Four guards in full bronze armor and a servant in velvet and gem-thread clothes greeted Dallion as he entered the building. Many in the empire would describe the family as opulent as any other, but Dallion could see that it had fallen on hard times. It wasn’t the clothes, the room, or even the materials used, but rather the lack of people. When visiting Archduke Lanitol, there had been an army of guards and servants in front of the massive palace, not to mention the scores more within. The imperial palace, which prided itself on the small number of people, had hundreds as well, not to mention the thousands of metalins that silently stood about in the role of statues. Here, Dallion hadn’t even seen a dozen.

“Anything you might want to leave here, sir?” the servant asked. He was short, with fiery red hair and enough wrinkles to suggest that he had served the family for over fifty years. His awakening level would normally be considered high for a mercenary, but far less than a domain ruler.

“Nothing, thanks,” Dallion replied. “I don’t carry anything with me.”

“Of course, sir.” He turned to the side. “This way, if you please. The count is waiting for you in the trophy room.”

“Good luck,” Tonia whispered.

“You’re not coming along?” Dallion glanced at her.

“You and my father have business. I was only tasked with getting you here. Maybe once—”

“It’s fine,” a deep voice said in the room. “Go on, Tonia. Don’t disagree with our guest.”

Looking at the woman, there didn’t seem to be any change. The emotions coming from her, though, abruptly changed. The reserved calm was gone, replaced by a trace of fear and obedience.

“Of course, father.”

The hallway floor was made entirely of glass. There was a time when Dallion would have been impressed, but now it made him think of the results of the recent war. It was tempting to rely on the emperor’s superior magic or technology, and yet Dallion still had the same uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake off.

“Any news from the Azure war?” he asked casually.

“War, sir?” the servant asked, not skipping a beat.

“As the family that created many illustrious weapons for the emperor, I thought you might be better aware of external events than me.”

“Such matters are for the count to discuss, sir. I know far less than either of you.”

That was an outright lie. The man was hiding something; he was doing his best to mask the emotional emanations from him, but that only worked to a certain point. Without a doubt, there was some development on the outside, possibly even big ones. Be they a small border skirmish or a new invasion on either side, Dallion had as much chance of learning of them as a cat catching a starfish.

“I wouldn’t want my efforts to have gone to waste,” Dallion went into his role. “Especially since there’s a chance I’ll have to do it again soon.”

“Again, sir?” This time, the servant’s head turned a fraction to the side.

“Let’s just say that I don’t plan to remain a baron for long. If the emperor provides me an opportunity, who am I to decline?”

The group went up a semi-flight of stairs into a slightly larger room with paintings, though no furniture. Three more corridors went in different directions. The butler continued to the left. The two nobles followed. Less than twenty steps away, a large hand-carved door of dark oak creaked open.

Dallion could see the magic threads that made that possible, but even he had to admit how elegantly they were placed. Whichever mage had created the enchantment was a good craftsman, thinking of mages as well as ordinary awakened.

“Baron Elazni, sir.” The butler stood to the side the moment he entered the room.

Now this was a real room, large and filled to the ceiling with weapons. They were of various shapes and sizes, some on the walls, others on racks or stands throughout the room. When the servant had told Dallion that he was expected in the trophy room, this wasn’t what he expected; nor had he expected roughly a quarter of the weapons to have void threads coming out of them.

“What do you think?” The count asked, standing next to a two-handed sword that extended five feet in length and at least one in width.

“Count?” Dallion asked, more concerned with the void weapons than the purpose of the question.

“Masterpieces from across the empire,” the noble continued. Up close, he looked a bit different from what Dallion remembered him—taller, bulkier, with a strong sense of dedication and conviction emanating from him.

Does he know? Dallion asked in his personal realm.

It’s impossible to tell, Vihrogon replied. We weren’t freely in touch. If I still had the void connection, I’d be able to talk to them, but—

Any chance that they might know you?

Definitely. The void doesn’t like losing things. They might know all about you as well, although seeing how careless they are, maybe not. Or maybe they think they’re better than I was. That’s one of the shortcomings of being affected by it—you gain a little bit of power, but a whole lot of confidence.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Mentally, Dallion nodded. He had seen it many times when dealing with cultists. Every single one of them believed they had been destined for greatness, superior to everyone else, including other cultists.

“Did your family craft them?” Dallion asked.

“Some.” The count polished part of the blade in front of him. In contrast to everything in the room, he was wearing dull gray clothes, although even they probably cost as much as a neighborhood in Nerosal. “Most have been bought or bartered. I’m sad to say that there are truly few admirers of real beauty in the empire. Even the emperor, despite his many skills and power, has little interest.”

The man took a step back, then glanced at everyone present in turn.

“Wyvern brandy, Leon,” the count ordered.

“At once, sir.” The servant bowed. “Anything for you, Baron?”

“Not for the moment, thanks.”

“My lady?” the man turned to Tonia.

“Diamond water.”

“Of course, my lady.” The man bowed again, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

“I heard you fancy yourself a craftsman,” the count continued. “That remains to be seen, but there’s no doubt that you’re a connoisseur. The weapon you were given is beyond a work of art.”

