Chapter Five: The Self-Styled Raid Boss

‘I wonder what they think of me? What plans are they hatching?’ Cedric so wondered as he left the Paraval Estate, finding himself on the road in the late mid-day. He walked along the streets, giving a suffering sigh and wondering where he could chart a carriage. He truly didn’t look forward to walking all the way back to the Warrens.

Cedric was not ignorant of the power-plays of the nobility, and neither was he ignorant that his grandparents on his mother’s side were any different. He’d revealed much of his hand for little gain in some perspective, but in some fashion, he’d mentally prepared himself for that eventuality.

His tie to the Paraval’s by blood meant that he was their grandson. A talent related by blood was already someone at least somewhat associated with their power and line, even if he carried not their name. The protections that he had from his name as an Alkahest too were powerful deterrent to any direct action against him, as his grandfather would not let a slight to his lineage and legacy go easily. Revealing his talents and connections to Parallax Productions was always going to be a move he was going to make eventually, as he’d be selling in these markets now, and eventually information networks would catch up to that fact.

Those information networks would quickly make note that Parallax products first originated within Yal-Hest. Then an abrupt shift to Paraval soon after the Academy started, people will draw connections, and soon the Academy and those invested in Enchanting and Alchemy will be under scrutiny.

Having connections, good ones with his grandparents, was an amazing boost to his personal powerbase. He wasn’t exactly the type to build cabals and cults and the like, but he did have influence within markets and drew information from many individual’s minds leading to some proficiency within the great game. It wasn’t entirely purposeful to be so open to his grandparents, but Cedric thought himself an accurate judge of character.

His grandfather, Nubinor Paraval, was a warrior. He would forever be warrior, although now he was a statesman and retired general. He had his interests invested in his family line and house, with Cedric posing not quite a threat, but more of an opportunity to the family. Cedric was a master of the mind. He was capable of controlling himself with a flex of willpower, and while he shied away from doing so out of well-learned lessons; he was more than capable of crushing his ego, his pride, and any bias he had to look at problems and decisions objectively.

By portraying weakness to his grandparents, he presented opportunity instead of threat. He was not emotionally weak, but he was open to friendships and social connection as he was in real need of healing. It was just the nature of the world, and any world for that matter, to look for the benefits that an individual could give to the whole. Picking up his own weight and lifting the collective forward into a better age was what these factions wanted, and the more human family of House Paraval -at least from what he’d seen from the patriarch and matriarch- were more palatable than the House of the Alkahest.

Not that in any way the House of Paraval was better than the Alkahest, at least in a moral standpoint. Both held active slave-markets. Both held fingers in pies as black as coal, moving illicit goods, ordering deaths, and playing the game as all good players do; ruthlessly.

All Scions were within a nebulous gray-space, and it became his imperative to look at what he could do to strengthen his House’s name. For as much as Cedric hated playing these games, he needed to at least for appearance’s sake. In this case, forming a stronger bond with the estranged House Paraval in no-thanks to his father and mother’s efforts, he could at least put up a thinly walled argument that he was playing the game of politics by ingratiating himself into their cohorts. None could argue against him as they were publicly allies to his family.

It was difficult playing a game when one didn’t care for winning, and that not winning often meant death. To Cedric, the goal of the game was survival; for so long as one survived, then more opportunities to grow and learn would appear on the horizon line. It was a marathon, not a sprint, and while some houses and families used this marathon to plan and plot decade long schemes for secrets, blackmail, assassination, and more; Cedric had only lived nearly two decades and was more focused on self-betterment, for he personally cared little -if anything- about the fate of House Alkahest.

Sadly, his self-betterment meant he enjoyed protection from the House, and thus needed to at least act like he was benefiting it in some way or form.

Ultimately, he was a rather shitty player of the game, but he came out of the Paraval Estate with interesting possibilities. While he may have revealed weaknesses and offered his hand of cards for review, showing his talents and capabilities, such was not a threat, but an invitation. He hoped to see more investment and interest from the Paravals, especially in terms of political protection. By playing on the alliance between his two houses, Cedric became a very difficult to approach individual.

He'd need to make such information known, but attending a ball and talking about good civilization with his grandmother, then laughing in the drinks with his grandfather would immediately indicate himself as a living bridge between House Alkahest and House Paraval. If that geniality and affection came from a genuine place; then he was already working on solving his mental problems.

There were flaws with this, however, as by being effectively the sole bridge between the two families; he became a potential weakness in that alliance. Remove or sully his name and reputation, and suddenly things would start looking suspect as his name would be attached to both families. This would perhaps only work within an environment where his talents and abilities weren’t known, as by presenting his cards; he’d let House Paraval he had a royal flush. There was no beating that hand; to fold was to have the hand be given to someone else. To match was to anger the other players on the table as well as lose the royal flush in that match.

House Paraval would be foolish to let him slip by; thus, a relationship between himself and them was important.

Cedric thought this would come in the form of a potential offering of tutorship or apprenticeship; maybe some introduction to Lord Paraval’s friends in the Imperial Army. Things of that nature that would ingratiate him into the family, but Cedric would honestly be entirely fine with merely joining their table for dinner every once and a while. Perhaps play some music for the couple, have some fine drinks, periodically get high. To win his allegiance, Cedric truthfully just wanted people he liked to hang out with, people he could trust to have his back.

Hailing a carriage, he stepped inside and ordered the driver to take him to the Warrens. Pulling out some spare coins from his pocket to make sure he had enough money to pay, he sighed and shook such thoughts from his mind.

‘Now then. What to do, what to do.’ It was midday and he refocused on his current tasks. Life went on outside of the plots and schemes of mortals and men, and so he directed his attention to his current projects.

