Noah Rowland sat in a laboratory, making minute adjustments to a piece of equipment that, to him, bore striking resemblance to an advanced medical scanning machine from Earth. One had to, he supposed, make allowances for the difference in available material; in place of computer chips and circuit boards, glowing runes controlled it. Instead of surgical steel, crystal styluses allowed for manipulation. Rather than plastic, bronze and silver crafted its outer shell. It was beautiful, he thought, shot through with copper conduits to conduct the sensitive magical energies that powered it.
Such thoughts were only natural; he had built it. It had been a laborious process, requiring him to build new tools and learn an entirely new field: magic! Puzzles had long fascinated him, and magic was a puzzle like no other. Except maybe people, he thought to himself with a tinge of amusement. His fellow man remained a mystery that defied all attempts to unravel, here just as before.
It was a pity, then, that the beauty inherent in the construction of the machine was lost on the person strapped to it; Noah’s latest subject, a young man of scarcely twenty winters, held fast by magically-reinforced leather straps. He was whimpering; of that Noah was certain. They always whimpered, and it quickly got to the point where he installed sound-dampening enchantments in the latest iteration of his machine. All in all, an improvement, even if it cost me a week or two. The noisome screams and begging were nothing but distractions -- ones that Noah could ill afford when there was data to analyze.
“So,” came a refined male voice from behind him, “this device will show you more about how the collars work?”
Another distraction; this one less unwelcome, given its identity. Kavnerrin Descroix, grandson of Emperor Descroix, seventy-third in the line of succession, and Noah’s patron and benefactor. Noah turned to face him; so engrossed was he in recording the observations from the magically-projected display that he hadn’t heard his approach.
Unlike most of the Descroix line, Kavnerrin eschewed the gaudy ostentations of rank, opting instead to wear plain grey robes. He also eschewed most jewelry, save for the imperial signet ring on his left hand. This lack of display extended to his overall appearance; while most of the imperial family would adorn themselves lushly, Kavnerrin preferred to go without. He was some form of [Necromancer], Noah was fairly sure, having read through most of the workshop’s library. More precisely, he couldn’t say, but the man had displayed uncanny aptitude with spirit magic.
“Maybe,” Noah hedged. “So far, results have not matched up with the descriptions in your older journals,” he continued, setting aside his irritation at the distraction. “My working hypothesis is that when the original Emperor died at the battle of Oasa, the system itself adjusted its parameters to disallow the creation of any more soul shackles.”
Kavnerrin nodded slowly. “Yes, that was the assumption of our scholars then and now. No one has managed to recreate the originals. Conditioning collars are nothing but an imitation, using pain and pleasure stimulus.” Kavnerrin stood quietly for almost a full minute, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Raising stock from birth with those collars ends with similar results, but the skills and abilities they can learn on their own are vastly curtailed as a result. Soul Shackles let us take new classers of any level, and spread their skills through the Empire.”
Noah nodded; this was nothing he hadn’t heard many times before since arriving on Anfealt. Mostly in passing, of course; his arrival had sparked a quiet war, ever since Kavnerrin heard from the few seers and clairvoyants the Empire had control over that a Worldwalker was due to arrive within the Empire’s territory. He had acted swiftly and brutally, and Noah had found himself captured within minutes of arriving. Two assassinations, two public auctions, four (temporarily successful) escape attempts, and one agonizingly slow river voyage had brought him at last to the docks of Nouveau Deskra, and Kavnerrin’s workshop.
Not to say that Noah was unhappy with his current situation; far from it, in fact. Whatever luxuries he required, Kavnerrin provided; moreover, he was free to work on whatever magical puzzles struck his fancy. He was also freed from any ethical constraints regarding his work; on Earth, the minutiae of law and social mores kept him as shackled as any Deskren slave. It was refreshing, he thought, to finally be able to study anything he found interesting, unconcerned with such trivialities.
He glanced at the display for a moment, to give him time to arrange his thoughts before returning to his patron. “The Soul Shackles, these golden collars...they simply work in ways the system itself prevents anyone from replicating. I can’t directly edit a soul, and I think it’s because the system is stopping me.” Noah made several adjustments to the ring hovering above his current subject, ignoring the blood dripping down where the man had scraped the skin of his wrists and ankles raw trying to pull his hands and feet out of the bindings. He circled the table, tapping his chin and musing, “If we can get someone of a higher level, or with a more unique class and skillset, it should be possible to acquire more data. The precise nature of how the soul interacts with a person’s magic to enable skills and levelling isn’t written down in any of the books you have here.”
