Klarion adjusted the high collar of his new uniform as he followed Alecto down the staircase to the front of the shop. Behind him, the Sentinel descended in silence.
“The first uniform is free,” Alecto said as they reached the floor. He turned to glance at Klarion. “You will likely need to purchase more and varied outfits in the months ahead. I hope you will consider our services.”
Given the magical precision of the tailoring he had just witnessed and the quality of the clothing that he now wore as a result, Klarion knew he would want additional sets of clothing from Alecto’s shop in the future but for one thing.
“Given the quality of your work,” Klarion said sincerely, “I do hope to be able to purchase some more clothing from you in the future. It might be a while, however, since I will need to figure out how to make some money to pay you.”
Alecto chuckled. “Young lord, I must say, I don’t often hear nobles talk about earning their coin.” He gave a slight bow, a smile still on his face. “But given your compliments, I want you to know that you are always welcome in my shop.”
Nodding once more in thanks, Klarion made to leave the shop, but as he made his way towards the door, the faint sounds of activity near the back of the shop ceased. Hoping that the sudden silence had nothing to do with him, Klarion simply kept walking.
“Lord Blacksword!”
Well, there went that hope.
Turning to face the voice, Klarion saw the young noble who had mocked him earlier standing awkwardly, the rest of the nobility in the room behind him, clearly trying to avoid attention. His face was pale as he stared at Klarion, or more aptly, at Klarion’s shoulder where the mark of his House was depicted. The longer Klarion stood there without answering, the more panic began to twist the young lord’s features.
Not knowing what to do, Klarion looked to the Sentinel that had been escorting him, a silent plea for help in his expression.
“Lord, the son of a Baronet is seeking permission to approach,” the Sentinel said.
Oh, was that what he was waiting for?
Klarion awkwardly beckoned the young noble forward.
“L-lord Blacksword,” the young man stammered as he rushed over, only to duck into a low bow so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. In trembling hands, he held a velvet pouch, which he thrust at Klarion. “P-lease accept this humble gift as an apology for my earlier… foolishness at not recognizing you.”
Klarion blinked at the young man, his brow furrowing. What? “A gift?”
“Yes, Lord Blacksword,” the young man said, his voice still quaking. “A token of respect and, uh, goodwill. Yes, goodwill. I meant no offense earlier. It was a misunderstanding on my part.”
While the words he had said earlier had bothered Klarion, even upset him, he also had not felt the need to do something to the young noble in revenge. But then again, he might be atypical in that regard. Every interaction with the upper classes for Klarion so far had carried with it a heavy focus on the importance of rank. He did not yet know exactly how important House Blacksword was in this portion of the Empire, but given how everyone kept throwing themselves at his feet once they found out what noble family he was connected to, it was likely higher than he expected. Just how many Archducal noble houses were there in the Empire?
Klarion brought his attention back to the young noble, who now was tearing up in fear. No, that question would be something he worries about later. He shook his head. “I don’t need your gift.”
The young noble’s jaw fell slack. “B-but—”
“It is fine. Keep your pouch,” Klarion stated firmly. “Just be better.”
The expression on the young noble’s face began to shift to confusion as Klarion turned away to leave the shop. The last he saw of the young man, he was still holding the pouch outthrust and unopened in still slightly trembling hands. The murmuring of the others in the shop began to pick up as Klarion stepped outside, the Sentinel falling into step beside him, though stepping slightly faster to take the lead. Few people were around for some reason, and truthfully he was thankful for that.
As he followed the Sentinel along the cobbled street, Klarion eventually broke the silence. “Are most nobles like that?”
The Sentinel tilted her head slightly, the white mask again betraying no emotion but kept walking. “Most,” she said after a moment. “Power and privilege often breed arrogance. The weaker ones cling to status symbols to mask their insecurities.”
After a moment to digest what the Sentinel had said, Klarion spoke again. “My family did not exactly prepare me for what to expect here. Could you tell me about the different ranks of the nobility? I think that might help me… fit in better.”
The Sentinel turned her head slightly to him. “You weren’t told about the tiers of nobility?” her voice was tinged with confusion.
Klarion almost blurted out that he hadn’t even known he was a noble until an Imperial Pathfinder had found him on Earth a few weeks ago, but held his tongue just in time. It had been the advice of Alesin and Rolfun to keep that secret as close to his chest as possible for now. He trusted them to have his best interests in mind.
“No, I guess my family had other priorities in teaching me, I suppose,” he said instead.
There was a brief pause before the Sentinel nodded. “Very well. It is more than uncommon that someone of your station not know these things, but as this information is not something that the faculty here would be expected to teach, I will explain.”