Studying magic, as much as it pained him to say, could come when school started up. The Paraval Academy of Magic was one that held a long and rich history, although one that he’d underestimated. From his recollections, the academy was successfully sieged during the collapse of the seventh empire. What was looted, burned, or destroyed during that siege and following occupation was unknown, leading to the rebuilding of the academy and its eventual return as one of, if not the, premier magical academies on the continent.

The Royal-Imperial College of Orestien was the capital’s own rival institution. Being named a college had many believe it taught the mundane sciences, which would indeed be correct. Cedric heard many poor things about the Royal-Imperial College during balls and social events, many prospective students lamenting their fate at attending and being required to learn plebian sciences.

The Paraval Academy was more old-school in its function than that of the Royal College, filled with self-study, competition for apprenticeships under hallowed masters and professors, paired with a meritocracy-based system of evaluation and tests. It was an environment fit for intense competition with scores of all students in their grades being posted publicly, fit for shaming or exalting the student in question depending on those scores.

So too was the Academy fit for free experimentation, filled with plenty of spaces for practicing magic or alchemical labs and functions; Cedric was mildly excited about the Academy as its more free-form nature that only required one to preform well within tests meant he would naturally need only exceed there. Instead of dividing up his valuable time luxuriating in redundant slow-paced lessons or route memorization, he could be practicing what was important. As advanced as he was in many areas, Cedric believed he could pass most tests within the school, save areas he’d never studied; however, he’d be foolish to ignore paths of growth and cease attempting to learn.

Currently his studies had taken a turn towards Warding and Abjuration magics, the two extremely broad schools of magic were filled with Wizards dedicated to their study ten times his age. He never proclaimed himself a master of any school of magic, even with his enchanting and alchemical achievements. While he may claim himself learned and potentially even an expert within the schools, mastery indicated a level of attainment that indicated one didn’t have anything else to improve.

To be a master was to have perfected the novice, intermediate, and advanced skills of a school of magic; from the most basic concepts of casting speed, timing, and aim, to the more complex like formation speed, mana conjuring rate, and the mental organization skills it took to instantaneously react to danger with creating a complex spell model and flinging it at danger.

Cedric didn’t intend to become a Battle Mage, or any sort of highly specialized combat mage. However, life ate life to live, and it was inevitable in this world ruled by the powerful and long lived that he would need to engage in combat. Knowing one would inevitably need to fight to survive within one’s life created an interesting motivation for that growth. Cedric was fit, both through the usage of his potions and casual exercise. He could stand to train more physically, and truthfully, he was lagging in that aspect of attainment, but he could run quite fast and quite long if he so needed to, which was what he truly needed as a mage.

Most of his combat training involved mental conditioning and a standardization of how he considered a spell ‘mastered’. Each spell was like a complex painting with many nuances, and each time one wanted to cast a specific spell they needed to have that exact image in mind and then paint it with their magical energies. This could be as simple as imagining a candle’s flame, or it could be as difficult as memorizing a complex abstract piece of artwork and without doubt knowing each and every facet of that artwork to one’s core.

Once again, Mages were normally neurologically divergent, with Cedric himself naturally having a rather sturdy memory; at least one that was leagues better than his memory back on earth. Perhaps some genetic factor that was passed down in this ‘version’ of humanity for the tens of thousands of years they existed as a species; with the magical practitioners with long and focused memories obviously passing their traits down. His natural memory was reinforced with his own alterations and mental magic, of course, but there was still so much to magic that wasn’t as intuitive as simply shouting the name of a spell and expecting it to work.

‘I guess I could get started on those quests.’ He’d picked up a few quests from the Department of City Maintenance, and he figured that now that he was more set up within the city, he could engage in his career as an Adventurer.

Cedric knew that he was a powerful mage. The concern that his grandmother had shown after he’d revealed his vocation was something that truly touched his heart, and nearly made him cry. However, the concern wasn’t something that was truthfully needed. Call it the arrogance of the youth, but Cedric was a powerful mage, especially for his age. There existed few people that he believed couldn’t be beguiled by his mental and illusory magics, with such magics being his immediate counter to the ‘mage banes’ that were powerful knights.

Normally, such magics could be resisted or nullified entirely by a Knight bringing up their Aura, however, Cedric found a chink in this armor by using Wild Magic to infuse his illusory and mental magics into the surrounding world, permeating into the body through this medium. It was a clever trick that worked by exploiting the fact that people still needed to breathe with their defenses up; and thus, took in outside air to breathe. It was a trick, effectively, and one that could be solved by a Knight or Mage altering their defenses to keep everything out.

Even with a Mage or Knight being ignorant of simply breathing near him, the magic wasn’t an ‘instant win’. On a battlefield where he wasn’t standing right next to a Knight that could kill him in the time it took a mortal man to blink, it required set-up time, and for the natural elements to be relatively still. A strong wind would carry away his magical energies infused into the winds, diluting the magic, and if he used his own magic to direct those magically infused winds, it’d give the game away as Aura and Magical defenses would recognize the winds as ‘dangerous foreign magic’ and keep them out.

Illusions required a lot of thought put into them and could often be spotted through differences in an entity’s perception. Cedric, having trained himself well in matching his illusions to the unique perceptions of most common races, was not perfect. A perceptive individual would immediately notice a color gradient or shaft of light being off-skew and flood their body with Aura or Magic to remove the infection. The differences in people’s or creature’s perception of the world made such fine and broad-scale illusions difficult to craft.

Mind Magic was in a similar boat, although he’s long since worked out ways to make it effective in combat by researching his Wild Magic. Mind Magic was a subtle and fragile thing when used in an external fashion. If he already had access to a person’s body with his magic, then he’d already won. However, in a combat situation where Cedric needed to defend himself, his enemy was defending themselves, and they weren’t standing right next to him; the rate that he could infect the environment became inefficient. Ironically, the closer one came to him, the more danger they were in from being infected by his Wild Magic, which was intentional as his Wild Magic was meant to be a ward against Knights and Aura users.

