If what Nasq said was true, it meant Paragons grew solely through the Desire System’s [levels], whatever those were. I switched topics, not wanting to delve too much into the Desire System among those not bound to me by a blood oath.

“Does magic span the same variation types as heart energy?” I asked.

Nasq nodded energetically. “Yes, more so. Because magic pulls power, called mana, into the user from the space around them, it can take the shape of almost anything natural to the world. When I was at Everglade, I once heard about a student talented in spatial magic. One in a million, I was told. He went on to become a high-ranking mage within the King’s court before I was…” he trailed off, eyes growing distant, no doubt recalling the memory of his capture.

But his pain didn’t matter to me, not in relation to what he had just said. Spatial magic. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. First, the Cardinal resurrected, and now, apparently, an ability to manipulate space existed? It was fascinating for me to hear about this magic and the extent of its usages. Still, I wasn't completely sure what the difference in overall use was. They both seemed to have attributes, or what Nasq referred to as affinities, so what exactly was the point of one over the other, at least in terms of benefits? It didn't seem like Nasq knew the answer to that, but I was certain someone out there knew. Though I'd perhaps have to see for myself. If I could indeed learn magic and lunar magic existed, then I'd be able to test the difference.

My lunar energy, in any case, seemed to draw from the moon in a similar way to how Nasq had described pulling mana. I'd have to pay more attention on the next full moon.

“The Lysorian King?” Going back to Nasq's previous comment and clarifying.

Nasq nodded. “I’m not sure if he’s yet achieved the rank of sorcerer or if he’s still a mage, but even so, his ability to teleport was greatly desired by the aristocracy and royalty.”

“No kidding,” I muttered. My mind raced at the possibilities. Was the ability limited in any way? Would the distance grow as the mage increased in power? Could I use that power to return to Ordite? “Are there any Lysorian scholars on spatial magic?”

“Some,” Nasq said with a shrug. “I spent most of my time reading in the library, so I’m not caught up with the ins and outs of the magic society.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Though I do remember the spatial mage having a tutor of sorts. Maybe he was?”

“Where is Everglade?”

“Um, the capital city…” Nasq said uncertainly, his gaze shifting between me and his feet. “W…why do you ask, my lady?”

I ignored his question, and he knew better than to push. “Alright, take a seat, Nasq. That’s enough for now. We will start with heart energy cultivation and then deal with your mana and magic later.” Though I wanted to begin creating my magic reserve, I knew I needed to focus on raising the strength of my followers first. No matter how powerful I was, or even became, experience had taught me that no one could face the world alone.

It required intelligent manipulation of worthy chess pieces.

“Begin cultivating.” I sprang to my feet with the grace of a cat and immediately began to sense for those among mine containing heart rings. With nearly all of their hearts containing at least one ring, I released an exasperated sigh but steeled myself nonetheless. This was going to take a while.

For the next couple of hours, the sounds that emanated from our makeshift training area would have mirrored that of a slaughterhouse. I destroyed every heart ring I found, sending each of my warriors back to their base mortality. They screamed and yelled through bared teeth, but to my surprise, not a soul resisted. Not a single one. It would have been normal had a few fled, cold feet leading them astray.

Instead, they all remained where they were and willingly took the pain I inflicted on them with faith.

The Paragons had no rings to destroy, so they were mostly left out of the affair. Marisar and Ethan had returned, with the former slinking back into his tent while the Paragon joined his cohorts in meditation.

Each time I finished breaking the last ring of someone, their body convulsed with raw pain reminiscent of the city lord’s elite when I removed her magic core, though not quite to the same level. The sight was repetitive and weak. When I met my teacher, he’d destroyed my heart rings in the same way. I had been lucky to meet such a teacher before forming a core, else a reset wouldn’t have been possible without the risk of death.

Not an ounce of the pain had shown on my face and my lips had remained shut tight the entire time. The display, while impressive considering my impression of this world, was shameful when compared to the standards of Ordite; if I wanted them to one day surpass the level of Ordite, this type of weakness would need to be thrashed from them.

