Jack and Drake exchanged soft chuckles of relief as they then made their way back the way Jack had originally entere the dungeon, but not before Jack made damn sure that the golden gate was securely locked behind them. Only then did Jack dare head up the winding stairs that seemed to go on forever before finally hitting the storage room of the Silver Wand Inn, at which point they very discretely made their way to the main floor, Jack furtively glancing around until he caught a certain pair of brown eyes belonging to a harried-looking girl who nonetheless found the time to flash him a pleased smile, her cheeks flushing prettily.

"Jack!" Cornelia whispered, biting her lip as she gazed into his eyes. "I... it's good to see you! Is everything okay?"

Jack gave a quick nod. "I need to get back to my room as fast as I can, Cornelia. Discretely, if possible. And I have a friend with me. Lead the way?"

Her eyes widened at the sight of a sheepishly smiling Drake, dressed as he was in what Jack now realized was little more than serf's rags, despite the enchanted blade now sheathed at his waist, Jack having found a sheath for the vampiric gladius that suited his friend perfectly from his inventory, and not thinking about the matter any further than that. But if the myriad expressions flitting across Cornelia's face were anything to go by...

Yet Drake didn't hesitate to step boldly froward, clasping the girl's hand with a gentlemanly grip, peering intently into her eyes. "Please, dear one. If you would be so good as to escort us to secure quarters and send for Lady Sigrid, we would both be exceedingly grateful."

The young serving girl blinked at those words. "Your clothes! But... you don't sound like any serf I've ever seen. Begging your pardon, my lord, but you sound, like, well... a lord."

"Exactly," Drake said with a wink. "We play a grand game of cloak and shadow beyond compare. And daggers in the dark as well. But mum's the word if you don't have the stomach for the stakes involved."

Cornelia flashed an anxious smile. "Um... yes, my lord. Mum's doubly the word for humble serving girls like myself. Best we stay well away from... anyway, follow me. I'll have you back in master Jack's room in two shakes of a cat's tail."

And after a few tense moments where Cornelia hissed at them to stay put as she laughed and teased a drunk patron careening into her out of nowhere before gently leading him back from the servant's corridor and back into the tavern proper, she was clasping Drake's hand once more and leading him quickly up the stairs with Jack taking the rear, his cloak pulled from storage now draped upon Drake's shoulders as if they were merely leading a tipsy friend to his quarters to sleep off an over adventurous meal.

"And here we are, safe a houses," decreed a breathless, beaming Cornelia, whose flushed cheeks were definitely those of a girl enjoying her dash of adventure, all protestations aside.

"Now I'll be right back with the mistress, so best you both stay put." And with an unexpected kiss upon Jack's lips and the whispered words, "you owe me," she was gone with no trace she had been there at all, save for the scents of lilac and honeysuckle, and the heat upon Jack's lips.

Drake grinned. "Friend of yours?"

Jack chuckled softly. "You know what? Maybe she is, at that." His cheeks blazed at the bemused smile his friend flashed him, doubly awkward from someone clearly younger than himself. "I think, perhaps, there might have been a misunderstanding somewhere."

Drake flashed a too jaded grin. "I can't imagine how that might have occurred." He smirked at Jack's bed, before bursting into laughter tinged with relief and exhaustion both.

And Jack found himself doing the same. Both of them having come so close to darkest peril, forced to fight for their lives against overwhelming odds.

And yet, somehow, they had survived.

Survived and blossomed in the crucible of peril that was the essence of being a Delver, one of them blessed with a rare prestige class, the other now blessed with increasing mastery of spells no first level hero should be able to cast at all, let alone with an Adept degree of skill.

And they had come so close to dying in the process. The glance they shared was that of soldiers who knew they had no business even being alive.

But still, they were determined to do just that.

To survive, prosper, and bring to justice the monsters who had destroyed so many lives, just a single roll of the dice from taking their own as well.

"I take it you're wondering why I'm not going downstairs right now and shouting Lord Hecklebart's head off, before we march to the Academy back entrance and blow Morlin right down those stairs?"

