Although her wounds we completely healed the girl was still sweating profusely in her slumber. Irwyn could only guess what terrors haunted her dreams and nightmares. He himself was seated in a chair beside her bed as the moment she woke up would signify an opportunity he did not want to miss. At least Irwyn now had ample time to finally check her status screen.

[Name: Alice of Steelmire]

[Race: human (pure)]

[Soul grade: rare (suppressed)]

[Mana: 500/500]

[Active Classes: Seeker of time T(1/5) 20/20]

[Worship: none]

[Essence: 28]

[Unspent points, level: 0, attribute: 0, upgrade: 0]

[Titles: Seeker of Temporus, Avenger]

[Magic: Spacetime, General]

[Skills:]

[Dormant classes: Time sorcerer, Space sorcerer, Time apprentice, Space apprentice, Avenger]

[Attributes:]

[Magic capacity: 50]

[Constitution: 20]

[Strength: 15]

[Intellect: 41]

[Dexterity: 10]

[Soul: 21 (11)]

Another Seeker. Just within his own generation Irwyn had already met 3 Heralds, 5 if he counted duplicates, and 2 seekers. That was absolutely abnormal; it would not be a stretch to say that in the past, 1 seeker in a generation would be above average, yet here he witnessed that basic truth be absolutely disproven. It was disturbing for many reasons. Especially because he knew of the nature of Heralds and Seekers. Many believed that the talents for elemental affinities were granted by Logos together with their relevant titles, but that was simply a misconception. Logos merely granted the title in order to clearly identify those who possessed which talent. Those talents were not granted by anything, instead they formed naturally from excessive energy within the universe. For example when he himself died at the very peak of cultivation it would cause a higher number of such geniuses to appear in the next generation. Yet there never, ever was more than a single Herald within a generation before. That meant that an astronomical amount of power was bleeding out of somewhere, yet Irwyn could not guess from where, and he couldn’t even perceive it.

As Irwyn contemplated he heard a low shriek from beside himself as the girl was forcefully awoken by one of her nightmares “good morning,” Irwyn said before she could properly snap back into her composed self, earning a stare as her just woken up brain could not instantly comprehend the meaning of those simple words.

“You have finally awoken,” Irwyn said after a few seconds and smiled. Smile was an underestimated weapon. It placed those who were not extremely wary of him at subconscious ease if done well. And there were few who could fake a smile better than Irwyn.

“Where am I?” was the natural first question the girl asked after returning from her coma. Yet her expression immediately turned flabbergasted as she realised her voice was no longer damaged.

“Within the confines of the Blackburg manor, safe for the time being,” was his answer.

“What happened to my voice?” she just had to ask.

“A few decent healers can forge miracles,” and fixing damaged vocal cords was within the capabilities of Blackburg healers.

“Still, whatever you want with me, I refuse,” she then immediately wanted to shut down any negotiations, perhaps just remembering her defeat at the hands of the boy in front of her, however, Irwyn was not worried. He had already stacked the deck in his favour.

“Don’t be so harsh. I believe that I can offer you things beyond what you would believe, last staff of Steelmire,” Irwyn kept smiling as he dropped a bombshell. The name of Steelmire might not mean much to an average person, but it would freeze the blood of many knowledgeable officials. Steelmire used to be a village of mercenaries, renowned in their area. Their numbers reached around a thousand and their leader was even a 4th tier spatial mage of remarkable skill. Yet one day, through one of their contracts they touched upon the reverse scale of marquess Bearhide. They could have just surrendered those few who were involved, but in their tight knit community they instead sheltered them. A mistake which had proven to be fatal as the nobleman’s army arrived to burn down their entire settlement. They never saw it coming; every single man, woman and child were massacred like cattle and it was believed that there were no survivors. Unless something changed their leader’s head still adorned the city walls of the marquess’ city as an example to others. Yet Irwyn recognised this girl as a survivor based on a relatively simple clue.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“How?!” she immediately blurted out in surprise as Irwyn casually revealed her greatest secret.

“At the very end of our fight, I noticed a rather interesting tattoo which was revealed beneath your burned clothes. A red ink staff with intricate details on your shoulder, traditionally the signature of a mage as well as the descendant of Steelmire’s leader.”

“Shit,” the girl cursed and her expression crumbled as she realised her tattoo might have been seen by others. Few would recognise it for what it was, but if even a single such person relayed that information to the marquees she would be dead. It was impossible for her to avoid pursuit from someone who had access to 4th tier experts; her original escape was already a fluke made through great sacrifice of others “the matches were recorded, weren’t they,” she realised as her expression faltered even further. Despair even began to claw at her.

“They were, however, it would seem that the clashing of our two unexpectedly potent spells made the recorders malfunction, deleting the last few moments of our fight,” Irwyn gave her a meaningful smile “or at least that is what most people will believe when they find out that the recording is not complete.”

“I see,” she was not sure what to say. On one hand a stranger offered her great help, on the other it now allowed him to easily blackmail her “then what do you want from me.”

“Nothing much, in fact I want to help you,” Irwyn simply spoke with his infinitely amiable smile.

“Help me?” she was visibly confused.

“Of course. I could force you into becoming my subordinate, but that would only result in a dagger in my back somewhere down the line. Instead I will grant you exactly what you want. The names of all officials who participated in the raid; the identities of the 4th tier combatants which killed the Steelmire’s leader; every weakness of Marquess Bearhide; and most importantly: The power you need to make them suffer.”

“What if someone who is important to you is in my hitlist?” she immediately asked.

“I believe you should not be naive after what happened. What do you think would happen if there was someone important enough in your way?” Irwyn shot back another question.

“I would not have woken up in a bed, but bound in the dungeon,” a chill ran down her spine as she arrived at that conclusion “what will you do if I refuse?”

“Although I would feel considerable regret, I would not do anything about it. I would not have to. You see, my mother is currently trying very hard to reduce the influence of the mage guild and would rather not risk them getting a powerful new recruit,” Irwyn let the implication to hang in the air “I am not trying to threaten you into submission, but I believe you deserve at least that much honesty.”

“You wanted to win, didn’t you?” when she began to think silently Irwyn asked her another question “what did you want to demand from the mage’s guild as a reward for your triumph?”

“Their unconditional support in my growth,” she easily admitted. It was the only path she thought would lead to her revenge.

“Since that is the case, why hesitate when I offer you so much more,” Irwyn kept smiling.

“Fine, you can bring out the contract,” she slightly begrudgingly accepted.

“Oh, you seem to have misunderstood my intentions. I do not wish to bind you or force you into obeying me. That is a one way ticket towards betrayal. For the things I shall grant you I only desire one thing: The promise of eternal loyalty,” Irwyn offered her a hand.

“The promise of all I may desire for a promise of loyalty,” she pondered out loud, but a smile was now too plastered on her visage “what are you? Some sort of a devil.”

“Oh no,” Irwyn’s smile turned into a sheepish grin “I am something so much worse.”

“My name is Alice of Steelmire.”

“I am Irwyn von Blackburg.”

And with two intertwined hands their pact was sealed.