The only one of them that did not show weakness to the pain was Gronch. The half-orc remained sturdy throughout, his face stoic with concentration. The warrior had gone further than even I had, choosing to cultivate during the process. I doubted the efficiency of the act, but at the very least it earned some respect from me and the others who watched in awe.

When I finally finished, I stepped back. Those who had first been dealt with were now cultivating, while the recent patients still recovered. “You are now all on your way to greatness. However,” I said, adding a menacing tone to my voice punctuated by drips of Authority, “I can only purge you of the bad energy clogging your potential. You must rid yourselves of the weakness you showed during the destruction of your rings. Pain is weakness. Weakness means death. The next time you are in pain, you must bury it so deep in your mind that it is as if you are in full health. Do not express pain to those around you. Transform it into fuel for your pride and courage as warriors of...” I was tempted to say Aedronir, but perhaps it was too early. So instead, I just said the first thing that made sense. “As warriors of Silverwater.”

Eyes went wide all around me. I would take over the barony anyway, might as well begin using the house name now.

I glanced up at the sun now arcing down toward the horizon. That had taken even longer than I’d anticipated. “That’s enough meditation for today. Split up into pairs of two. Paragons, find someone around your level. Everyone else, it hardly matters. You are all mortal again. No killing or maiming. No other rules. Proceed with real combat. You can decide whether to use weapons.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The next week passed quickly by with the entire encampment, minus a few, strictly adhering to my training schedule. Martial practice in the morning, cultivation in the afternoon, and sparring in the evening. At night, I set my mind to sensing the "mana," as Nasq called it, around me and attempting to pull it into me. As of yet, I had not been successful in absorbing the mana but I had managed to sense it. Sort of.

By the seventh day, to my complete shock, three of the trainees had managed to form their first heart rings. One had been more fully formed than his previous one, though still not what I expected. He'd clenched his jaw with the shame of failure as I'd shattered his newly formed ring, but at my praise of his progress, he had brimmed with infinite determination and resolve. The other two, however, had somehow managed to reach the level I expected of my followers.

Full, brilliant heart rings rotated tight around their heart and pulsed steadily. To my increasingly lower surprise, Gronch was one of them. The other was a small girl, smaller than Lilliana had been even. Her sky-blue eyes matched her dirty blue hair that stuck up at random spots, matted beyond belief. Despite her appearance, the girl was filled with fire I wondered how I had not previously sensed.

I groaned as I exited my tent on the eighth day, having completely abandoned returning to the duke's estate. It was stuffy and dreary, filled with political maneuvering and rats who believed they were stronger than others. Even when I was Queen, I had much preferred my time warring than while dealing with all the politics. I pulled my ever-growing hair into a tight bun and wrapped a hair tie around it, keeping it out of my face.

Marisar’s tent flap opened with a sharp snap when I was within a few feet of it, the Selenian nearly leaping out. At the foot of his tent was a man, moaning in pain through gritted teeth. He clenched a broken and purple wrist limp in his other arm, tears barely resisting falling. For what it was worth, most of my soldiers had toughened up from the daily beatings. Some had been strengthened by slavery, but most had simply been traumatized. They froze in combat more often than they fought.

Romeo and Julius followed quickly from their tents. Neither of them had joined the others, retaining their weak and malformed heart rings despite seeing the progress some were making. I needed to figure out what to do with them. Having them around was quickly losing its worth, especially with Romeo's constant arguing against my methods.

I ignored the duo and focused on Marisar. “I see you've been quite busy with healing."

He just nodded in response and gave a shallow bow. Though the silence and short bow were unusual, I didn't press the issue and instead asked what I wanted to know.

"Are you receiving a decreasing amount of them each night? Or are they still coming in as injured?"

"Less so," he responded with a satisfied nod. "It does appear that they are growing stronger, ya know."

It looked like Romeo was about to add something, his face alight with his usual bitterness, but was abruptly cut off by the clapping sound of horse hooves. I peered out at the space over the duo’s shoulders.

Four armored figures raced toward us atop horses covered in steel plates, the banner of Duke Alistar flying above them. It was a flag we’d seen flown atop everyone in the past days since the duke had conquered the city. It whipped from the speed of travel and the dying day’s wind. The golden lion depicted seemed to sway with the movements, lithe and terrible, ready to pounce upon its unsuspecting prey.

