The workshop was empty, as always—the walls filled with designs. The filtration system would be an interplay of glass, metal, and rubber.

A towering cylindrical tank in the center, its surface etched with intricate gridlines. From its base, a series of interconnected tubes snaked their way to a lower chamber, where a network of filters would be arranged in a precise pattern. The system would crowned by a series of valves and gauges.

This was the basic structure. A framework he’d plagiarized—no, borrowed from Earth. But this wasn’t Earth. He couldn’t simply order a pump, or rely on gravity alone. Magic would be the heart of this machine.

Well, maybe he would create a pump later down the line, but for now—one thing at a time.

He made his way to his workbench where the components for the water filtration system were still laid out from the night before. This was a small prototype, and parts for the water filter were spread out. They were left from last night. It was a small filter. He picked up parts. His hands moved quickly to put it together.

As he worked, his mind wandered back to Jack and the cure. The crystal plague had ravaged their town, turning friends and family into unrecognizable, crystalline forms. The hope that Jack’s spell could reverse the transformation was a beacon of light in these dark times.

Hours passed in a blur of activity. Ethan was so engrossed in his work that he barely noticed the passage of time.

With the cure for the crystal plague in progress, he could now turn his attention to other pressing matters. The villages needed clean water, and he was determined to make that happen. The filtration system was a simple yet effective design, using layers of sand, charcoal, and gravel to remove impurities from the water. Then there were the places for the runes. Ethan carefully tested the system, making adjustments where needed until he was satisfied with its performance.

By the time the sun began to set, Ethan realized a few mistakes with his designs.

I’m not keeping the magic in mind... This design is too, well, “normal”.

He needed to talk with Bishop Ezekiel.

***

Ethan leaned against the cool stone balustrade of his balcony. The morning sun’s long shadows coupled with the gentle breeze was refreshing. Yet, Ethan’s attention was far removed from that.

His gaze was fixed on the activity below—where an unusual gathering had begun to form.

A cavalcade of carriages and riders had arrived. A closer look revealed [Healers] in their pristine white garbs, [Priests] with their holy symbols—runes—gleaming, [Physicians] carrying their satchels filled with medicinal herbs and tools, etc.

But it was the man at the forefront who truly commanded attention.

There was an... aura about him—an intangible force that seemed to ripple through the air. He appeared to be a man of formidable stature and presence. The way he moved, the subtle ease with which he carried himself even around Roland... This was no ordinary warrior.

Montague, Ethan knew, was a master at concealing his strength.

But this man—whoever he was—made no such effort.

Ethan’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword.

He... wanted to cross blades with this stranger.

To test his mettle against the man who had captured his interest so thoroughly.

This was the kind of opponent he wanted, someone who could push him to his limits. A challenge.

A worthy adversary.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Who is that man, uhm, Miss Bodyguard?” Ethan asked aloud. He knew she was nearby; she always was.

There was a pause. A time when no answer came, and for a moment Ethan wondered if she wouldn’t answer him at all. Then, as if summoned by magic, a ghostly figure materialized beside him.

Miss Bodyguard, as he called her, was a mystery—that much Ethan could say confidently.

She hadn’t yet revealed her name and never spoke. She never would have, either, had Ethan not found out about her existence. However, now that he had found her existence, she didn’t appear to mind answering him.

Her expression was perpetually blank. Emotionless.

She appeared to ponder for a moment—or at least, Ethan assumed so; he couldn’t quite discern what could be on her mind or if she was thinking at all.

“Alaric,” she said plainly. “The Baron’s right-hand man. Also known as the Shadowblade of Argent.” As she spoke, her voice was devoid of emotion.

Alaric, the Shadowblade. The name echoed in his mind.

The man below seemed to sense their scrutiny. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping the rooftops before landing on Ethan. A brief, almost imperceptible bow, and then his attention shifted to Miss Bodyguard. A flicker of something, perhaps recognition or curiosity, crossed his face before he looked away.