She gestured that they take a sidestreet, perhaps for discretion, then spoke in a calm yet instructive voice. It had the air of being memorized. “The nobility of the Empire is divided into three primary tiers: the low nobility, the middle nobility, and the high nobility. Though there is some nuance, each tier has its own roles, responsibilities, and expectations within the Empire.”
Klarion stepped around a puddle, steps keeping pace with the Sentinel as he listened intently to what she was saying. He didn’t want to miss anything given his expectation that this information would not only help him adapt to life here but also better avoid trouble.
“The low nobility,” the Sentinel began, “forms the foundation of the Empire’s feudal structure. Knights, Baronets, Barons, and Viscounts fall into this category. Knights are the most basic noble title — often granted for exceptional service, though not always hereditary. Baronets hold a similar rank but often also oversee small parcels of land or estates. Barons and Viscounts are a step above, responsible for administering larger regions or serving as key advisors to the middle nobility. Their power is localized, often limited to single worlds, and they are generally more concerned with maintaining stability within their territories.”
“So, they are like local governors or military leaders?”
“In a way,” the Sentinel replied. “Their focus on their local region also explains why most generally try to steer clear of the higher politics of the Empire. Such as what the young noble attempted to do in the tailor’s shop once he learned of your true background.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“So that was an offering in hopes that I might leave him and his family alone?”
“Indeed,” the Sentinel responded. “The fact that you let him off with a simple admonishment and declined his offering as well will likely have him praying to his ancestors in thanks of your mercy for weeks to come.”
“Well, it didn’t feel right to take it,” he said with a shrug. “After all, he just said some stupid insults. No harm done.”
The Sentinel was silent in response. When it was clear that she was not going to continue talking, Klarion paused in the street. “Do you disagree with me?”
The Sentinel turned, her mask fixed on him. “Yes, I disagree. As would most any other noble scion in this Empire, especially those of your rank. Words have power. Within the realms of the nobles, an insult or word of praise can lead to the damnation or salvation of entire worlds. To be so casual about the potential harm they might bring on the speaker, or the target, is to tempt fate.”
Klarion’s brows furrowed as he considered the Sentinel’s words. “I suppose I understand what you mean,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful. “But where I grew up, people toss around insults all the time, usually without much consequence. It’s how you prove you’re tough enough to shrug them off. I guess it is hard for me to see how mere words could cause so much… devastation.”
The Sentinel remained motionless, her mask obscuring any reaction to his response. “Your experiences may have insulated you from the intricacies of noble society, but make no mistake — words in these circles are not spoken lightly. An insult from a scion of an Archducal House is not a small matter. It can cast doubt on the reputation, alliances, or even the legitimacy of those targeted. ”
Klarion’s gaze dropped to the cobblestones of the street. “Then maybe I should have taken his offering. But it still feels wrong. I don’t want to be someone who twists every word into a weapon.”
“Your ideals may serve you well, Lord Blacksword, but tread carefully,” the Sentinel’s voice softened, though it remained firm. “The Imperial Academy will not always reward restraint or kindness.”
Point made, the Sentinel continued walking in the direction she had been leading him. As soon as Klarion moved to follow, she began speaking about the tiers of nobility again.
“The middle nobility is where true power begins to accumulate. Counts, Marquises, and Dukes hold significant influence as well as control over members of the low nobility. Counts oversee sizable regions that often encompass multiple baronies. Marquises are similar but typically govern border territories and are charged with defending the Empire’s frontiers. Dukes are the highest ranks within the middle nobility, often commanding vast regions across multiple worlds or more. As a result of their influence and reach, they also often serve as intermediaries between the low and high nobility.”
Klarion’s brows furrowed. “So they act as a bridge between the two?”
“Precisely,” the Sentinel confirmed. “Occasionally, they might wield enough power to challenge members of the high nobility, though such actions are rare and… inadvisable.”
As she finished talking about the middle nobility, the Sentinel led him back onto a main street. Much like the previous streets they had walked, very few people were in sight. But he only noted their general lack in passing, as his eyes were immediately drawn to the towering structure that the Sentinel was leading him towards. It could only be the Amphitheater of Induction he had been told about.
It was constructed from gleaming white marble veined with threads of shimmering gold; he could even see this as far away as he was. The structure itself was circular, with massive arches carved into its side, each adorned with what he assumed to be bas-reliefs. Pillars flanked these entrances, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed faintly with a soft light. A small line of people waited to enter while Sentinels had taken up station around the perimeter.
“And then there is the high nobility — the pinnacle of the Empire’s hierarchy but for the Imperial household, the Seven Imperial Princes, and the Emperor himself. Archdukes, Princes, and Kings comprise this tier. Archdukes are second only to royalty, governing dozens of worlds or more, their loyalty to those few above them and the Emperor alone. The difference between them and the Princes and Kings is that the latter two possess more territory and by extension power. All, however, are still subject to the Emperor.”