Jack smiled. Because he hadn't wasted those minutes they had raced back to Silver Wand Inn, Jack explaining how very much in common he had with the youth who had been so badly wronged by that family.

"It had crossed my mind," Jack admitted. "But if the way the lords below interact with the Delvers who enjoy being on such grand display are any indication..."

Drake dipped his head. "Good. You understand, then."

Jack frowned at that. "What exactly should I understand? That monster and his get nearly..."

"There's a certain way things are done here, Jack. And it's important we follow the paths our forbears laid out for us." Hard eyes held Jack's own. "Delver and Noble alike."

Jack Laughed at that. "You don't sound like any 14-year-old I ever met." Then he blinked. "Wait, don't tell me..."

Only for a hard knock to break his train of thought.

"Well? Open it, Jack," said Drake. "These are your quarters, after all."

Rolling his eyes, Jack did so, only for his bemused expression to freeze under the deadly gaze of one very unhappy looking ice sorceress, if the frigid glare pinning him where he stood was anything to go by, Lady Sigrid radiating a fearsome intensity Jack felt lie the spiritual equivalent of a howling gale.

"Why are you here, boy? After all I risked, giving you a way out of the trap closing about you... now closing about us both! Are you really such a fool that you..."

Then her words immediately cut off, mouth agape as she took in Drake, smiling up at her in the tattered rags of a destitute serf, for all that his gaze held an aura of command Jack only noted at that very moment.

Much to Jack's shock, she actually fell into a graceful curtsey. "My Lord Drake de Leone. It is a singular honor to host your personage within our humble domicile. What can your devoted servant do to make your stay more comfortable?"

Drake flashed a warm smile. "It's good to see you too, Sigrid. I would count it a great favor if you could secure me a proper suit of reinforced dueling attire, along with all necessary accouterments and enchantments, and let's see... Yes! A copper bath and potions of healing and rejuvenation, and perhaps a hot pot of cacao as well. And some decent pastries. Gods, I feel like I haven't eaten in days!"

"Of course, my lord. Will you be dueling with pistols, wands, or blades?"

Drake frowned thoughtfully. "Wands, I think. But your lightest dueling sabers and smallswords should also be made available as well, just in case a certain fool wishes to feel my blade kissing his flesh."

"Spadroons as well, my lord?"

Drake flashed a pleased smile. "Actually, that would be lovely. Yes, include those as well. And if you could send a messenger to my father, who might be in session, informing him of these developments, I would count it a great favor. Especially if we can secure my favored dueling equipment within the hour. And Sigrid?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Thank you."

Lady Sigrid flowed into a curtsy that was almost a bow. "It is my esteemed pleasure, my lord... Jack," she said the last with a pointed look Jack's way before twirling about and disappearing in a flutter of silks and the scent of roses.

A bemused Jack turned to his friend. "I'm getting the feeling I'm wading in some pretty exclusive waters, here."

Drake chuckled at that. "You are indeed, and I think you'll find the water suits you just fine. And speaking of water..."

Jack quickly got the door upon hearing a pair of knocks somehow both urgent and deferential, letting in both Cornelia and another serving girl, the pair now looking at Drake with anxious, awe-filled stares as they maneuvered a shining copper basin, quickly filling it with jugs of piping hot water ported by deferential servants just beyond the door, Drake positively beaming when a well-dressed servant who looked every inch the esteemed butler with a uniform jacket of finest linen and tailored pants to match, brought in an ornate silver tray with a pot emanating the delightful scent of honey-sweetened cacao and a plate of pastries as well.

Jack's stomach growled as he caught the scents of creme filled puffs and flaky rolls filled with what he was almost certain was beef and mozzarella cheese, or the local equivalent.

Drake grinned at Jack as he shamelessly stripped and entered the bath, leaning back with a sigh as the last of the servants bowed low before quickly making their exit.

"Well, don't just stand there, make yourself comfortable and grab yourself a meat pastry! And if you'd be a friend and hand me one as well..."