Cedric’s fighting style weaved in confusing worldly illusions, illusions created not by subverting perception, but by creating physical illusions within the world, to distract and confuse his opponents. He would layer a battlefield with his growing achievements in wards, acting as traps and deadly obstacles, paired with constant subtle attacks on the mind or subversion attempts using illusions to beguile one’s senses. This would further be joined by transmutations of the earth into pools of flesh-eating acids, hidden away by illusions, animated into constructs of the deadly liquids, with the battlefield being saturated by chaotic bombardments of cursed flame.

‘Debuffing attacks, traps, AOE, environmental hazards, false health bars, invisibility, crowd control, instant death effects if one gets too close, timed instant death effects if one doesn’t counter my Wild Magic, equipment nullification, pop-mob summoning, and subversion of allies.’ Cedric thought with amusement. ‘Paired with the fact that I’ll run if I get too pressured, and any veteran MMO player would spit up blood at the thought of facing me.’

For yes, he’d indeed shaped his combat skills around the concept of becoming the most annoying Raid Boss in existence. He wasn’t quite there yet, not having the combat experience to tie in all his abilities, but he had most of the ingredients to create one hell of an infuriating fight. ‘Oh, you thought you killed me? Psyche!’

Cedric had many such tricks and trump-cards, but tricks and trump-cards did not make a man invincible. He’d developed his fighting style with survivability in mind, based on his developing powers. There did exist counters to his abilities. Cedric was something of a Sound Mage, although he didn’t tend to use it in the way he sometimes thought he should. He could possibly make something like a Dub-Step Canon and use sound as a means of dealing physical damage, but if he needed wide-spread devastation, then he could just use Cursed Fire, or Acid Rain. Or he could curse an Acid Bolt and detonate it in a conflagration of corrosive cursed fire.

However, just using Sound Magic as a fancy way to play music was a bit of a waste for what was once his profession in his last life. However, Sound Magic offered an interesting solution to a problem with his core magics. The greatest issue with Mind and Illusion magics was medium. As in, a Fireball was a Fireball because it was on fire; and getting hit by that projectile meant bad things. However, Mind and Illusion magic just…vibed? It didn’t have a ‘physical state’ that could easily be attached to the magic, and neither could he just throw bolts of energy aspected with a condensed Mind and Illusion spell. Mind and Illusion Magic were very delicate things, and they got shredded apart by ambient magic, needing a shell or medium to transfer them to a target.

Having discovered his Wild Magic and noticed its unique effects, Cedric wanted to find a medium that he could spread his Mind and Illusion Magic. The winds and air that he could spread the magic using Wild Magic was powerful, but it was haphazard, situational, and more of a defensive action than an offensive one. Ironically, his grandmother naturally countered his Wild Magic, as all she needed to do would be to blow a harsh wind at him to disperse his Wild Magic; then Nubinor could rush him and impale him on his fist.

To solve this, he studied the magics of a caster that most educated individuals forgot even existed. Such were their hilariously inept methods of casting magic that Mages and Wizards alike tended to forget they even were a magical practitioner.

Introducing, The Bard.

Bards cast magic through tunes and harmonics, ordering the natural weave of magic through their songs and applying subjective and symbolic meanings through their tunes to then create a spell. A harsh disparaging riff would curse or harm an individual or group who it was directed towards or heard by, while a song that had the blood pumping would have Knights and Warriors alike preform far beyond their usual strengths. As much as Wizards and Mages liked to disparage Bards as magic casters, they were powerful tricksters, rogues, and -as much as it might gall his family- a real inspiration for Cedric.

He learned bardic magic through scrolls and self-experimentation. If he’d ever invited a bard in his company, the man or woman would be tortured and interrogated while Cedric was investigated for mental pollution or charm magic. Bards and Nobles did not mix with many nobles avoiding Bards like the plague because they were charismatic people that’d leave them fleeced of all their gold and treasure while begging them to do it again. Cedric thus had to preform self-study, learning in a more academic means of what it meant to be a bard that reminded him greatly of his Music Theory classes.

What he was after was the basic theories of how Bards cast magic, then applying those theories and cross-referencing how Wizards cast magic. His concluding research indicated the difference between the two seemed to lie within a realm of visualization and expression. Wizards visualized their magic, brewed deeply on all of the spell’s effects and nuances. Meanwhile, a Bard was much more sporadic, feeling their music and trying to convey the emotion they felt in their music to the outside world.

Bards naturally used Illusion and Mind magics to influence individuals, and learning how they did such only deepened his knowledge of the two schools of magic.

The result of his studies elevated his Mind and Illusion Magic into something more. Cedric often privately joked that for however much of a Wizard he was, he was secretly a hybrid multi-classed Bardic Wizard with more Levels in Bard than he did in Wizard. With a mere summoning of willpower, Cedric could create an entire orchestra playing their hearts out, and by using the medium of sound; he could cast his magic.

His bardic magic wasn’t as effective as the insidious Wild Magic he could use that infiltrated the deepest aspects of those that breathed the winds and air. His Sound Magic acted as both a battering ram and a scalpel. Each tune and pluck of whatever song he was playing, each beat of the drum or riff of a guitar, any that heard the music playing would need to brace their mystic defenses lest they become enthralled in the music. From Ala-Khan’s Restless Dance, The Red Dawn, to The Whistle of Death; facing Cedric became an endurance match of constant willpower saves for Wizards and constitution and willpower saves for Knights.

Resisting such magic wasn’t fun. Think of standing in a dust storm, naked, and having to resist hundred mile an hour winds with glass shards and sharp specks of dirt cutting into one’s skin. A powerful Wizard and Knight could do that for a long while, using their spirit or aura to resist such magic. However, one also needed to make sure they didn’t breathe at the wrong time and inhale some dust, while also fighting an exhausting battle. Imagine getting sucker punched in the gut while underwater, with the natural reaction being to take a breath, inhaling a lung full of water by breaking one’s concentration. A break in concentration would mean one’s defenses were down, and at that point one was under his thrall.

