How others see you isn't important. How you see yourself is everything. That's a lesson everyone needs to learn once or twice in their lives.

Damien worked tirelessly after confirming his friend's survival. He avoided being alone or having nothing to do. When he wasn't helping Wisperium and the local soldiers during the rebuilding effort, he trained.

Then he trained again. And again. And again.

Your strength knows no bounds. +1 to STR

His abilities only kept growing. He was celebrated as a hero, a major talent that would define his generation, comparable to or even surpassing the legends his father and brother had created. Nobody his age had accomplished what he'd done, but it didn't mean much in his head. The pride and joy he felt for being recognized and respected had died down quickly. The dwarven kingdom sang his praise, but it felt hollow when he watched the fallen soldiers receive a funeral pyre a few days ago.

'Could I have done something differently?'

During the brief moments of respite, the events of the battle replayed in his head and his dreams. For the past two days, he had suffered from nightmares. Hopelessness, despair, and a withdrawn attitude that he tried to keep hidden as best as possible. He dispelled Maxwell in favor of brewing in his thoughts alone.

Even though he voluntarily kept his feelings hidden to avoid burdening his friends and family, it hurt him slightly to see they couldn't notice he was ready to break down at any moment. Damien had a tight thread on his nerves, and he was far too afraid to find out what would happen if he let go.

Natalia, Jensen, and Romero were all occupied after the aftermath of the battle. They worked in tandem to find out the culprits responsible for the attack, coordinating rebuilding efforts and communicating with their superiors about what had transpired. The Archbishop had to work overtime while investigating the poisoned water treatment facility. Their forces were spread thin covering all their bases. Damien couldn't bring himself to bother them when they were so busy.

And so, the boy suffered in silence.

"The hell? Go take a break, idiot. The awarding ceremony and the feast are up in a couple of hours."

Damien flinched upon hearing the sudden voice. It was almost midnight, and nobody other than his fellow Wisperium soldiers were awake. But most of them respected his request for privacy. He turned his head to see Chester in civilian clothing, holding a crate of alcohol in his hand.

"I'd rather not. It keeps my mind off things."

The dirt along the training field was covered in marks and footprints. Damien himself wasn't wearing his signature Juggernaut Armor, but rather a set of trousers and weights strapped to his limbs and back. With his cold iron sword, the vampire ran through movements both graceful and efficient.

Chester could see the strain it placed on the boy's body. The slight tremor with every swing showed it was taking atoll despite his insane endurance. His body had undergone a complete transformation since they met, and his muscles had developed significantly. Despite the height and age difference, Damien was not far behind in terms of muscle mass and was much leaner than the illusionist.

The illusionist took a seat by the bench, popping open one of the bottles before chugging. "Come here, take a seat with me. The dwarves have been giving me freebies whenever I walk by, and they lent me some beer."

Damien tilted his head, slightly annoyed at the man's persistence. But he sighed, dragging the sword behind him and dropping the weights to the ground. They clattered to the floor with a massive thump, damaging the floor as he did so. Chester wondered just how heavy they were.

The vampire took a sip. It had a refreshing, apple cider flavor. A pleasant sweetness, balanced out by a slight sour sensation that made him scrunch his nose up slightly. He figured it was a small reward for all the work he'd done so far.

"Want to tell me what's up? I noticed you've been pushing yourself hard lately. Even your aunt's asking me about it."

Damien stilled. He hadn't expected that question. He avoided talking about it, but it seemed someone noticed him brooding. He felt embarrassed and contemplated avoiding the question entirely or brushing it off. The vampire boy realized that lying to the silver-tongued illusionist would have no effect.

"I've just been having trouble with nightmares." He confessed, feeling a sense of burning shame for admitting his weakness so callously. "I-I keep seeing the soldiers I killed. The ones I let die. I..."

'I failed them.'

It was unexpectedly hard for him to talk about it, and he choked on his words trying to get them out. After a few seconds of struggling, Damien gave up and decided to remain silent.

"Ah, I get it. We've got a name for this in my world, you know." Chester said, wiping his nose with the edge of his wrist. "PTSD; Post-Traumatic Down Syndrome. I don't think that's what it was called..."

Damien stared at the man, who began mumbling incoherently about the proper term for what he was experiencing at the moment.

"Ah, whatever! Back to you. Is that what it is? You're blaming yourself for not being strong enough? Not having done something perfectly?"