And in short order, they were both stuffing their faces with the most delectable flaky pastries Jack had ever eaten, awe by how spectacularly well succulent morsels of meat, cheese filling, and flaky crust went together. Especially when sipping hot cacao. All of which helped him avoid looking too closely at his comfortably soaking friend who might have the flawless features of a model or lead roll in any high school teen drama.

But his powerful physique now was now most definitely that of a lean gymnast, as opposed to the emaciated waif of a boy Jack had first caught sight of in the dungeon below.

"If you would be so kind as to grant your brother-in-arms another of those delectable treats, friend Jack?"

Jack grinned at his now thoroughly scrubbed friend, having made good use of the soft soap and sponge provided, hair now revealed to be the color of spun gold with the dirt, and grime, and terror washed away, looking more than ever like a young star or Selftube celebrity. Or perhaps, in this day and age...

"Better yet, let me bring the tray."

"Brilliant idea, Jack. Do!"

Jack laughed as he refilled his friend's cacao and placed the entire pastry tray on a strategically elevated stool allowing it to hang just over the lip of the copper bath, his friend's surprising grace assuring he could stuff his fill without a single drop of soapy water splattering upon polished silver or food.

And Jack was happily matching his friend, bite for bite, savoring the exquisite creme filled pastries just as much as he had the Renaissance version of professionally made pizza rolls, more certain than ever that his friend had earned and invested several levels of potency since Jack had first raced for the portal frame that had been Drake's Salvation, and that age was truly a deceptive thing, here in Greyspeak.

But all Jack said was, "What's the plan?"

Drake grinned. "Direct and to the point. I like that! The point is, we're going to explain to my father everything that happened. Then, if father concurs with my plan, we will confront Morlin and his sire, Lord Hecklebart. A challenge will be offered, and the issue resolved once and for all."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "You really think it will be that simple?"

His friend's gaze hardened. Then he broke out in laughter. "Ah, Jack. You'd be surprised what truths are revealed in the duels the lords of Greyspeak favor."

Jack dipped his head, conceding the point. "I have no doubt of that." He then grabbed another pastry, this one filled with fruit preserves and clotted creme, all but shivering at the explosion of flavors in his mouth. "There might be a tiny complication, though. At least for me."

His friend raised a polite brow in curiosity.

"Yeah, I'm sort of wanted by your High Council. Or is it Lord's Council? After sticking my neck out like an idiot, and healing my girlfriend's rifle company."

Drake's smile grew. "You're girlfriend's rifle company?"

Jack flushed. "Yeah... maybe I shouldn't have said that? Anyway, I seem to have attracted the interest of a certain lord on the council who saw fit to order my capture." Jack clenched his jaw. "And if my understanding of these matters is correct, the army is permitted to draft whoever it likes. If anyone manifests the potential to Delve and level up... they can be forced to take the class of their commanding officer's choosing." Jack's gaze hardened. "And that's something I'm not about to let happen."

Drake's solemn gaze met Jack's own. "No one's drafting you for anything, or forcing your class, Jack. You have my word on it."

Jack blinked, profoundly relieved to hear those words. He bowed his head, carefully not asking who his friend really was, lest he somehow break the fragile bubble of familiarity they now shared. Instead, he pulled out the intercepted letter one of the riflemen he had saved had given him. "Here's the letter. Proof of their intentions, if you will."

Drake frowned at the letter Jack left folded on his bed as he padded himself dry with the plush towels they had been provided. And Jack knew he shouldn't be surprised when he grabbed the slender oak wand that had been left on the study table by Lady Sigrid, Jack suspected, and with a single whisper that sounded like a cool spring breeze with the scented memories of forest loam after a good long rain, the water was suddenly as crystal clear and free of soap as anyone could wish.

Jack's eyes widened when Drake's eyes danced with the memory of a warm winter fire blazing in a magnificent keep against a backdrop of a hundred lords and ladies dancing in concert across a grand floor of polished marble, before the water steamed at just the right temperature.