Realistically, someone would expect such magic to require a lot of power and would only be used periodically, not for an entire fight. They would be wrong as even with just his internal reserves, Cedric could blast his most power intensive song, Polish Cow, at jet engine decibels for hours. Mind Magic and Illusion Magic was efficient and cheap; subtle, complex, and fragile, but cheap. A single cast of a fist-sized bolt of cursed fire was more costly than fifteen minutes of playing one of his songs.

Ironically, the most effective ‘bane’ to his ‘build’ as a mage wasn’t the Knights, the Warriors, the Mage Hunters, the Clerics, or Priests. It was those that he learned the basis of the magic from. The Bards. To face his Hybrid Sound-Mind Magic, a natural nullifying effect on the magic was to cancel or disrupt the extremely delicate wave-lengths that he packed the Mind Magic upon.

Mind Magic, by its nature, was fragile. Cedric got around this by using harmonious sound as a vehicle for the packets of dangerous Mind Magic to travel upon. However, adding a discordant note into the mix would disrupt the sound and destroy the now aimless Mind Magic, incapable of resisting the chaotic nature of ambient magic. A Song was continuous, and even if periodically static, it would continue playing. A party could reasonably try to make continuous racket to disrupt the song entirely, but then he’d just increase the volume to painful levels -he had a hidden tattoo on the inner canal of his ear that prevented his eardrums from rupturing- and let it drown the racket out.

A bard though…they could create their own rhythm and harmony, disrupting his own. If they played their song that drowned out his own and continuously disrupted its harmony, then the packets of Mind Magic would be destroyed, rendering the song harmless.

‘A worthy opponent. Our battle will be legendary!’ If Cedric was one day killed during an epic Bard-Off, then he’d die with the widest fucking grin on his face.

His smile faded.

His fighting style came with downsides.

He was indiscriminate. Really indiscriminate. His music would affect allies as well as enemies, his cursed fire and its toxic fumes were hazards at the best of times and threats even he needed to pay half a mind towards at their worst. Acid Elementals were fucking insane, and lord forbid one of them figures out how to consolidate themselves into a Greater Ooze or Slime. He’d experimented with Elemental-Slime fusions, with the Greater Acid Elemental Ooze he created being a foe that a dragon would be frustrated in killing.

If Cedric hadn’t locked down his lab and flooded it with cursed fire for a straight hour, then that thing would’ve consumed half the region.

‘Still can’t believe the Greater Ooze Core survived.’ Cedric shivered. He wasn’t really one who thought himself as some mad scientist, usually confident in his common sense to think certain things weren’t bad ideas; but that slime really surprised him. Acid Elementals were easy to produce, requiring ectoplasm and a solution of hydronium kept within a base of water. Spiritually, Acid Elementals were what happened to Water Elementals if they went insane, wanting to rid themselves of their ‘substance’ by ‘giving their gifts’, but were paradoxically predisposed to generating more hydronium as they were diluted into more things.

They were suicidal entities that ripped the world apart by donating their ‘gifts’, and when they found some spiritual equilibrium and evolved into an Ooze; they became a grounded physical entity that held Ooze and Slime instincts.

To grow.

Once more a paradox was created, as an Acid Elemental donated its hydrogen ions to other substances, creating a chemical reaction that dissolved that substance into the hungering Ooze. The Ooze’s biological processes would be overcharged by the Acid Elemental superimposed upon it, generating insanely potent volumes of acid and transmuting the ‘digesting’ elements into more acid. Growing.

Cedric used Acidic Transmutation to populate a battleground with pools of acid, periodically enchanting them to be animated as tendrils or snakes of acid; even spiting their content at nearby energy sources. If an acid pool did consume an entity, or even just damaged one, it would likely subsume the ectoplasm of a soul and consume some of its structure before it departed. The soul was technically inviolate, but with magic, necromancy, spirits, and all kinds of mysticism surrounding it, there were layers to that ‘truth’. Thus, ectoplasm giving birth to a sapient Acid Element on the battlefield. His very tentative experiments into understanding how an Acid Elemental could become an Ooze tended to find a correlation to the Elemental’s diet; with the more ectoplasm it consumed resulting in enough ‘spirit ooze’ to coalesce a Core.

Cedric always kept a storage of cores, as he could use them to directly spawn an Acid Elemental Ooze. Not as deadly as a Greater variant which was what happened when he glutted the damned thing on a massive stash of ectoplasm he just had laying around; resulting in a near undying creature that ate somehow possessed and then disassembled the very magic restraining it.

Cedric jolted from his thoughts as the carriage slowed.

He exited, paid the driver, and returned to the Warrens. Riding the elevator into his suite, Cedric stripped from his clothing and laid back on the bed. Sighing deeply, Cedric walked into the bathroom and started to clean himself once again. His time in the gardens with his grandmother had him a bit filthy. Washing himself and tending to hygiene, Cedric cleaned his town-wear and stored it under his bed.

Mussing around within his trunk, Cedric picked out a viable outfit for more intense labor and work. A water-proof jacket made in a more modern cut, tall laced black polished boots, cargo pants, a holster for his wand that fit nicely on his wrist. His wand was enchanted to return or eject from the holster into his fingers for quick wielding, for while a Mage was a capable combatant without their casting foci, they were significantly more effective with one. Especially for him, as it was the wand that allowed him control over cursed fires, and the ability to snuff them.

Flicking open his pocket mirror, Cedric ordered his hair to how he liked it and cracked his back before heading out to peer off his balcony. From his jacket’s pocket he pulled out a case of cigarettes, personally made smoke sticks that gave clarity of mind and relaxed the body with a fresh herbal scent.