The boy nodded. He was unsure of where the man was going, but he managed to get a solid grasp of what Damien was feeling. "I can't stop thinking about what I had done wrong. Maybe if I used a different tactic, or if I had paid more attention, maybe fewer people would have died."

Chester took a sip, thinking of the right words to say. He was far from the best therapist the world had to offer, but the man was versatile on all fronts. He could put up a convincing front whenever he wished, much like Frank Abagnale Jr. from the movie Catch Me if You Can.

"Why don't you blame Natalia instead? Or Jensen? Or the Archbishop? They could've saved them as well. In fact, they had more opportunity to prevent lives lost."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The boy turned his face in dismay. "That's horrible to say! How could you possibly expect them to-"

Chester stared at him knowingly. His expression was solemn, a rare occasion that would've given Damien pause already. He wasn't trying to provoke Damien or lambast the others. The illusionist was trying to prove a point.

'If you can't blame them for not being perfect, then why can't you do that for yourself?'

The boy quieted down. He couldn't help but feel it was still his fault. Even though it didn't make sense from a logical standpoint, the vampire knight felt a massive amount of guilting for even surviving when others hadn't. He met with the families of those who had fallen under his command. Not a single one blamed him, but Damien felt as though they should have.

"Think about it like this. You didn't kill them. It was the bastards who invaded. They're at fault. You and I? We just responded the best we could. If we didn't respond, think about how many lives would've been lost."

Damien took it to heart. He felt a bit lighter, knowing his actions had a positive effect. How many would've fallen had it not been for their squadron destroying the ballista? How many would've died if the poison master had continued to live? Chester's words had a profound effect, but he wasn't finished yet.

"They died, but you didn't. If you can't live for yourself, live for those who died." Chester raved on. He was mentally sifting through years' worth of comic books and movies to find the right thing to say; a way to cheer up the brooding vampire while making sure his emotions didn't get the best of him. "Let past experiences and tragedies become armor, rather than shackles."

The man couldn't believe his abilities sometime. He knew that if bullshitting was a skill, he'd have maxed it out already.

"That's...Unexpectedly profound. I suppose I never saw it quite like that." Damien said, putting up a weak smile. He didn't want to spend more time talking about his emotions. He felt too vulnerable, but despite his reservations, the pressure on his mind was eased, and having the chance to talk about his issues was cathartic.

Chester rolled his eyes. "I know your problems won't go away like that. Trust me, I get like that too." He idly remembered the two contractors he had slain. The thief was an expert at shelving away past trauma, but he knew it would take a while for him to fully get over the murders he committed. "I'll always lend an ear whenever you want to talk, alright?"

"...I really appreciate that, Chester." The vampire boy said quietly. He was sincere and took another sip of his drink during the quiet moment they shared. After a few minutes of peace, Chester got up and put his hand on the noble's shoulder.

"Come on, we have to attend the ceremony or whatever. they need us there before the party begins. It'll help you take your mind off everything."

The boy reluctantly followed, putting on his hooded robe and formal attire. The boy always carried his pack with him and decided to wear it to keep up proper appearances. He couldn't remember the last time he properly wore it but noted there was some tightness along the back and sleeves. Damien wondered if he could get it resized to fit his growing body, or even have it enchanted to grow accordingly much like his Juggernaut Armor.

From the training barracks to the palace, it was a quiet walk. Both of them had finished the entire case of alcohol, walking through the marbled floors and newly repaired interior. The dwarven palace was rapidly rebuilt, and given priority because of what it symbolized. One of the workers led them to where the ceremony was taking place. The thief whistled upon entering the ceremonial room, with enough space to contain a massive banquet with a large amount of space left over. Further ahead, four thrones were installed at the furthest point of the room. They were all in varying sizes, and noble-looking dwarves were seated as they waited patiently for the guests of honor.

There were a few dozen people in attendance, including Natalia, Jensen, Romero, and Alda. Surprisingly, Arber Fistpig wasn't included. Most of those in attendance were participants in the battle, which had been dubbed the One-Day War by the populace. Seeing the two missing attendants, the ceremony began.

Chester and Damien fell into the sidelines, watching as people were rewarded for their valor. Everybody in the room received some sort of acknowledgment for their efforts during the battle. Kent Welton, the prince of the Royal Family, was the one handing out the awards while those whom Chester assumed to be his family watched on. The elder on the largest throne had no crown. His aged, greying beard went down to his chest. Chester bent down to whisper in Damien's ear, deciding to make some small talk before he died of boredom.