"Your turn," said his friend with a certain mischievous smile as he turned to read the letter Jack had provided, offhandedly waving his wand at the door at the sound of a tentative knock, whereupon it opened to reveal a pair of servants, both bringing in what looked to be full suits of finest cashmere and linen, for all that they radiated the bright silver of protective wards to Jack's Magesight.

Jack quickly scrubbed his blushing cheeks and the rest of him with the soft soap that was remarkably gentle on the skin, nothing like the lye based soaps of his family farm, forced to take in just how well defined his own body now looked, sleek limbs moving with a speed and grace he would have found uncanny just half a year ago as he quickly soaped and rinsed himself, forced to acknowledged that he too had been transformed by his handful of months upon Peril's Path, if not quite so dramatically as his friend had, in a mere handful of hours.

Of course Drake had leveled up, Jack's interface now pinging him as level 3, and Jack had yet to even forge his class.

Drake glared at the letter while a well-dressed servant whom Jack guessed was part of his friend's house retinue suited Drake up in pristine white undertunic, double breasted waistcoat of crimson silk, and a frock coat with so many silver buckles radiating subtle enchantments that Jack thought his friend looked as much steampunk as a cross between reconnaissance nobleman and Victorian era duelist who knew how useful thick quilted cloth could be in catching sword blades.

Especially when he donned the silver rimmed goggles along with his top hat.

"Cronius Hecklebart. The man clearly has too much influence over our Rifle Regiment, and his fool of a mole must not have realized no other member of the Council has those initials."

"That was my thought as well," Jack said. "About the culprit, I mean. As I have no knowledge of your council. And Captain Lindon was no good samaritan. Personally, I think he was looking for any excuse to serve back North, preferably away from witches and magic in general,. And he threatened to kill me, by the way, after I dared to turn in a mission involving the Shadow Wolves, which were anything but a benign pack of wild animals. Rather, they were vicious predators Stormy risked her life putting down. But somehow that bastard of a captain got it into his head that I was the one responsible for them being there."

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Drake's brow furrowed in acknowledgment of Jack's words while his manservant gazed over him with a critical eye before quickly tying a bright blue cravat around Drake's throat, nestled right between the lapels of his undertunic and waistcoat, all the while ignoring the youth's exasperated sigh.

"It is for your own good, young master. You are intending to duel, after all."

"I know that, Jevons, but those particular enchantments always make my neck itch."

"Better than a blade or spell to the throat, sir."

Drake nodded. "True."

"And may your humble servant ask who the beneficiary of your pointed attention might be? I can best prepare additional measures if I know who will be issued challenge."

Drake flashed a cold smile. "It's a secret. Not that I don't trust you with my life, Jevons. But you know as well as I how the air around here has a tendency to ripple with truths best hidden when death points to any man, here in this city chock full of wizards."

The servant affected a polite nod. "Of course you are right, sir." His eyes then widened. "And your father shall be here shortly."

"Excellent!" said a beaming drake, now turning to Jack. "Well?"

Jack blinked. "Well, what?"

His friend smirked. "Put your outfit on. I assume I can trust that you will act as my second?"

Jack blinked in surprise, then grinned. "You know I will."

"Excellent! And don't worry. Jevons will have you looking right as rain in a jiff. Meanwhile, spill the details! I am dying to know how you went from being nearly shot dead to befriending one of our council's most elite regiments!"

And faster than a bemused Jack would have thought possible, he was indeed suited up in an exotic collage of steampunk Victorian era gear with just a dash of renaissance flare, his outfit the mirror of Drake's own. And all the while, his too perceptive friend had been asking pointed questions that had Jack revealing far more than he had planned.

Drake's eyes were flashing with a certain amount of mischief when he chuckled at the end of Jack's tale. "So, after saving your poppet from certain doom using the same wondrously potent magics you used to strike down our nemesis below, you brought our wounded rifleers back from the brink of death with heavenly magics that only the best alchemists have access to, before being rewarded with the sweetest prize any man could as for, the arms of his beloved."