‘To the sewers we go.’ He lit the cigarette and left the warrens, heading for the Department of City Maintenance. He arrived at the building as it was about to close, walking into the lobby where a worker was putting his coat on.

“Ah, sorry, sir. We’re just about to close.” A young man, maybe a few years his senior said apologetically.

Cedric sighed, “My name is Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, Scion of House Alkahest.” He blew smoke out his nose, watching as the man’s jaw dropped, then cleared his throat thickly.

“What can I help you with, Scion Alkahest?” The man asked demurely.

“Business.” He pulled from his jacket two papers and handed them to the man, who read them with visible disbelief.

He glanced up at him, then back down, then back up.

The routine was getting annoying, so Cedric just leveled the man with a dull glare.

Swallowing, the employee nodded and beckoned. Silently they walked, the young man retrieving keys and leading him to the back where a gated entrance to the sewers was located. “You’ll want a map.” The employee muttered, handing Cedric a map, “Do you need a light source?” He asked.

Cedric shook his head, “Thanks.” Snapping his finger a mage light appeared over his shoulder.

“Erm, good luck, Adventu- uh, Scion Alkahest.”

Cedric just waved the man on and walked down into the sewers. The stink was nothing that he wasn’t used to, and with a calm lift to his steps he ventured into the darkness.

The sewer map was detailed enough that Cedric didn’t get lost. He was good with maps and so he followed along several of the piping systems, coaxing a finger along them as his hand exhumed a blistering heat. The scorching fires of his hand weren’t cursed, just mundane flame little different than a blow-torch being blazed on the length of the pipe.

Digging his hand into his cargo pockets he pulled from one a green orb that he lazily threw into the sewer water, the orb glowing within the grey water and suddenly expanding rapidly. The creature roiled as it drifted down the waters, Cedric giving an authoritative whistle. The Ooze froze as commands of Mind Magic laced itself deeply into its being, orders and restrictions clear as it tumbled down the flow of the sewer; ordered to reproduce and inject its young with the same mental commands it had, spreading out through the sewers and consuming everything within.

Cedric for his part just kept along with the pipeline, periodically stopping to pull his wand and use an engraving spell to correct or entirely redo the heating and pressure runes. He also ripped up earthwork, non-structural of course, and transfigured it into pipe patches, removing rust and adding the extra-material to that would protect the piping from future rust.

‘Not all quests are grand.’ Cedric mused with a light smile as he worked. It was rather meditative for him to preform this work; idly paying attention to the growing network of enslaved Oozes that he had running about. Whenever they consumed enough ectoplasm to reproduce, they did so, in this way not growing powerful enough to mutate into a Greater Ooze, even if it’d take tens of thousands of rats and lesser oozes or slimes for one to reach that level.

The quest only required him to mark down the required repairs, and the elimination quest required him to bring back physical evidence of a specific number of slain creatures. In this way he commanded the oozes to not devour Ooze cores, although for the rats he couldn’t really do much about.

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He’d sent the oozes in a different direction than he was heading though, so as he worked he periodically spotted a rat and would give a slow and unsettling whistle. The Whistle of Death was a very simple mental compulsion that didn’t target the conscious mind, but the subconscious, commanding the body to shut down its functions, experiencing immediate organ failure across the board. From heart and brain to one’s liver and kidney; everything just stopped functioning. It required some base knowledge of what parts of the brain governed such things, with him targeting that part and subverting it.

To most animals and creatures, the so-called level-zeroes, there just wasn’t anything they could do about the whistle. Civilians and peasantry too were just shit out of luck, and a single whistle would be all it’d take to kill any within the range of its volume. The whistle, however, was slow; subtle. It could be loud, but it took a moment for it to function. In people they’d slur themselves and then drop dead, with any competent Knight or Wizard capable of immediately noticing the intrusion and removing the command. Those that survived that way experienced what he called ‘Fear of the Grave’, their body and subconscious going into flight or fight and freaking the fuck out as it almost killed itself.

‘The design is very humane.’ Cedric mused, truly thinking the spell of instant death to be one that was an exceedingly merciful way to die. Cedric didn’t fear death; he’d died a true death once before and killed himself in the mind too many times to count. He also, out of sheer curiosity, used the Whistle of Death on himself, just to know what feels like. He didn’t recommend doing what his dumbass fourteen-year-old self did, but he just kept casting it until his subconscious and body stopped freaking out.

Intellectually, he wasn’t afraid of death; however, the body didn’t like listening to the mind, so he had to teach it.

Whistling a bit longer, Cedric cut off the rat tails with a blade of force magic, transmuting a leather sack from the corpses to store them within.

Checking his map as he put in the fiftieth rat tail in his bag, Cedric mused it’d take three more hours of the two he’d already spent. Sniffing as he was now nose dead to the smell of the sewer, the young man continued on with his labor of completing the sewer. He took periodic smoke breaks and became a bit hungry for dinner; but decided to just push through and get this over with. He needed to do quite a few more quests until he could rank up to Bronze. Then he could become an Iron, then a Steel, then a Silver, then a Gold. After Gold he’d likely get stuck as he was a noble from a separate nation, and from Gold was Mythril which all Guild Masters were ranked as. Even obtaining Gold was something of a stretch as Gold was already something of a leadership position within the organization.

The hours passed by quickly, his carton of cigs drawing low as he worked and repaired the valves and pipes of the sewer. Yet, a quest wouldn’t be one without its ‘boss’ fight.

Staring dully at the mutant cat, taller than his knee and with wicked claws and plenty of scars covering its body, Cedric whistled; the cat slumping for a moment, only for a pulse of green flames to wash over its fur. The creature lunged within a second thought in its body, clearly working on nothing but instinct as it lashed its claws towards his throat.

