Alaster sighed, wishing he could be elsewhere. He spun the drink in his glass absentmindedly as he watched the couples dance in the middle of the dance floor. Beautifully elegant music filled the ballroom, yet Alaster did care. He was busy watching over the one person he cared about in the entire Kingdom.

Evelyn was surrounded by her friends and classmates, politely laughing at a joke one of them had made. Being surrounded by Nobility made it inappropriate to truly laugh.

Yet again, Alaster had been dragged to a ball. Of course, not physically, but he had been invited. And as a foreign dignitary, he could not really refuse without good reason. Alaster doubted that investigating several of the Duke’s secret operatives with the intention of torturing them for information before painfully slaughtering them was a good reason.

At least not a reason that he wanted to reveal.

So here he was, bored and irritated, listening to numerous Noblemen and women brag and compliment themselves and others. None of it real.

Two of the Dread Knights stood behind him, unmoving in their vigil. Their dark and bloodthirsty aura helping to keep most of the people away from Alaster. Something he greatly appreciated, even if it was merely a side effect of their mere presence. Their large serrated blades were on their backs, remaining there despite having no sheath.

As time passed, Alaster found himself entertaining himself by imagining just how many of these fakers he could kill before anyone could fight back, or maybe before anyone would notice.

As much as he wanted to, Alaster refrained from checking on his Hordes or Death Knights. Catherine had already scolded him for doing so once before.

Under her, and the other Death Knights’, guidance, the hordes were slaughtering vast swaths of Monsters. By now, none of the Hordes were capable of moving anywhere, their presence alone created a large enough challenge that the Monsters came to them, at least the more hostile ones.

Of course, despite the vast hordes and constant battle, it was not as if the Undead were clearing out the entire Continent’s Monster populations. In Zalar, due to the people ‘assisting’ the Undead, the Monster Population had dropped five percent. But for Nations like the Empire who treated the Undead as an enemy, the Monster Population had dropped less than two percent.

Unfortunately, that was not even the lowest. The Undead Horde stationed in the Tuarus was struggling to find the Monsters. The Tuarus Monsters were well adapted to the harsh terrain and environment, and while the Undead did not mind the cold or snow, they were not the best at hunting.

They were still constantly under attack, but narrow passageways of the Mountain Ranges made it difficult for the Horde to take advantage of their numerical advantage.

Alaster could of course send some of his Woven Minions, but that would provide a much more substantial link between the Undead and himself. Besides, the other Hordes were doing very well.

While maintaining the Hordes constantly drained his Mana, despite his Mana Pool rivaling that of a Master nearing Demigod level if he calculated all the various bonuses to his Mana he had. He could not argue their effectiveness.

In just the short amount of time the Hordes had been active, he had gained several levels. Yet still, it was nowhere near enough. If he wanted any chance to protect his sister against a Demigod, he would need to be a Master. A Tier of power that was a secret to the vast majority of Humanity. A Tier of Power that made Experts seem like children.

The Hordes had helped him reach Level Eighty-seven. A far cry from the One hundred that was needed to become a Master, when the System would truly stop working on him. A mere thirteen levels. It seemed such a small number, but he knew better. Each Level meant a lake of blood spilled.

Alaster could only help that he would be strong enough when they came for her. But to do that, he would have to see them coming before they reached her. Due to her position, Alaster doubted that they would come for her in obvious ways. They would likely attempt to kill her using poisons, other parties, or even a supposed accident.

As it was, Alaster had a dozen Shadow Assassins constantly watching her. However, that was not enough. That is why he had ordered his Third to befriend her and stick close to her. He needed something stronger than a Shadow nearby.

And as an added bonus, due to her Soul Fragment from the Female Bandit Boss, Alaster felt comfortable leaving his sister’s constant surveillance to his Third. He did not wish to spy on his sister during more…sensitive moments.

“Lord Ashborn!”

Alaster looked up from his neglected drink to see Evelyn walk up to him.

“Lady Evelyn, what can I do for you?” Alaster asked with a confident smile.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Evelyn was once more dressed in a beautiful but tasteful gown. In a very rare moment, Luke was not with her. Alaster knew that the boy had been called away to discuss a sensitive matter with another Noble. A conversation that Fenrir had been listening to in his stead.

Evelyn glanced at the Dread Knights behind Alaster, but did not stop, sitting down at his table across from him.

“Yellow?”

Alaster smirked, “Nope, though I admit that when I was younger I was partial to it. Not my favorite however.”

She pouted, something that struck a cord in Alaster’s heart as it expression was the same one she would wear back in Pinefall when they were children.

“That’s your guess for the day, so what else do you wish to talk about?”

Evelyn thought for a bit before speaking, “How powerful are you?”

While it was considered bad manners, even amongst commoners, to ask someone outside of a student-teacher or familial relation to reveal their Class or Level, by asking them how powerful they were, it slightly bent the unspoken rule.