Jack flushed, clearing his throat awkwardly, and pretending it was the cravat the intent-looking Jevons was securing around his neck that made him cough. His friend was right, Jack decided. The cravat was itchy, and he wasn't sure how he felt about a frock coat and boots with so many silver buckles, for all that his interface rang with messages that made him smile as much as his friend's exaggerated account made him blush.

You are wearing a full suit of Enchanted Regalia (Arcane Steampunk Era) Torso and Head (ward generating top hat) reduce all damage taken by 3 Wound Tiers. Hands, wrists, & Legs enjoy 2 Wound Tiers resistance. All spell damage is quartered. +4 to all Spell Deflection techniques. All saving throws are increased by +4 (Silver Goggles.) Note. Artifacts of Etherial Construction work only within territory boundaries sympathetic to Etherial Magic.

"Then you were forced to flee from passion's stormy embrace into the cold winds of uncertainty, fleeing disaster with the aid of loyal soldiers whose lives you had saved. A fitting tale for any tavern hall, I should think."

Jack smirked. "You just had to make a play on Stormy's name, didn't you?"

Drake grinned. "I've seen her with her rifle regiment on parade days. She is an exotic beauty, that's for sure. You, my friend, are one lucky man."

Jack flushed and looked away. "I can only hope," he said.

"My lord, I have taken the liberty of securing your preferred blades, pistols, and wands," said a politely deferential Jevons, appearing out of nowhere.

Drake actually flushed. "My apologies, Jack."

Jack laughed. "For teasing me about my girlfriend? Please. It's what friends are for! It's not your fault fate and circumstance are pulling us away right after crashing us together." Jack smirked. "Besides, you know I'll do the same, once I figure out who you're swooning over, buddy."

Drake chuckled with what sounded suspiciously like relief. "Well then..." he looked at his pistols and shook his head. "Actually, I was afraid that you might take a certain favored dueling weapon amiss, considering all the edicts against firearms most Low Mages insist upon. Edicts almost always adhered to, when a bitter mage's remedy is so easily at hand." He then shook his head. "But that was a bit silly of me. You did fall for a witch now commanding a rifle regiment, after all."

Jack flushed, then grinned. "Yeah, you know what? I think maybe I did. And who the hell are you calling a low mage?"

His friend's eyes widened, then he waved his hands apologetically. "Forgiveness, friend! It's just a reference to those who tap into earthly manifestations of magic, as opposed to the ethereal ideals favored by Academy mages you'll find here in the city proper."

Jack smirked. "So your wand magic is ethereal?"

His friend nodded, smiling with pleasure when he inspected the case of crystal wands Jevons opened for his perusal, before giving a satisfied dip of his head. "These will do quite nicely, Jevons." He then turned back to Jack. "Wands are indeed synonymous with our ethereal art, especially for students and those newly inducted into our grand tradition. Of course, the wands themselves aren't actually necessary, once you achieve a certain level of skill. But they are eminently useful. Even, perhaps especially, in the hands of a master."

He then unsheathed what looked to be a light fencing saber, before cleaving the air with an impressive series of moulinets and surprisingly sudden lunges, before repeating a similar set of exercises with his spadroon, though Jack noticed the snapping motions of the latter were just a bit tighter and quicker than with the saber. Drake inspected his smallsword last of all, giving a slow nod of satisfaction as he also put that weapon through its paces, more lunges and counters than any sort of slash, save at neck or eye level. Most remarkable to Jack, neither the room's dimensions nor his attire seemed to affect Drake's movements in the least.

"Your trials have gifted you with uncommon grace and vigor," Jevons quietly noted, earning a surprised glance from Jack and a frown from Drake.

"Some things are best kept close to the vest, my friend," Drake cautioned, Jake noting that the other servant had long since left.

His manservant smiled, pressing his gloved finger against a single nostril. "To the grave, young master. But you know how rumors spread in that most glorious of all institutions. So please keep in mind that any companion you align with this upcoming year will find you to be a far more... athletic specimen than the elegantly slender youth who had broken so many hearts when the semester ended, just two months ago."