"That old guy over there, he's the king? I think Alda mentioned his name...Paul? Phillip?" He said in a hushed tone, seeing that they would likely be called up soon. About two-thirds of the attendants already got their medals.

The man he was talking about looked positively ancient, and Chester was unsure if he'd live to see the end of the banquet. He figured that they had his coffin prepared a decade ago, judging by how withered the patriarch looked.

"Phillop," Damien said absent-mindedly. He looked slightly tired, stifling a yawn as he watched the events with little interest. "Naya is the queen-yes, she has a beard. Don't mention that, it's quite rude. And the one on the far right is their daughter, Fleur."

"I'm surprised we haven't seen them up until this point. Did you even get to see them when we fixed the adamantium shortage?"

The vampire shook his head quietly. "They usually don't show themselves to the public. Too much risk involved. Especially during the threat of invasion. I know that they are the only ones who possess info regarding the inner workings of the Vault. If they were to be captured or killed, the way to open the vault would be lost and stolen."

"What?! They don't keep it on like a piece of paper or something?"

"Nope. Apparently, the prince spends most of his adolescence committing every speck of knowledge to memory, but there are select secrets only shared between the matriarch and the princess as well. The entire royal family acts as a secret-keeper, of sorts. Serious business, I've heard they have soul magic placed on them early on to avoid unexpected betrayals."

"There's a lot of things wrong with that sort of tradition. How do you even know all this, anyway?"

Damien stared at him for a moment. "We have close ties with Welton. Of course they'd include their kingdom history in our education. I know enough about most places to get by."

Before Chester could respond, his name was called up. Prince Kent gave him a small smile before addressing the crowd.

"Chester Everheart, for your outstanding bravery and willingness to lay your life on the line for Welton, we hereby grant you the greatest honor we can give; the Amethyst Braveheart."

The illusionist lowered his entire body so that the dwarf could give him his medallion. He stared at his new piece of jewelry, admiring the intricate design. The crowd cheered and gave polite applause. General Drake and her lieutenant gave him looks of respect, while Alda smiled brightly upon making eye contact. It hadn't been long since he awakened, but he found himself wanting to spend more and more time with the half-dwarf.

Amethyst Braveheart

- Made from a rare variant of red amethyst and crafted by a master artisan, this artifact holds incredible value.

- +10 to CHA

The entirety of the artifact was clad in solid gold, and a circular band of metal protected the amethyst in the center. It wasn't like anything he'd seen before.

'...That's it?'

Chester was disappointed by its effects. he had hoped that it would have some sort of powerful enchantment, but other than increasing his CHA (which it's effects he knew little of) it was nothing more than an expensive-looking trinket. He wouldn't have subjected himself to extreme trauma and a near-death experience if he knew this was the only thing waiting at the end of it all.

After making some small talk and shaking hands with Kent, he sat back down and watched as Damien got a similar speech and an identical trinket. Chester noticed his full name imprinted on the back of his medallion. He couldn't recall if he gave his full name to anybody, but remembered Damien had said it when introducing him to Prince Kent. He rarely had any items with his name on it, mostly because everything he owned was either stolen or counterfeit goods.

The illusionist whispered to Damien quietly when the vampire boy found his way back to the seat next to him.

"How much do you think I can pawn this off for? Three-hundred gold?"

Damien looked scandalized. He was amazed at the pace the man operated, despite knowing him for months at this point. "Chester!"

"What? It's not like I'm gonna use this anyway. It'll just collect dust because I'd rather not carry around something so expensive on my neck at all times. That's how you get jumped. I'd rob myself blind too if I caught someone wearing this."

"Just carry it around with you. Those things have a lot more influence than it shows. You're basically treated as a VIP around the kingdom so long as you have that. I can give you a run-down of what you can do with it later."

"...That does sound nice. I'll keep it for now."

"That concludes the ceremony. King Phillop would like to share some parting words." Prince Kent got their attention when he started speaking once more. All eyes turned at the ancient dwarf sitting on the throne.

He trembled for a brief moment. His eyes opened up wide enough for everybody in the crowd to see his pupils. The king coughed slightly, gathering himself for shouting at the top of his lungs.

"LET'S GET THIS FUCKIN' PARTY STARTED!"

The queen to his left hurriedly tried to shut his mouth, and the king's daughter joined in and stopped the elder from fist-pumping. Kent, slightly embarrassed by his father's actions, tried to move things along as best as he could.

"My apologies, King Phillop....is easily excited nowadays. Let the festivities begin!"

And so, the banquet began began.