Miss Bodyguard continued in her monotone, “A formidable [Warrior]. Unparalleled in [Swordsmanship] in these parts.”

Ethan nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Unparalleled in [Swordsmanship], is he? Ethan felt a strange pull towards this man. It was a burning desire to test his own abilities against such a formidable opponent.

“Thank you, Miss Bodyguard,” Ethan said. She gave a small nod, her expression unchanged, and vanished as silently as she had appeared.

“Hmm,” Ethan hummed.

He would find a way to challenge this man, to engage him in combat. The thought alone was exciting.

***

As Ethan descended the stairs, Alaric removed his helmet, revealing a face that was both rugged and handsome, scarred yet dignified. His eyes were a piercing blue.

Ethan felt the itch in his sword hand grow stronger.

“Sir Alaric,” Ethan said, extending a hand. “It is an honor.”

“The honor is mine, Lord Theodore,” Alaric replied, his grip firm and unwavering as he shook Ethan’s hand. “I have heard much about you and your prowess from my lord.”

Ethan chuckled, releasing the handshake. “All good things, I hope.”

“Indeed,” Alaric said. “I have been eager to meet you. I trust that you have been well?”

“As well as I can be in these times, Sir Alaric,” Ethan replied.

The pleasantries exchanged, Alaric signaled for his entourage to disperse, allowing the various [Healers], [Priests], and [Physicians] to be taken into different places by Roland, Leto, and a few others assigned to do this job.

“Shall we?” Ethan gestured towards the manor, and led the way inside. Alaric followed closely behind. They made their way to Ethan’s study.

Alaric took a seat following Ethan.

“I trust that the baron has been well?” Ethan asked.

“Indeed, he has. Although, I’m afraid I cannot say for certain given that, well, he has yet to return to his barony.” Alaric said.

“Pardon?” Ethan’s brow furrowed in concern. “Is that not... unusual? For the Baron of Argent to be absent for so long?”

Alaric chuckled lightly, and Ethan didn’t miss the nervous edge to his voice. “The Baron is a man of... unique habits. An eccentric soul. He has an insatiable thirst for adventure. One moment he’s hunting monsters, the next he’s fishing in the deepest seas. Or, as I suspect in this case, he might be lounging on some exotic beach, soaking up the sun.” He scratched his chin, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Though that would require a rather extensive journey, which, admittedly, isn’t unheard of when it comes to him.”

Ethan nodded slowly, digesting the information. When he did so, his expression darkened, though he hid it quickly. Does he not care about the whole Night Whispers thing? They have us surrounded... And he’s outside their circle surrounding us... Do the Night Whispers mean so little to him? If so, why has he not yet done anything about them?

A man of... unique habits, indeed.

“Do you think we need to worry about his absence?”

Alaric shook his head. “No. He’s always been a free spirit, and it’s not uncommon for him to vanish for extended periods. He’ll turn up when needed. The baron is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to, precisely where he wants to, or needs to.”

“I see,” Ethan said. Ethan’s concern eased slightly, though a flicker of doubt remained. “I see. Well, I hope he returns soon. His presence would undoubtedly be a boon in these troubled times.”

Alaric nodded gravely. “Indeed.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Ethan spoke again. “What about the crystal plague? Any news?”

Alaric’s expression darkened. “The crystal plague has reached Argent and--I’ve heard—as far as Westford. It’s spreading rapidly.”

Ethan sighed. “How are the turned being handled?”

“We’re keeping the crystalline people contained for now, awaiting more instructions,” Alaric said, then met his eyes. “Making a cure is paramount.”

“I agree,” Ethan said firmly. “I’m sure there will be a cure soon.”

“I hope so,” Alaric said. “The longer this goes on, the more lives are at risk.”

...

The conversation drifted from one topic to another, touching on different matters of the world, recent battles, and mutual acquaintances. Finally, Ethan could no longer contain himself.

“Say, Sir Alaric,” he began, a playful tone in his voice, “would you be interested in a friendly spar?”