It allowed the asked to reveal as much as they desire, while also being a good indicator of character. An indicator that Evelyn no doubt knew to read with minimal effort.

“Powerful enough that the Independent Alliance is not worried about me disappearing in Lissura or ending up dead somewhere.”

Evelyn hummed to herself as she contemplated his response. As intended, he had not revealed much of anything, just that he was confident in his strength, or at least his ability to avoid conflicts he did not desire.

“Who are the people that follow you? It seems like your typical guards, the ones with the masks, are all competent Experts, but I can’t seem to grasp the power of the two behind you.”

Alaster lazily looked back at the Dread Knights, who remained uncaring about the conversation.

“I have various people who have sworn themselves to me. However, I do believe you have already met one of the more valuable ones.”

“Vivian?”

“That is correct,” Alaster took a sip from his drink, acting as if he was relaxed, though he had to resist showing any disgust on his face.

With all the magic in the world that Humans have assess to, they still insist on drinking fermented drinks. Alaster was not a fan. Least of all of its inhibiting side effects.

Down on the dance floor, Alaster spotted Vivian dressed in a gorgeous gown that showed plenty of cleavage, had no back, and had a long slit up one of the legs. She was currently dancing with an Older Nobleman who he recognized as one of the Nobles in charge of the Southern Smithys.

“She seems quite different from you Lord Ashborn.” Evelyn hesitantly pointed out.

Alaster couldn’t stifle his chuckle in time, “I would hope so! As one of my key assistants, it is a important that she be capable of forming her own thoughts and opinions. She can be a bit erratic at times, but it suits her duties well.”

“And those duties are? Because, and no offence, she seems like one of the sluts that cling to either the young or old Noblemen, hoping to scrape off something from them for themselves.”

Alaster had made the mistake of taking another sip as she spoke, his reaction caused him to cough into his glass, creating a bit of a mess.

“Lord Ashborn?” Evelyn asked in concern.

Alaster waved her concerns away and patted away the champaign from his clothes before returning the cloth to his Ring of Holding.

“Apologizes m’lady for showing such a display. As for Vivian, your judgement is not far off. One of her many tasks is to insert herself into community circles, forming connections with those around her. I do not care how she does it, only that is gets done.”

“For what purpose?”

“Should I require assistance for whatever reason, it helps to know who is best to ask for it. Or if they ask me for help, I would want to know who they are and how they might best repay me.”

Evelyn nodded, “Makes sense, I guess.”

Just then, a young Nobleman, young for Nobility anyway, perhaps in his mid-twenties, walked up to their table. The drink in his hand and the slight sway in his movements left no question as to why the man had such a cocky smile.

“Lady Evelyn,” He interrupted her just as she began to speak, “Why do you insist to speak to the riffraff, the help? Come, join me and my friends. We’ll show you how to have a good time.”

Alaster’s eyes twitched in rage, but he kept it controlled, for now.

Evelyn sighed, clearly used to such displays, yet still irritated by them.

“Sir Domic, I would ask that you apologize to Lord Ashborn, seeing as how he is a foreign dignitary here on official business.”

Domic merely laughed, “So what? He comes here from the Independent Cities, our great Kingdom of Lissura could destroy them in less than a week.

Come, it is beneath you to be seen with him.”

Domic stepped forward and reached to grab Evelyn’s arm, but before he could, the inebriated man found himself choking, gasping for air, and desperately searching for the ground beneath him.

One of the Dread Knights had lifted the man off the ground by the throat.

The man’s friends stood up from their nearby table, grasping for the swords at their hips.

The Dread Knight merely glanced at them, its helmeted head showing no emotion or expression, yet still making dark promises.

The other men hesitantly sat back down, unwilling to save their so called friend from the monster before them.

The Dread Knight brought Domic in closer to his face plate, seeming to study the man for a moment.

Seemingly layered with hundreds of guttural and monstrous voices, the Dread Knight spoke a single word, “Trash.”

Without hesitation, the Dread Knight threw Domic over Alaster’s table and over the railing to the dance floor. The sickening crunch of bones breaking overpowered the gentle music that was playing and brought the dance to a halt.

Evelyn worriedly looked over the railing at the broken, yet still living, body of the man. A small crowd began to form around him as the nearby Guards shoved past them. She worried not for the man or for herself, but for the man across from her.

Meanwhile, Alaster did not even spare a glance. Instead, he stared hard at the Dread Knight. He had not ordered it to move, and he did not know it could speak.

The Dread Knight was Alaster’s first Weave. It had been intended as a simple Weave that would help Alaster get his foot into the ancient world of Weaving. And in truth, now that he was much more experienced, he knew just how simplistic the Weave had been.

He might have recently updated it with his more recent experience and knowledge, but he had not changed any of the core Weave.

Whatever caused the Dread Knight to act on its own and even speak, had been there from the start.

Instead of concern, Alaster was merely curious.

Just what else was his first Creation capable of?