Drake frowned thoughtfully, before nodding his head in agreement. "Astute point, Jevons. And there is only so much that illusion magics can hide between lovers, should they actually open their hearts to one another."

Jack looked pointedly at Jevons. "How much can we say?"

Drake grinned. "My father trusts him, friend Jack. The highest honor any man could hope for. And these rooms are now warded. So speak freely about anything, save our target."

Jack nodded. "I see there seems to be no stricture on you wearing protective magics."

His friend winked. "None at all. Because lords of any rank may challenge one another, but there has to be some benefit to status and means."

Jack nodded, gazing intently at his friend as he pulled his greatest treasure, leery as he was of revealing it outside the peril and madness of Regio, now being revealed to the world above. In a city full of hungry lords who would love nothing more than to collar Jack and make him a tool of their bidding, thanks to the gifts he had.

Drake swallowed, gazing at Jack's copper wristband covered in glistening blood runes that sparkled like rubies in the light.

"That is no Etherial Working," a surprisingly awed-looking Jevons noted.

Drake flashed Jack a grateful smile. "No it isn't, friend Jevons. It will heal injuries in minutes that could spell a man's death if left unattended, or about 1 HP per second, in Delver's terms. Which might not do much, if you're actually being torn apart by shadow beasts, but will certainly let you heal after the battle's done, so long as you're still breathing at the end, no matter how many injuries you sustained. How many casualties of war, after all, only come after a period of suffering extending for hours, weeks, or days? And, unlike our glorious Etherial accouterments, it will work well beyond the boundaries of our barony, even in the depths of Nightmare and living dream."

Jack blinked, impressed by just how much his friend had picked up, wondering if he had the equivalent of Magesight or Arcane Perception as well. Which would make perfect sense, if his friend was a student of the elite Arcane Academy that it seemed everyone who was anyone around here attended.

"You are correct, my lord. Blood-loss and sepsis kill far more soldiers in war than any singular fatal blow. The value of such an artifact..."

Drake nodded, flashing Jack a grateful smile. "Though I doubt it will be needed, considering the transformative magics my nemesis favors. But it never hurts to enhance one's defenses. Will it interfere with my dueling attire?"

Jevons frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I fear I do not know, my lord. I have never tried to coordinate a greater artifact with cutting edge fashion before."

Jack grinned. "May I?"

His friend gave a bemused nod, surrendering the artifact that Jack rolled up his sleeve and placed upon his own forearm before rolling his sleeve down once more. He closed his eyes and focused on the sparkling flow of subtle magics swirling around him... and the rich ruby red current of power now flowing through his body as well.

Bloodmagic trumps Etherial artifacts. +2 Modifier in effect. Additional +4 for bonus for harmonizing your own artifact! Arcane Forging skill check made. Bracer of Healing has successfully synergized with Protective Garments (Etherial Wards).

Congratulations! Arcane Forging (the ability to forge, manipulate, and harmonize Arcane artifacts) is now Apprentice Rank 1!

Jack hid his surprise at the unexpected notification, before recalling that yes, he had put in countless hours linking his Blood Runes to Mitch and Sharon's magic-infused swords and shields during the months he had stayed in Loamsville that now felt no more real to him than a dream. He was excited to find that his growing competence with forging and harmonizing arcane artifacts went beyond a single Rune Forger Perk, even if his present ability to forge his own enchantments was limited to that Rune Forging alone. And for all that he had only learned the absolute basics of smithing, when it came to manipulating steel weapons and armor being infused with magic, feeling their blossoming potential, and knowing just the right time to stamp various runes of power... his skill was unmatched. He somehow knew that as well.

With a satisfied nod, he tossed his friend back the priceless prize. "It shouldn't be a problem. My wrist band should now work fine with your steampunk gear." He winked. "I told it to play nice."

Drake blinked at this. "Sorry? Steampunk?"

Jack grinned. "It's the goggles. I mean, I can understand the silver buckles on the Victorian era frock coats and boots, though the silver buckles on the top hats seem a bit, well..."