Dodging to the side and leaving an image clone behind, Cedric was invisible and entirely silent as he walked to the sewer wall and leaned there with a bored expression. The cat creature lunged at his image clone again as it turned around, holding a hand up to stymie the bleeding throat. Flicking a finger, he conjured a force wall within the illusion, giving the impression of its claws cutting through flesh and scrapping against snapping bones. He’d practiced very hard to get the correct texture and feedback of what it felt like to run someone through, ideal for his tricky fighting style in convincing his foes that they’d slain him.

He played with the cat for a bit longer as the image clone of him kept whistling the same song of death; he watched in a bit of satisfaction as the cat struggled to keep its fight up while defending against the song. Aura combatants defended against this type of magic using their Aura, which functioned as an internal source of energy drawn from their body’s vital energies. They could project their Aura to protect their flesh, use it as a means of attack, enhance their body with energy, and even create magical techniques with the energy.

Using one’s Aura defensively limited how it could be used offensively or supportively; like trying to split one’s mind in multiple directions, it was only more difficult as Aura was like trying to control a raging river. His songs were even more infuriating towards Aura users as they were being constantly bombarded with glass, carving away into their projected Lifeforce. It ground away at their vital energies, weakening them not only in a mental aspect, but also in a game of attrition.

If Cedric was facing someone like his grandfather, then he’d need to go all out; pressuring him to make mistakes, grinding down his potent reserves with cursed flames and noxious fumes, bait him into getting into conflict with invisible oozes, and trapping him within ward-schemes that had internal cursed fires consume all the oxygen within while filling it with spiritual poison.

Cedric was a mage who refused to fight fair. Against a man over three-hundred years old, he gave himself a thirty, maybe fifty percent chance of winning against Nubinor. If grandma popped in to fight with him, then Cedric was plain fucked. He’d get found by scrying wind magics and Nubinor would be led and directed by his grandmother to rip him to shreds.

This perceived weakness didn’t bother him. He was only nineteen and could reasonably fight old monsters like his grandparents. His grandmother in a 1v1 against him would be like playing a game of cards, revealing trump cards that negated one ability or another. It’d eventually come down to who had more information on the other, and how they were able to counter one another’s abilities.

Mages resisted things like his music differently than Knights; unless they held some magical device or artifact that he’d need to grind down like it was Aura, then it was a battle of willpower and perception.

The music would be like glass shards being launched at one’s mind, and a mage would need to neutralize the daggers entering their mind; defeating the magic and making sure there weren’t any lingering trojan horses. His mother taught him how to defend his mind in one of the most painful experiences of his life, teaching him a more brutal method than was tradition. He learned a lesson on how to attack one’s mind during those lessons. Where she might drive a length of burning steel into his brain, Cedric would blow a continuous cloud of razor-sharp glass shards into one’s gray matter.

One could be defended against, the other was just evil.

For a Mage to try and fight Cedric was an attempt to fight while trying to do advanced calculus, Where’s Wally, intense artistic visualization, extreme physical exertion, all while keeping oneself sharp for illusions, tricks, and environmental hazards.

One weakness to his music was to use the formerly mentioned defensive artifact. Using an enchanted artifact to act as a shield to the song, but the moment he overwhelmed that artifact, or destroyed it outright, then it was back to a mental hellscape or an Aura reserve. The issue with fighting Cedric using one of those artifacts was that he’d easily recognize it, and immediately think of several means of finding a way around the defense: from simply overwhelming it with magic, to altering his song with an obscured attempt at disenchanting the artifact. Or he could just destroy it with acid or fire.

Most Mages didn’t have what Cedric would call a ‘gear set’. The most mages would wear within this world would be a nice robe perhaps moderately enchanted with basic defenses, a few rings, a staff, scepter, or wand, and then that was it. This was because Enchanting was hard, and it got expensive fast trying to get upgrades for eighteen equipment slots. An economical mage was one that invested within a staff, a robe, maybe a hat or some auxiliary equipment, and at that point the bank would be looking pretty dry.

Cedric was an outlier who spent sixteen years studying magic and got good at a lot of -what were in his mind- basic foundational pieces of knowledge, which applied themselves universally in any form of magic he tried his hand at. Enchanting was one of those schools where learning and mastering the basics was the most important thing one could do, which he indeed did.

Cedric’s current outfit wasn’t too heavily enchanted, and he also didn’t walk around wearing his products. He always kept his wand on hand, of course, but when he was within Yal-Hest he had to play things safe. That meant no hiding tattoos under complex illusions, because his mother or father would sense them. No wearing obviously master-crafted equipment as he’d be questioned about how he obtained them. He didn’t even use his wand and instead used an expensive one he bought on auction; a piece of shit compared to his own, but serviceable and expected for someone like himself.

Watching as the cat exhausted itself, its Aura weakening and then folding away, he stepped out of his invisibility as it ceased up and died from his image copy kept whistling. Inspecting the image, he saw that its jaw and throat were hanging on by tattered threads, and it had fallen into a fetal state; still whistling as it wasn’t actually a biological entity. He put his fingers into its wounds and felt the stick of blood, drawing his hand out to rub the blood between his fingers.

Satisfied with his performance in creating a believable fake, even if he wasn’t putting in the correct vocal responses to getting cut up, the image copy still tried to feebly react to the oncoming onslaught of the cat. Banishing the force-construct that was giving it texture and feedback to its wounds, replicating the specific feel of organs, bones, and flesh, he moved on with his job.

There weren’t any more surprises on his end, although his network connected to his various Oozes informed him of a few Rat Kings and other nasty creatures that were subsumed and disassembled molecularly. There were now seventy-three Oozes running around, and with a tug on the chain embedded into their primitive minds, he called the roiling tides of Ooze back to him.

As he was finishing up on the last segment of pipe, his fingers flicking themselves rapidly to carve together a few runes, a tide of mushing and squishing breached through a grate in the pipes, cores splattering onto the ground and then leaking into the waterway. He waited until all seventy-three were there and ordered them to consume one another. The process was quick, the massive mound of gunk and ooze melding into one another, forming a Greater Acid Ooze Elemental.