“What does he want now?” I hadn’t managed to grab a mount yet, so I called over Ethan and Nida as I strode toward the fast-incoming visitors of the duke. If the duke had somehow figured out what I’d done in the basement, this could very well turn bloody real quick and I wanted to be ready. Who knew what trump cards the duke had in play? Still, I kept my calm and met the figures with a face of emotionless ice a couple dozen yards away from the tents. Over the past week, the grounds had been worn even more, most of even the dead grass trampled away leaving only footprints of dry dirt.

Not exactly an unpleasant expression, but certainly unwelcoming.

The knight at the forefront didn’t seem to mind. If he did, he didn’t show it. All four riders had their bodies hidden by thick golden armor and helms, only the bristle of their beards and the gleam of their eyes were visible through the heavy armor.

“Lady Lilliana, I am Daryl Pescal, Platoon leader to the Duke of Alistar’s 18th platoon. I apologize for the rudeness of our quick approach and for doing so without warning or heed,” the first knight said, appearing to be in charge to some capacity. His voice was eerily low, overlaid by a vibration that put the hair on my neck on edge. His golden eyes stared at me with a similarly unnerving glow.

“However, the Duke is requesting all important personnel within Sealrite head to his city center estate with all speed.”

“Is that the estate I just came from?” By the pause in the knight, I guessed he had very aptly interpreted my frown as one of great annoyance.

“No, my lady. It is not the same place. It is a matter of great urgency, or His Grace would not be calling all nobility to the city center structure. It is a place of war and planning, not of luxury.”

“Did he say why?” I asked, crossing my arms and tapping a finger rhythmically to the crook of my elbow.

“Indeed he did, my lady. An entire flight of Wyvern Riders just arrived from the Holy Kingdom and a retinue of Caelian ambassadors will be arriving shortly to discuss methods of resolution. His Grace believes this to be a trap by the Caelian Marquess.” Daryl paused, then clarified. “The previous city lord.”

I was underinformed regarding the Holy Kingdom and the general political environment of Cael. Considering the Cardinal had been in Cael, there was, perhaps, something more to the visit. Were they looking for her?

Settling on the thought, I nodded. “I will come, but it will be with Ethan, Nida, and Nasq. How long does His Grace expect to… keep us?”

The knight shook his head. “A thousand apologies, my lady. I do not know. You will have to ask His Grace that. As to your companions,” he hesitated, “I suppose I was never given orders to only bring you back alone. You are not, after all, under arrest. I am here to aid in your protection.” The knight raked his eyes over Ethan with a grim smile. “This man seems well able to aid in that venture.” He then turned to Nida with a frown. "Does she need to come? I believe he," nodding toward Ethan, "would be enough."

“They all come," I said dismissively. "It's settled then." I swallowed a groan of irritation at having my cultivation opportunity interrupted. I realized then, at exact moment, that I’d forgotten about my prisoner. In the past week, I hadn’t so much as visited her. I nearly slapped my palmed my face in disbelief. “Ethan, get the cargo.”

The large berserker didn’t bother asking what I meant and hunkered off back toward the tent. A moment later he returned with a large brown burlap sack slung across his shoulder. The Duke’s men exchanged a series of bewildered expressions and nervous chuckles but didn’t interfere with whatever they believed us to be doing.

“We will walk there,” I instructed.

“My lady…” Daryl began, but I interrupted him.

“I walked back this morning, I will walk again.”

“No disrespect, my lady, however, central is much further than His Grace’s estate.”

The Duke must have warned his knights to show me more respect than was normal for a baron’s abandoned daughter. This knight’s attitude toward me was almost one of complete deference, as if I were the daughter of his liege.

“We go together.” My tone was firm and steady, cutting through even Daryl’s unnatural timbre. I probably could have instructed the others to run with the horses, but I was feeling particularly irritated at being called by a mere gold core and felt no real need to rush to the man's beck and call.

Daryl seemed intent on arguing further at first. Then, with a shake of his head, he released a breath and nodded. “As you desire, Lady Lilliana. We shall escort you then.”

I grinned. “Then I will request one of your horses.”

Why should I walk when lesser existences rode?