“The harpsisword, I assume?”

“The same. Did you know that it’s actually unique?”

“I have been told that a few times.” Dallion couldn’t help himself.

“That has nothing to do with the second empress. When it came to forging, neither she, nor the emperor at the time, were particularly gifted. Skilled, definitely. One doesn’t become emperor lacking skills, but he was nowhere near a master.”

That was a bit brazen, even for a count. No wonder his family had lost its influence. It was a miracle that the man had survived at all. Criticizing an emperor past or present wasn’t the best of ideas, and Count Pilih had done both in a span of minutes.

“The real marvel was that the weapon was created by the dryad guardian herself.”

Despite all his training, Dallion felt his pulse jump. Harp had created herself. That sounded a bit too metaphysical to be true, although there were a few ways in which it could be done. Using magic, or a powerful enough magic item, it wouldn’t be impossible for someone to summon her from the banished realms. Alternatively, she could have come on her own volition back when the harpsisword was nothing but a rod of red-hot metal.

“Show me,” the count said.

Without hesitation, Dallion cast a spell summoning his weapon. The moment the harpsisword appeared, the noble’s eyes lit up. One didn’t need to have music skills to tell how much he wanted to own it, and at the same time was also afraid of touching it.

“A weapon forged out of sound itself…” The count took a step forward, bending forward so as to admire the craftsmanship of the weapon up close. “Or so some of the stories go. A few of my ancestors tried copying the design and method, but none of the guardians could pull it off.” He took a step back. “Now, show me your other weapons.”

The next weapon Dallion summoned was his hammer. The item got a fair bit of attention, though not nearly as much as the harpsisword.

“Smart for a tool,” Count Pilih said. “Plenty of functionality, but not that much style.”

Dallion could hear Onda grumble within the hammer’s realm.

“What about your illusion blade? I heard it was an illusion blade with a rather unique guardian.”

“A shardfly guardian,” Dallion said. “Sadly, it was shattered in the wilderness. Actually, that was the reason I became so interested in your forge.”

“You’re planning on making a new one?”

“I have the blueprint. Everything beyond that is skill and patience.”

“And adequate materials,” the count corrected. “Unless you’ll be content with sky silver or something even less refined.”

“I suppose I’ll have to gather some funds.”

The count laughed. It wasn’t a rude laugh, but that of one who had witnessed naivete in a pool of cynicism.

“Wealth isn’t needed here. We are wealth. Good materials remain rare. As an imperial you might be able to get a bit more, but not that much. Not unless you trade favors. Show me your other weapons.”

Dallion summoned his bladebow.

“You made this?” the noble looked at the weapon critically.

“Back when I was still learning.”

“Craftsmanship isn’t bad, but rushed. Interesting touch with the kaleidervisto, but ultimately useless for such a weapon. There are a lot more options that what you have done.”

“And what favors would be required to gain your wisdom and forge for a day or two?”

“A magic masterpiece.” The response was immediate. “It’s claimed you’re a mage. Make a masterpiece based on my specifications with magic, and I’ll let you make use of my forge.”

There was a time when Dallion would have been overjoyed at such a proposal. Unfortunately, he was in the capital now, and his victory seemed too fast. The count hadn’t argued one bit, which made him suspect there was something else at play.

“I think he might need some time to consider, father,” Tonia said, diplomatically. “He’s been in the capital for less than a day.”

“That should be enough for him to make up his mind,” the man humphed.

“It’s alright. I’ll make your masterpiece.” That was a good excuse for him to attempt some advanced forging. When he was a simple mage, Harp had been reluctant to let Onda teach him the really advanced forging methods as a domain ruler, though she could no longer use that excuse. “Might I ask a few things about your collection before that?” Dallion made his way to a pair of daggers from which several strands of void came out, extending beyond the walls of the room. “Where did you get these?”

“The Sunset Daggers? My grandfather got them from an archduke in exchange for creating a set of armor for his son-in-law. I’m not even sure which one. Do you fancy them?”

“I might.”

“Make a suitable replacement and I’ll give them to you.”

“You have yourself a deal, Count.” Dallion extended his hand out of habit.

A moment of awkwardness followed. Nobles didn’t shake hands. Words were their bond, and if that failed—Moon vows. Hand shaking was meant for lesser awakened. After all, physical contact could lead to realm invasions.

Thankfully, Count Pilih quickly put an end to Dallion’s faux pas by shaking his hand in return. The action was as brief as possible, but kept Dallion from openly losing face. Clearly the noble wanted a magic weapon quite badly.

“You also mentioned you were interested in news about the war.” The man pulled back his hand, moving it behind his back.

“Just idle curiosity, count.”

“It’s fortunate, then, that I have a guest that could satisfy your curiosity.”

On cue, the door opened. Dallion expected it to be the servant arriving with their refreshments. Instead, it was someone who he never expected to see here, of all places.

“Hello, Dal.” A woman wearing a full set of heavy armor entered. “Nice to see you’ve risen up in the world.”

“Hi, March.” Dallion felt a lump form in the back of his throat. “It’s been a while.”