Klarion’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of Archdukes, his family’s rank. “And what… what distinguishes them from the others, aside from the scale of their power?”
“The high nobility is defined not just by their territories but by their political influence. They help shape Imperial policy, negotiate treaties, and oversee entire multiversal regions. Their actions ripple through the entire Empire.”
As the Sentinel continued walking in the direction of the Amphitheatre of Induction, Klarion moved to follow. “And I suppose being part of an Archducal House means I’ll be under even more scrutiny.”
“Yes.” Though the Sentinel remained facing ahead as they walked, Klarion could see the slight nod of agreement. “It is rare for an Archduke’s scion to go unnoticed, even here. Your rank will command both respect and expectation. Many will look to you as a nascent leader, whether you wish it or not.”
“That’s what worries me. I came here hoping to keep my head down, to focus on my studies and training. But it seems like my rank will make that difficult.”
“It will,” the Sentinel agreed bluntly. “But is also may afford you opportunities others can only dream of. Your rank opens doors — whether to alliances, resources, or knowledge. How you use that is up to you.”
They resumed walking, Klarion’s mind whirling as he thought things through. The thing he was having the hardest time with was how there had been very little discussion about any of these basics on his way to Thorn’s Reach. He didn’t think Alesin and Rolfun had done so maliciously, however. Thinking it over, it’s likely their own experiences in the Empire had pushed them to focus on increasing his strength as much as possible to survive initial contact with other members of the nobility, with the expectation knowledge would come later. Klarion did not entirely agree, but what happened had happened. Better to just take the new knowledge he had gained into account going forward.
“Thank you. For explaining all of this. I can’t imagine it’s part of your usual duties.”
The Sentinel inclined her head slightly. “It is not. But it is clear you are trying to understand, and that effort is worthy of respect.”
Klarion offered a small, appreciative smile, though his thoughts remained troubled. The weight of his rank, the attention his scars already drew, and now the complexities of navigating the Imperial Academy made the odds of keeping his head down pretty long. If he wanted to succeed here and grow strong enough that he might be able to help those he cared about back on Earth, he would need to find a way to balance the weight of his rank with the person he wanted to be. He would just have to take it one step at a time.
They approached the nearest entrance of the Amphitheater. Everyone else that had previously been in line had already made their way inside, leaving only him and the various Sentinels around. He turned to the one that had escorted him, “And how many Archduchies have scions attending the Imperial Academy this year?”
“Five,” the Sentinel said. “The Silverwind, the Ironclaw, the Oakfrost, the Brightcoin, and, of course, the Blacksword. No houses of higher rank have any scions seeking admission this year.”
Klarion nodded slowly, his mind racing to memorize the names. “That’s more than I expected.”
“It is rare for so many Archducal houses to send their scions in the same year. The presence of these five houses in this cohort will likely shape the coming years of your time here.” The Sentinel visibly hesitated, then leaned in closer to Klarion to speak in a voice that held a trace of worry. “The scions of the Archduchies are not like the rest of the student body, Lord Blacksword. They represent the pinnacle of imperial nobility here. Whether you seek it or not, your presence will command attention. Behave accordingly.”
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed.”
“That is also why the Imperial Academy exists — to mold those with the potential into true leaders.”
“I suppose that’s something to strive for.”
The Sentinel did not respond, but the slight nod of her head said enough.
Klarion made to head to the entrance, when the Sentinel spoke once more, pulling him up short.
“This is where I leave you,” the Sentinel said, her voice even and her posture rigid. Her blank, white mask tilted slightly as if she was appraising the Amphitheater of Induction, or perhaps him. “Only the first-year students are permitted beyond this point.”
Klarion nodded, glancing at the ornate arches and wondering what would happen inside. He faced the Sentinel, all at once realizing he had nearly forgotten something important. “I feel like I should thank you properly,” he said, hesitating. “But I don’t even know your name.”
The Sentinel shifted, almost as if considering how to respond. “I am J-65,” she said finally, the clipped nature of her reply suggesting she was unaccustomed to such questions.
“J-65?” Klarion repeated brows furrowed.
“It is my designation,” she clarified. “For those of my rank and station, a name would only interfere with our duties. We are trained to serve, not to be known.”
He regarded her thoughtfully before nodding. “Well, J-65, thank you. For everything.”
Her mask dipped once in acknowledgment. “Walk with purpose, Lord Klarion. What you face inside will set the tone for your time here. Carry yourself as the scion you are.”
Klarion nodded, taking a deep breath, then turned to the entrance. Though he wanted to, he did not hesitate before stepping towards it. Behind him, J-65 remained a silent, stoic figure, a watchful presence at the threshold of his next step into an uncertain future at the Imperial Academy.