After checking the restraints one final time, Noah stepped around the table and held his hand over a burnished silver sphere held within a setting of three silver clasps, like an inverted eagle’s talons. A brief pulse of light shone under his palm, and the table holding the young man pivoted upright as the ring shifted to encircle the trapped form. Kavnerrin watched with intent interest.
“So, if you cannot alter the soul or bind it, what is the purpose of this machine?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You are not proof from being collared, Worldwalker, and your materials are not without expense even to me. I expect results.”
Noah did not respond, instead simply turning the sphere slightly, adjusting the aperture of the ring around the floating man. It started turning more rapidly as it passed up and down the man’s body, sending sheets of pale, ghostly luminescence through his frame. Soon, his tissues began to glow with a golden light, as if something had been brought to the surface.
“If the soul is the problem, isn’t it more effective to simply disconnect it?” asked Noah.
Kavnerrin frowned, considering the implication. “Without the soul there would be no--”
“No Soul Crime, yes?” Noah suggested.
The light suffusing the man’s body intensified, and he seemed to subtly vibrate as the glowing afterimage almost bent towards the ring. It slid down to his feet and began spinning faster still, emitting a high-pitched, whining hum that made Noah’s ears ache before it quickly faded too high to be heard. Suddenly, the ring rose around the man’s body -- and the golden image came with it, all the way to his head and then beyond. The ring lifted clear from the man’s body, and the golden light condensed into a small orb, suspended in midair. It flickered once, then twice -- then winked out of existence. The man’s struggles ceased, his breathing slowing down to a measured pace.
“I’m not entirely sure where the soul goes afterward, but disconnecting it from the subject’s body gives me a lot more flexibility,” Noah explained. “The soul itself also gives me a wealth of information. Now that I can replicate it in the lab, retrofitting the spell matrix to function alongside your conditioning collars is just math. Someone of higher level might be able to resist, but...given time, the Golden Collars shouldn’t be necessary.”
“Alongside?” Kavnerrin’s expression quickly flickered between horror, disgust, and greed, before settling on elation.
“It should be possible to apply the severing enchantment matrix to existing conditioning collars that are already in use,” Noah confirmed. “I’ll need a few higher levelled test subjects to refine the matrix. I suspect the more powerful the subject, the greater the energy released upon severing the soul from the shell.”
At his command, the table returned to the horizontal. Noah released the shackles from the young man’s form as the rings returned to a resting position at the head of the table. With a disinterested expression, the man sat up under his direction, then smoothly stood and walked to the other end of the room where the Worldwalker pointed. Several other young men and women stood there, faces blank as they waited for orders.
“Apply it to existing collars?” Kavnerrin could barely keep the avarice out of his tone. “Without physically replacing them?”
“Exactly that, yes. The conditioning collars are linked to the control rings -- what you call the ‘leashes.’ The leashes I’ve seen all link to higher-ranked rings held by your peers in the nobility.” Noah made several more notes on a sheet of parchment, not needing to return to his machine’s display to recall the readings it gave while removing the man’s soul. “I presume there is a master leash, of some form or another, yes? One that controls all the collars? With that, I could apply the severing spell to every collar in the Empire at once!.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Kavnerrin shakes his head in wonder. “It’s not always rings. But the master leash you speak of is the Imperial Scepter, symbol of my grandfather’s authority. It’s a failsafe, so no one of lesser blood may turn their slave stock against the imperial family.”
The prince’s eyes drooped for a moment and he scratched his chin, deep in thought. “To lay hands on the scepter would be...unthinkable, a short trip to a golden collar for myself and my conspirators. Now, if a dozen or so heirs disappear or suffer accidents that may change, but...for now, I’m too far down the list of succession to even consider a bid for the scepter.”
