to the bridge slid open and she strode in like she was the owner of the ship.

The aura of the bridge had changed. Gone was the ancient feel of antiquity, the press of years crushing down one’s spine. Now it was power and the surging tide of tomorrow, where one looked forward to the future instead of clinging to the past. Empire stood there at the decks in her warrior-queen form, her cape of captured flags brushing the decks as she spun as Illyria entered the bridge.

Empire’s smile was bloodstained and hungry as she devoured Illyria with her gaze. She stepped forward and it was the sound of engines roaring, pressing against Erak like a visible force. Illyria almost faltered against the presence that washed over them, but she strengthened and stepped closer.

“Another Greenbough. A pair you two make. Your brother is fire and ambition fueled by insecurity and a desire to prove himself,” Sword of Empire said, her voice cannon fire, booming and rattling Erak.

“You though, you have the same fire, but the fuel is different. You know your worth, you stand above all others by merit and skill and you will allow no other to press their claim to you. Fearless, ruthless, ambitious, and sure of yourself. A fine Captain you will make,” Sword said, her gunmetal eyes peering through Illyria. The young princess stood tall and defiant and in the lighting her russet colored hair had turned bloody.

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The ancient blade hissed as it leapt from its saber, clutched in her white knuckled hand as Illyria spoke for the first time. Her voice rang out, a counterpoint to Sword’s deep booming voice.

“I am Illyria Greenbough, scion of Kings and Emperors. I claim this mantle, this responsibility, and pledge myself to a singular cause. Ruination of our enemies. May they tremble when they see us, may piss run down their legs when they hear our cannons and feel the thunder of our engines. Death to our foes and hope to our allies,” Illyria said in a rush, color blossoming over her face as she swayed suddenly.

The title over her head changed. Adventurer lvl. 17 faded away like a heat mirage and Erak had to blink his eyes twice to ensure that held true.

Captain lvl. 1

Illyria gave a gasp and her knees buckled and she sprawled out across the deck, spasming back and forth violently. Erak lunged to get to her side, but Sword held up a hand and he froze as the ancient weight suddenly reappeared.

“This is her test. She will be remade into something greater than she was, but to make something, you must break it.”

“She will retain her attributes, but her skills have changed fundamentally as she is pushed back down. She will have lost her titles too,” Pomp said to him.

“Fundamental change to her core identity. How she views herself and how the world will view her. The Deathsworn you met earlier were like you, Dutybound was what they were called before they lost their chief. They had a core change to their identity and were changed as a result. If your oath holder was to perish, you would suffer the same results,” Sword spoke clearly.

“How do you know?” Erak asked.

“Did you not read the introductory page that the System granted you?” Sword asked, puzzlement spreading across what visible features she had. Erak just stayed quiet as Pomp slunk back into his armor.

Illyria stopped shaking suddenly, her body going limp. Sweat pooled out from her in a puddle and Sword simply nodded in acceptance. She turned back to the viewports and the image on them changed.

The corrupted being appeared, still nestled in the embrace of the portal. It looked bored, face slack as it stared off into the distance. Every now and then it would wave a hand and a jet of corrupted fire would flit forth to splash across some distant part of the city.

“A worthy foe. It has not troubled us yet since our engines and core remain dormant. With a true captain that will change and they will notice us. We will die before I can gain the necessary charge needed to attack it. Unless it’s distracted,” Sword turned to look at Erak again. Erak had a feeling he knew what she was about to ask of him and he felt no fear.

“A mighty host sits beneath that portal, thousands of soldiers and many champions. You will need to rally everything you have to push against it, to draw the attention of that creature it will need to be a true threat.” Erak nodded in acknowledgement. It made sense and the warship was their best chance at killing the creature and closing the portal. They needed every advantage they could acquire.

“Death is likely Bloodsworn. Are you willing to risk that for a chance? Risk never seeing your oath-holder again, for a chance?”

Erak nodded instantly. There were enemies who needed to die and he was the warrior to do it. There was nothing she could say to change the course now.

“The armor and spear are replicas, but you do them justice. Eat and sleep now, rest. Once she awakens we will draw forth all the leaders from below and make our plans. Blood will be spent in great quantities if we are to have a chance of success.” Sword dismissed him with an absent wave and Erak turned on a heel and left.

Behind him, so quietly it was a struggle to hear, Erak heard her speak again.

“Once more they shall tremble. Once more I shall live again. What joyous days.”