The Demon King played from an audio-visualizer of gunk by his head, enforcing the edicts and binding magics placed on the significantly more powerful Ooze. Ordering it to not resist, he inserted his force magic into the creature’s mass and ripped out its Core. Taming the magics around the Core, he set it into a dormant state and put it inside his pant pocket. He needed to act quickly with a Greater Ooze, as it’ll start consuming and unmaking the magic placed upon it out of simple instinct. It happened last time, and he hadn’t expected, then bam, feral Ooze in his lab.

Cracking his neck, Cedric started on the long way back to the Department of City Maintenance. Arriving at the late hours of near midnight, Cedric blinked as he found the sleepy form of the same employee he’d interacted with still here.

“Hey.” Cedric called out, waking the poor man.

He sat up abruptly from his chair and blubbered about, “Huh, ah. You’re back!” He seemed immensely relieved at that fact. “Is, uh, the job done, Sir Scion?”

“Yeah. I’m going to head to the Guild and report the job complete.”

The young man nodded firmly, “We’ll get back to you in a business day.” He saluted with his arm crossing his chest.

Giving the man an amused look, he nodded and bid him thanks, leaving the place. Drawing from his jacket he drew out a leather booklet and opened it to reveal an assortment of metallic needles. Drawing them out he tapped his form, cleaning magic, scent removal magics, and more roiling over his form, his enchanted travel kit cleaning him up rather well.

There weren’t any carriages running this time of night, and he debated heading back to the Warrens and just heading in tomorrow, but decided he’d get this out of the way and possibly grab a new quest. Knock some things out right now instead of needing to do them in the morning, this way he could get on new things come morning.

Arriving at the Guild while grumbling about this city’s security, having been mugged twice getting here. He didn’t kill the gnome and half-elf that tried to rob him, merely whispering for them to fall asleep. Paraval had something of a crime network, and while petty criminals would exist in any city, especially one as large as Paraval was, Cedric was under the impression the crime was taken care of by the various syndicates.

He’d done his research and knew that his grandmother had her fingers in some of the less-than-legal pies growing in the city, along with a few of her children organizing or overseeing things. It was surprisingly common for children of powerful houses to get into the underworld, quickly rising thanks to their backing and resources, with the goal being to remove foreign influence on their cities, subvert Imperial laws that they disagreed with, and potentially spread to other cities and regions.

It was one of those ‘subtle’ means of fucking with one’s ancient rivals, by throwing legions of bandits, syndicate organizations, ‘rebellions’ encouraging civil unrest, and all manner of subterfuge. It was made easy by the usage of magic, whether it be mind magic, or other esoteric or subtle means of manipulation. Cedric made it a point to not kill criminals that weren’t already being processed by the judiciary systems of the Empire. If they were that far deep, then they likely didn’t have interested backers looking to silence or use them. However, killing a random criminal could mean killing some important informant for a foreign nobility, thus pissing them off and marking oneself as a person of interest.

Cedric was a very morally flexible individual, having been that way since he was a boy and having to rationalize the existence of slave-markets. Then that rationalization came with potential for exploitation, and ever since he’d started obtaining a means of capital, his labs have been flushed with human and non-human experiments. It was something that he was aware was objectively evil, or at least deranged, fucked up, but Cedric did not think himself as evil. He’s done a lot of evil things in this life, from mind-rape to inhumane experimentation, abject torture, and so on; but it wasn’t done in a way that was meant to be evil.

Motivation mattered, and he’d long since jumped through the loops of mental justification of what he considered morally repugnant, reduced to just being a ‘regrettable and necessary action’.

Entering the Adventurer’s Guild with a firm frown on his face, Cedric navigated to the correct clerk. There wasn’t any line as it was so late, but Adventurers always came in at different times, forcing the Adventurer’s Guild to be a twenty-four seven establishment.

Placing his tag down and sliding the quest reports to the clerk, he waited for the following stamps that indicated his quest was for ‘review’. Cedric nodded and left for the Quest Board, and there he found a few late nighters gathering around. An oddly familiar young woman was biting her lip as she debated between two quests, and it took him a moment to remember her as the woman he’d met while filling out his paperwork. They both held the customary silver-white hair that was usual within Paraval’s population and ethnic background. She wore a necklace that he could feel a surprisingly powerful enchantment upon, more than that he recognized the method of its make. A willing sacrifice had gone into the construction of the amulet, and its powerful presence hid the lesser enchantments belonging to a steely belt engraved in runes and a few other bobbles on her person.

They were a bit worn and their magic to his senses was old. Heirlooms, then.

Her clothing was to his perspective of a modern design, which with the cultural shift of Paraval and its great influence by the God of Inspiration, Iso, meant it was of local fashion. A long leather cardigan, a slightly cropped top, a length of gray cloth queerly wrapped tightly around her neck, paired with patched leather trousers. Her naval was revealed by her cropped top, revealing a moderately toned core. Her hair was full and wild but braided into a single long braid that drooped down to her hips. Cast over her shoulder, she still had a full head of hair framing comely features that were contrasted by dark brows.

He tried to remember a name and snapped his finger in remembrance. Alice Casamer, if he remembered correctly.

Next to her was a shorter veiled woman with her hair in a mixture of dread knots, bindings, and knots of string. The girl hid her face behind a cloth veil and had brass neck rings lining her throat. The young woman seemed more energetic than the more closed off and reluctant Alice who was arguing with the pleas of the druidic woman.

It was an interesting contrast, both women were obviously magic casters, but seemed to be otherwise have different vocations. At least, simply judging by their means of dress.

Walking next to the two arguing girls, he listened in while he was searching for his own quest.