"The silver allows for numerous protective wards, young sir, while still being showcased as tastefully as humanly possible," assured Jevons, the faintest of rebukes underneath the man's dry tone.

Jack nodded. "Sure, I'll go along with that. But our cross between silver spectacles and aviator goggles? Pure, unadulterated steampunk."

"Goggles giving us a +4 to resist all illusions, charms, and transformative spells. Not to mention not even a bullet will crack this glass," Drake said with a smile.

Jack blinked. "Shit. Your right. They're where that extra +4 is coming from. Okay. You win. Goggles it is."

"That, and the cravats also protect our necks quite well against light dueling blades. Though of course I wouldn't recommend charging gunfire or halberdiers in our dueling gear," said Drake.

Jack blinked. "Please don't tell me anyone save the rifleers have these pistols?"

Drake laughed at the thought. "Unless you're dueling or a member of the Council, most certainly not! The cost in bullets and maintaining said bullets, and the odds of them being set off most anywhere, save safely stored within a silver-lined and warded cellar, make it an absurd proposition. To say nothing of how prohibitively expensive it is to even bribe your way into a license for them. And the council had to negotiate with the Arcane Academy and what remains of Delvers around here for months, just to win that much of a concession." He flashed a rueful smile. "And since I now have deep sympathies for both those... factions, I'm as pleased with anyone with the restrictions."

Jack couldn't help grinning at the way his friend was gazing at his silver inlaid 4 shot revolvers. "And the fact that you're one of the few with access to them?"

His friend laughed. "Of course!"

Jack peered thoughtfully at them. "Do you think they'd work in, well..."

"There are historical accounts of delvers bringing them into the Academy Delve when gunpowder was first introduced, decades ago." Jevons interjected. "Including those with witches and other party members skilled at containing unexpected mana surges. Those that survived made it clear that the resulting exothermic release turned even reinforced cylinders into cannon shot, and the Delvers holding them into mincemeat."

Drake nodded. "I don't know if you've ever heard of cannons? Incredibly large guns mounted on wheels that can blast through walls, buildings, or charging knights, no matter the quality of their steel. However, the risks associated with that much gunpowder abruptly exploding are significant enough that no one would dare use artillery in this day and age, after a surprisingly short general used his cavalry and cannoneers to reshape the northern half of the continent, just a century back, once it became clear just how vulnerable they were to any mage able to flourish that far north. And there were at least a few of whom took great delight into transforming Bonaparte's cannoneers into mobile bombs that were used to destroy his own military encampments in a series of engagements that left the Franque empire in ruins."

Jevons nodded. "It was exceedingly unwise of him to think that temporal power meant that he could dictate terms to the Adventurers Guild."

Jack smirked. "I get the point. Gunpowder in dungeons is a firm no-no, and any land where mages have access to even a flicker of their magic is unlikely to have artillery of any sort, even if those nations field entire regiments of riflemen on horseback and foot."

Drake nodded before gazing at the door, flashing a heartfelt smile. "And I do believe my father has just arrived."

Jevons immediately opened the door with a bow and Jack's eyes were instantly drawn to an impeccably dressed lord whose broad shoulders were complimented quite nicely by his undertunic and waistcoat of pristine white and grey, an excellent match for the salt and pepper hair fashionably disarrayed over strikingly handsome features belonging to a man in his thirties, with a father's anxious gaze that immediately lightened up into a grateful laugh as he swept up his fully accoutered son in a deceptively powerful hug, tears of relief hovering in the corners of his eyes.

"My boy, safe and sound at last!" The man declared with a powerful baritone voice before holding his son at arm's length, flashing a fatherly smile. "And far from the terrified lad I could only hope to find still in one piece, I find a valiant young warrior eager to champion his own honor!"

And Jack noted the man wiping away a genuine tear as he held his son fiercely tight once more, before stepping back, flashing a smile filled with relief and a pride in equal measure. "Now, do tell your sire all the events that led to this point, and you and I shall, together, plot the best path forward for the sake of your honor, the family name, and the duchy's honor as well."

