It was the third day that Ty and Forli had been heading north on the great marble road, hurrying to find his boss monster.

Forli was talking to him about something, but he barely paid attention. His mind had a habit of fearing the worst and going to dark places. Right now, it was focused on the thought that his dungeon core wouldn’t work because it was cracked.

All the tests had said it was still potent, that an insane amount of magic was still present in the core. But whether it would work, no one could say.

You’re a fool, Ty, he thought to himself as he hurried, clutching his backpack straps tightly. You always come up with these wild plans, but you never see them through right. They always backfire. And now you’re going to try to convince a veritable god to become your dungeon boss. With a cracked core! You’re going to get in trouble again. Only this time you’ll take someone with you, poor little Forli.

Who was still talking. “So, Thea, that’s Mom’s oldest living daughter, she told me to…”

Ty hurried on, still barely paying attention. Forli was weak and a touch slow, but she had no real limit to her stamina it seemed, so she was able to keep up with Ty’s pace—not that his pace was exceptional or anything.

Ty heard footsteps behind him, the clear tap of wooden soles on the marble road. By Iluvin, someone did come after me! He wondered if it was the champion of the Havi Imperium, Chester Adamant, coming to claim the core for his kingdom. Or perhaps it really was ex-Duke Helryn Mosstone, who had made his feelings on ‘half-breeds’ clear even before he’d become the leading member of the ‘old nobility’ faction.

There were three of them. The first was a tall and muscular elf, but a young one. He was carrying a saber in his right hand and a small shield on his left arm. The shield had the broken-and-moss-covered rock symbol of the Mosstone family on it. He had a smug, self-assured smile, indigo eyes, and copper, shading-to-green hair.

Dalryn Mosstone, Ty thought with relief. Dalryn was Helryn Mosstone’s son, and while he was still trouble, he wasn’t unbeatable trouble like the father.

Although with his two friends, he might still be real trouble. The first companion was Elyndira, a short, iridium-haired elf with a bow in her hands. Second was Ilkoran, a weasel-faced elf with emerald-green eyes, whose hands were weaponless but clenched into fists.

Ty glanced to the side, and saw that Forli had backed away down the road, and was clutching her hands in front of her chest, her brown eyes large and fearful.

For a moment, Ty was deeply afraid. But then he felt the Air magic within himself, the lightning ready to be called at a moment’s notice. It was his heritage from his mother—the old dukes of Belmoria had created a magical line of Air magic, and it had carried down to Ty even though his father was a human that had purchased his captured mother to be his bed-slave.

Ty didn’t know much about his enemies, but he trusted his lightning to protect him. Once, he hadn’t had it, and had been captured by orcs—and terrible things had been done to him. But not this time. This time he would protect himself and Forli both.

The three that faced him were all part of the ‘old nobility’ faction in Star Port that Helryn had founded. The ‘old nobility’ were elves from lost Averia who had fled to the Havi Imperium but never given up their titles, even though they had no lands or subjects. And now that they were back, they blamed Averia’s fall on others—others whom they hated. Orcs, humans… and half-breeds like Ty. They wanted lands, titles, and wealth given to them again, simply because of who they had once been, without doing anything to help earn it back, in Ty’s opinion at least.

Ty’s musings were cut short as Dalryn moved forward. “Hand it over, half-breed. If anyone deserves to become a dungeon lord for Star Port, it isn’t the likes of you. Give it to me and no one gets hurt.”

That’s direct, painfully so. Where’s the witty banter? The repartee?

“So rude!” Forli whispered from behind him.

Ty felt a few sparks between his fingers as he faced the other elf on the road. “I earned this, Dalryn, by saving my liege’s life and helping him to complete his quest to save the dwarves of Stonehaven—who have their city back and pay us taxes now. Like the King told your dad when he gave me the land grant. Who are you to try to take it from me?”

Dalryn sneered at him. “A full elf and the son of a duke of Averia. Not the bastard child of an ex-scion of the human family that tried to gut our kingdom not but two months ago. I hardly think you have our people’s best interests at heart.”

Ty saw the other two nodding along.

Dalryn continued. “Besides, you have a magic bloodline that gives you more than one magic already, Ty. One that your father stole—nay, raped—from our people, which means you inherited stolen elven magic. It’s time to return some.”

Is he actually trying to appeal to some bizarre, insane form of fairness here? Although he has a point about my father. But I’m not him. I shouldn’t bear his sins. I’ve borne them long enough.

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“You have a bloodline as well, Dalryn, and it’s not my fault it still only gives one magic. Plus, your dad is still—"

Dalryn raised his sword and pointed it at Ty. “Enough. Give me the core, and you can live out your half-breed life. Don’t, and I’ll take it from you by force. I won’t try and kill you, but you might die—or end up crippled, which is no way to live.”

Ty raised his hand and called on the Air magic that was the legacy of his bloodline. He forged his essence into lightning in a fraction of a second and struck the tree next to Dalryn. It left a small scorch mark. It also further boosted Ty’s confidence.

“I’m Level Six, Dalryn. You’re Level One. Even with three of you, I promise this won’t go how you want.”

Whatever other personal failings could be laid at Dalryn’s feet—and Ty was sure there were plenty—he wasn’t a coward.