Noah kept working as the man talked, unconcerned with the schemings of royalty. The data he had been gathering on how souls interacted with bodies and the skills of a person had been utterly fascinating, and he motioned for the next subject, eager for more. Two hulking wolfmen stood before a group of chained slaves, golden bands glimmering around their necks. With a low growl of submissive obedience, one of them reached down and picked up a shaking woman by the throat. Her whimpers turned to choked sobs in the beast-man’s grip as his counterpart undid the chains around her wrists and ankles before the two beastkin guards forced her to the table and strapped her down. She began screaming, but the enchantments rendered her silent as she feebly struggled against the straps.
“What benefit would higher-levelled classers bring to your studies, Worldwalker?”
At this Noah brightened, eager to acquire better test material. “Oh, a lot. I’m already learning how skills interact with souls, and more data on different class types would be wonderful. A greater variety of skills, classes...every person seems to be different, although life-long conditioned slaves are limited in their skills.”
The Worldwalker pulled his spectacles off and rubbed them clean with his shirt, raking the fingers of his other hand through unkempt hair. “Some-higher levelled classers would provide wonderful data on how rare and powerful skills interact with souls. If I can get enough data, I should be able to work out how to modify skills without needing to level -- or even make entirely new skills!” Noah could scarce contain his excitement, grinning like a schoolboy.
At that, Kavnerrin couldn’t help but grin himself. “You may be in luck, then. The empire has worked for years to infiltrate the WIldlands expedition, and this year, we’ve finally succeeded. Away from support and help, and unable to send messages back to the city, it may very well be that I can acquire some very unique high-levelled classers for your studies.” Kavnerrin rubbed his hands together, a habit Noah had noticed on the day they had met. “My uncle’s campaign in the northlands has not been as successful as he had hoped...this General character has been gathering the locals to him and leading them back and forth across the Golden Meadows, keeping his men at bay.” He snorted in disgust. “What few classers he has managed to get will be going straight to the imperial stables to breed new lines. The rest are children and the classless.” He shook his head. “But, if my efforts with the Expedition bear fruit...there are many unique classers travelling with that group. I’ve tasked them with capturing that Worldwalker who’s friends with the dwarves, but...they’re instructed to use their own initiative, too.”
“I will continue to collect data as well as I can in the meanwhile,” replied Noah.
“Is my little brother planning sedition or a coup?” The new voice chimed in from the entrance to the laboratory, as its bearer, a woman, strode through the doors. She was preceded by a pair of wolven soldiers, each bearing a drawn sword. Her golden hair fell in thin braids, twisted in a loops and held by a thin net adorned with tiny gemstones woven into the fabric. A hawkish nose and sharp eyes shone with a vicious cunning above a thin figure clad in green tunic and trousers over boots of soft green leather.
“You managed to squeeze some spies into the Expedition and didn’t tell Father?” Her eyes glittered with avarice. “Or, more importantly, Grandfather? I thought you had no ambition, Kavni. And what is this fascinating contraption our friend the Worldwalker has built?”
Noah froze, unable to adjust to rapidly changing environments as quickly as his patron Kavnerrin. The Imperial Prince simply sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“You shouldn’t have come here, dearest Louisa,” he said delicately.
“Oh, come now, Kavni; you don’t think I’ll be telling father on you, do you? I hate him as much as you. It took me an entire decade, and three children, before I managed to poison that geezer he sold me off to.” She shuddered in revulsion. “I had my own dreams other than an arranged marriage, you know.”
Kavnerrin simply stood, rubbing his chin with his other hand on his elbow. “That tells me nothing of why, or even how you are here, where you should not be. You never miss one of the Imperial galas, or an opportunity to show off your daughters before the fawning nobility. Father’s schemes aside, it didn’t stop you from planning the same sort of fates for your own children.”
Louisa twirled, circling the table and its bound occupant and eyeing the kneeling slaves awaiting their turn as experiments. She wandered over to the corner, to inspect the ones standing without restraints.
“Amazing,” she breathed. “They stand like the shackled, but they don’t wear a collar.” She spun to face Noah. “What have you accomplished here?”