Drake's laughter was equal parts relief and affection as he took off his goggles and top hat, loosening his frock coat and cravat for comfort's sake as he launched into a detailed account of his adventures, from the moment he had left home dressed as nothing more than a commoner on a dare that he now freely admitted was pure foolishness, however virtuous his desire to see what life was like for the common people on his own terms. Yet his noble intentions had ended with him being trussed up and gagged by ruffians unseen before his skull was struck and he lost consciousness altogether.

Drake paled as he recounted his grueling ordeal. "And that's when I found myself with gag and head cover in place, given the choice to either descend the stairs suddenly revealed to me, or be sold to slavers within the hour."

Trembling hands took a long sip of the cacao his father wordlessly handed him from the silver tray of treats that Mistress Sigrid had replenished as if by magic, just minutes ago. He flashed a pained grimace. "Only when our hoods were ripped off and the golden gate behind us was slammed shut did I realize what had happened, how horribly we were all being played, myself and the hapless victims that had also been caught in our enemy's nets. That damned Vidrig then shouted through the gate that we had entered the depths of our own free will, and if we didn't make it to the end of the central corridor and choose the Drone Slave class, then that damned monster would personally flay us alive."

The man's features blazed with a heat that could have melted steel, his fist clenched tightly to the hilt of the fencing blade on his hip, but all he said aloud was, "finish your tale son. In full."

And so Drake did, and Jack couldn't help but flush under the too piercing regard Lord de Leone favored him with, or the hard, satisfied nod he gave when Drake recounted Vidrig's final moments, the duo then analyzing like a pair of tacticians the strengths and weaknesses of the techniques Drake and Jack had used together to take down their foe.

It was then that Drake's father favored Jack with his full regard, and never had Jack felt so awkward as when the man actually bowed low before him.

"The House of Leone owes you a great debt of gratitude, Jack. Rest assured, we forget neither our allies nor our enemies, and it is my great pleasure to consider you a dearly beloved friend of our clan."

Jack bowed solemnly and low in turn. "I am honored by your words, sir. I'm just glad I was able to be there for Drake, after witnessing so many other souls being crushed under the weight of Shadow. And no one's happier than me that that damned Vidrig is dead."

Drake's sire raised a single bemused brow, though his smile of gratitude did not waver.

"Please forgive the boy, Your Grace. I believe he has no idea who you are," whispered Jevons.

Jack swallowed as a sudden chill raced up and down his spine. He snuck a quick glance a beaming Drakes way.

"The proper term is 'Your Grace,' Jack. At least here in the duchy," said his friend with a smile.

Jack tried to clear his suddenly parched throat. "I see."

Drakes grin widened. "Seeing as how my father is sort of the Duke's younger brother."

Jack thought his cheeks would burn with shame. "I had no idea."

Drake laughed. "I know!"

Jack then immediately turned to bow low before the nobleman, or perhaps royalty, at least a far as this duchy was concerned, spluttering his profuse apologies, earning warm laughter from the pair of them that he could only hope was a good thing.

"At ease, lad. My son keeps his cards close to his vest, always. There was no way an outsider could have known, and that you risked such peril to save a complete stranger in desperate need speaks to the nobility of your character like nothing else."

Drake grinned, saluting Jack with his cup. "And how refreshing it is to forge such a friendship in the crucible of survival, and with a fellow who doesn't know me from the founders! Thank the gods for at least one more friend who I know isn't a lickspittle toady."

Lord de Leone shared a look with his son. "You know what the terms of this match have to be, of course."

Drake dipped his head. "A full ethereal confession, revealed in the crucible of combat."

His father flashed a bleak smile. "Are you ready?"

Drake immediately nodded, taking a final sip of his cacao before donning top hat and goggles once more, Jevons straightening Drake's frock coat and tightening his cravat before gathering the compact case carrying all the young lord's dueling weapons, save for the wand Drake kept in hand as he looked Jack's way.

"You ready for what comes next?"

Jack dipped his head. "You know I am."

"Good. To the Council Hall, then, before that pustulent worm and his father can slip free of the fate they so richly deserve!"