“Feh. A noble elf is way better than any traitorous half-breed, and I’ll prove it.” Dalryn rushed at Ty, stabbing forward with his saber. Ty called the lightning again, a quick defensive use that put a field of electricity up around him. Dalryn’s weapon stabbed through it, but he was shocked, and the twitching threw his aim off—he stabbed Ty’s shoulder before yelling and collapsing, then rolling away.

Ty’s storm shield, rank I, damages Dalryn for 2 [1x 1.2 air affinity x1.2 Occult x1.1 Occult Lightning specialty] damage and imposes a -15% accuracy to attack.

Dalryn stabs Ty for 4 [4 unmodified] damage.

Ty took an arrow to the arm from Elyndria right below the saber wound. At the same time, Ilkoran rushed forward.

Forli yelled, “Watch out!” from behind him.

Thanks, on it, Ty thought sardonically as his arm bled.

Ty’s storm shield was still active and drawing on his magical essence, so he trusted it to protect him from Ilkoran. He moved to the side and fired a lightning bolt at Elyndira. It hit her and sent her to the ground, its base three damage netting him five total after his modifications to lightning damage.

Ilkoran was brave. He gritted his teeth and attempted to punch through the storm shield but ended up tensing and missing, and then falling to the ground, lightly smoking as well.

Dalryn stood, and Ty hit him with another lightning bolt. Dalryn twitched, a grunt escaping through clenched teeth before falling to the marble road, smoking similarly to Ilkoran. Mind-blowingly, however, even after two hits from lightning, Dalryn struggled to his feet again.

Gotta hand it to him—he’s tough as nails and has a ton of will. Shame he’s a complete weed.

Ty hit him again, hoping he wouldn’t kill the jackass. Dalryn finally collapsed, not moving but for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

“Wow,” Forli said, walking up beside Ty. “That was, um, impressive, Ty. You always kinda struck me as, um, refined, I guess. Not, um, violent. But yeah—impressive.”

The other two must have thought the same thing at some level, because even though they weren’t incapacitated, they didn’t move against Ty. Instead, they remained on the ground—in Elyndira’s case, with hands away from her weapon. Ty raised an eyebrow and nodded his head to the bushes, and Elyndira, still lying prone on the ground, kicked her bow into the underbrush.

Which Ty appreciated, as he didn’t want to be forced to finish them off.

Ty did give some honest thought to the proposition of just killing them. They attacked me—and were obviously willing to chance murdering me—in order to take the dungeon core I won. I mean, at some level, they totally deserve to die.

Ty didn’t have the heart to execute three elves, all in their late forties like him—which for an elf was about the same as seventeen in a human. He was a touch physically older from his human parentage, but not much.

And he thought Forli might disapprove. She had been a kind to him, a friend whose naturally sunny disposition offset his gloomy and darker nature. Not to mention that she was helping him find The Crone. Ty didn’t want to reward her kindness in helping him with trauma.

“Dalryn’s daddy isn’t here to save you, huh?” Ty asked, trying to ignore the pain in his arm. The two blows had taken more than half his health and hurt like crazy. Which also wasn’t helping the case for sparing the miscreants. The precious blood running down his arm and dripping to splatter on the detritus-covered marble road argued for finishing them off.

Elyndira shook her head no. “Dalryn said that if his dad came, the duke would take it and make himself the dungeon lord. We didn’t tell his dad that we had learned where you were going, okay?”

“How did you learn?”

“Dalryn didn’t tell me that.”

Ty hit a tree near her with a blast of his lightning.

Elyndira screamed and covered her face. “Please, Ty! Please don’t kill me! I’m sorry. I don’t know how he found out. I swear to Iluvin Eturia!”

Then she made a brief speech in High Averian—a beautiful, melodic language that Ty didn’t understand. Her hands were held palm up, and tears leaked from her eyes. She seemed sincere.

But she could have been using the language of the upper class of his mother’s people to insult him, for all he understood it. And it rankled him.

I’ll never be one of them, no matter how hard I try. I won’t be a slave-trading banker like my father’s people, and I can’t be a noble and cultured high elf like my mother’s people. Hell, I can remember the last rejection from Yen, who was a slave, back in Steelport. Yet even though she was the lowest of the low, I wasn’t good enough. No one wants me to belong, and they won’t let me. Dalryn and his ilk, Elyndira, all of them, won’t let me. I have nowhere to belong…

He felt his essence gathering and saw fear invade Elyndira’s eyes.

She held her hands out in front of her, as if she could push Ty away. “Please!”

Forli echoed it from beside him, her whispered “Please” joining Elyndira’s.

Ty didn’t have the heart to kill her anyway. She was beautiful, like most elves, and he had a soft spot.

Also, if I’m a dungeon lord, I can still build somewhere for me to belong. Become strong enough to take care of my own people, rich enough to build my own family. Their disdain won’t matter anymore.

“Run. Leave your weapons and Dalryn’s. But take him with you. If I see you on this road again, I’ll kill you. I have more important things to do than finish off weeds like you.”

“I—” Elyndira began.

“Go!”

Ilkoran and Elyndira grabbed Dalryn, and began, with difficulty, dragging his body back down the road. Ty guessed Dalryn would wake soon and worried he might plan a rematch—especially since Ty was wounded.

If they did, however, the power of the storm that was Ty’s would serve him again.

Ty turned to Forli, and nodded his head to the north.

“Let’s go.”

“What about your arm?”

“I just have to endure it.”