Noah opened his mouth, always eager to explain the intricacies of his work to an interested audience. However, Kavnerrin silenced him with a quick gesture, dipping his hand into his coat. He stepped back just as the prince whipped a glass vial to the ground near his sister and her guards. Kavnerrin held up his hand and twisted one of the rings thereon, and a vivid green barrier shimmered into existence around them. From the vial, choking black smoke issued forth, filling the laboratory and clinging to the writhing forms outside their barrier. Where the smoke touched it, it fizzed and spat sparks, the sound putting Noah in mind of breakfast cereal from Earth.
“My own alchemical cocktail,” the princeling explained to Noah, “to neutralize threats. The red mold and parafelis extract cost me a fortune, and a grain of negatite cost three times the rest together, but it’s worth every copper.”
The woman’s guards had dropped to the ground instantly, along with the guards Kavnerrin had stationed in the laboratory himself, and the slaves, and the soul-less husks. The only ones left standing after a few heartbeats were Noah and the two Imperials, and soon only the one Imperial; Lousia’s panicked expression intensified as her own shield collapsed. The black smoke rushed in and Louisa fell to her knees, partially overcome. Even without her shield, she could at least somewhat resist its effect; paralyzed but still awake, she slumped to the ground, eyes wild.
“You really shouldn’t have come here, Louisa,” the princeling said regretfully. “I’ve always said I don’t want grandfather’s throne, and I meant it.”
As the black mists faded away, Kavnerrin waited a dozen more heartbeats before dropping his shield. He wasted no time, executing his sister’s guards with brutal efficiency before they could recover. Circling back around the room, he stood over the woman’s crumpled form. Turning back, he looked at Noah.
“I guess you get a high-levelled classer sooner than you thought,” he said with a smile. “I’ll have to figure out a convincing reason for her disappearance, but our work must not be discovered.”
Pulling a small ebony rod out of his coat, he pointed it at her neck. A glowing green whip of energy snaked out, and with its help, he lifted his sister bodily by the neck. She dangled limply in his magical grasp, fingers and feet twitching in outrage. The woman made strangled whimpering noises, trying to form words as the effects began to wear off.
“I--” She choked the word out as her feet slid across the stone floor. Noah had already begun unstrapping the slave woman from the table, and Kavnerrin’s guards -- now recovered -- reattached her chains after putting her back in line.
“--thought you didn’t want the throne!” gasped Louisa. Kavnerrin stretched her out over the table, cutting her tunic and breeches away, depriving her of any enchantments that may have been woven into her clothes. The sparkling hair-net came last, and Noah set it aside for study. It reeked of magic, and he would not forget to analyze it later. Clad in nothing but her fine silken undergarments, the Imperial Princess finally recovered enough to begin to move -- far too late. “What are you doing?” she asked, horrified.
It was half a question, half a desperate plea for mercy. She began hyperventilating, tugging against the straps, but in addition to paralyzing her, the smoke had cut her off from her skills.
“I don’t want the throne, sister. I want to be a god. And I can’t let you tell anyone what I’m doing before I’m ready, so...thank you for your contribution.”
Before Noah could activate the device, Kavnerrin did so. Reaching out, he charged up the crystal sphere, and a few heartbeats later -- it was over. With a surprised look on his face, he turned to Noah. The shock left him speechless for several heartbeats, jaw hanging open. His expression was ashen, his voice numb.
“You didn’t tell me using the machine would grant a title!”
“I didn’t know it was relevant,” replied the [Mortis Mathematician]. “I didn’t feel anything different upon gaining it the first time I used the machine.”
“You fool!” he hissed. “It’s branded us both with the title of [Blasphemer]! The [Oracle] can see us despite the Elemental Desert’s dead zone now!”
The Dreamer considered for a few moments. “But can she actually cross the desert before spring? The construct will be complete before winter solstice,” he said confidently.
“Rule nothing out with the [Oracle]. We will have to accelerate plans accordingly. And I must hurry to fabricate a convincing scenario for my sister’s disappearance.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair.
In response, the Dreamer merely shrugged. Foresight aside, it did not matter to him. An [Oracle] can’t be more powerful than a god, surely, he thought to himself. Kavnerrin left after directing the guards to clean up, and Noah turned to inspect the data gathered by the machine. Soon he had forgotten all about the title and the Oracle, lost in the wealth of information provided by extracting the soul of a level forty-six [Sultry Enchantress]. His hypothesis had been proven correct, after all, and there was a lot of science still to do.