“We need to build ourselves up, Sestrel.” He heard Alice proclaim. “We can’t be running off trying to obtain the highest paying jobs.”

“But we won’t earn enough!” The woman named Sestrel countered, “We’re both eighteen. We have less than two weeks to obtain enough money for the admission fee.”

“We won’t be able to attend if we’re dead!”

Seeing the fight getting a bit more intense, he cut in with a smile on his face, “Woah there, let’s cool down, ladies.”

Sestrel had a biting word on the tip of her tongue, but they both seemed to realize where they were and calmed down.

Alice cocked her head and furrowed her brow, “Do I know you?” She asked.

Cedric smiled, “Cedric. We met when we were applying.”

Recognition appeared in Alice’s eyes, and she smiled, “Ah. I remember.” She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, “How is Adventuring going?” She asked.

He smiled with a relaxed mien, “Not much adventuring. Just busy work. The real stuff that I’m looking forward to will be when I’m Iron, Steel, and Silver.”

“You dream high.” The girl named Sestrel muttered bitterly.

“Sestrel!” Alice shouted in rebuke while Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Apologize, now.” She stomped up to the woman.

Sestrel frowned bitterly, and glanced up to him with sky-blue eyes, “Sorry.” She said noncommittally.

Knowing full-well what it felt like to be in that situation, Cedric smiled and nodded. It sucked putting one’s pride away and letting those bitter words escape; especially as one’s attention or mood was elsewhere. Turning his attention back to Alice, he gave her a concerned look, “Adventuring is a lot more dangerous when you have concerns other than surviving. What seems to be the problem?” He felt a bit of a thrill run through his heart at the question. It felt like he was about to be offered a quest! A real one, not one on a board.

Alice sighed and seemed reluctant to answer, while Sestrel looked away. Eventually Alice caved, “We’re trying to attend the Paraval Academy of Magic.” She admitted.

Cedric blinked, “Oh. I guess we’ll see each other around.” He was a bit disappointed. He thought they were going to need him to beat up some loan shark or something.

The two women blinked, “You’re attending?” They both said at the same time.

Cedric cocked his head, “Yes? Oh, right. How much is attending?” He asked as he patted himself down.

“Three gold pieces for a year.” Sestrel muttered bitterly while Alice blinked owlishly as Cedric found his coin pouch inside this outfit. The ching of coins brought Sestrel’s attention back to him, and both gapped as he couldn’t be bothered to pick out the gold and just tossed them a platinum piece.

He snickered at their gobsmacked expressions, “Don’t get mugged now. I’d put that in your Guild accounts if I were you.” Alice held the coin like it was the elixir of life and gaped at him in shock.

“C-Cedric, we, what…” Alice babbled.

“What do you want?” Sestrel’s voice was wary and circumspect, but also resigned.

Cedric frowned, “You’re really rude, you know that?” He muttered and rolled his eyes. “I want a vanilla pumpkin spiced latte, a nice book, and a calm high.” He snickered at their confused expressions. “Its charity.” He explained, “Generosity. You two look like you’re at least somewhat capable mages. It’ll be nice to have people who aren’t blood blooded snobs about the place.”

“Who just gives people a platinum?” Sestrel muttered in wonderment.

Alice looked like she wanted to strangle Sestrel.

Cedric rolled his eyes, “Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, Scion of the Ducal House of Alkahest. Grandson of the reigning Lord and Lady of Paraval.” He gave a slight bow, enjoying their gobsmacked expressions, “We’ll be classmates.” He shrugged.

Sestrel’s eyes swam with horror, while Alice looked like death had warmed over.

“W-we apologies for any offense, Scion Alk-Alkahest.” Alice bowed deeply with real fear in her voice, quickly joined by Sestrel that was shaking in her boots.

‘This is what you get for belonging to a class of tyrannical aristocracy.’ Cedric sighed.

Fear.

It was how the aristocracy liked to rule. Through the fear of consequences, the fear of individuals so far above oneself, that they could dictate if one lives or dies based on the cut of one’s hair, or the shape of their eyes. To be in the presence of a Noble was to walk with a person that could murder you with the ungodly strength of a Knight, or the mystic tortures of magic. Within one’s own territory, such murders went away with a wave of the hand, although in Paraval there was more regulation with the presence of the Academy.

However, the presence of the Academy meant more nobles present within the city, far too used to getting their way of things. It led to incidents. Incidents that had the offending noble punished, but that was like a slap on the wrist compared to the depredations that the visiting scions inflicted upon the population. Few, if any, Houses were held with any form of love. Respect, fear, terror, and awe; the resplendent vestments of his grandfather would command armies hundreds of thousands strong.

Men marched to the dictation of the Lords, and while the Lords were individuals that were seen as ascendent untouchables; scions were their devilish spawn. To claim that a Lord was visiting or in the presence of peasantry outside of a military or judicial context was preposterous; they lived in two separate worlds. To claim that a Scion was in the presence of the peasantry was like a natural disaster that would end with daughters and mothers sullied, fathers and sons butchered, and the stench of fear claiming blocks of a city for years.

There wasn’t any possibility of uprising or revolting. Sure, too much fear would lead to such things, and it was annoying putting them down; but all it would ever be was a distraction. There’s always an equal or opposite force with real resources ready to put down the law in place of a ‘despoiled tyrant’. The peasantry didn’t rule themselves, as they had no power to do so. If they picked up arms and marched to Cedric’s quaint little castle, demanding less taxes, then he'd just whistle, and they’d either all fall dead, or they’d be forced to dance from sunrise to sunset; fully aware he was controlling their every move. The fear that would create was immense, and that was just Cedric.

Houses had super soldier Knights, and magical Magisters who acted as spies, and criminals with information networks, fueled by rivers of gold, and buoyed by influence. They held magical means of divining enemies and finding where guerrilla networks were and were capable of untold cruelty in the face of dissent.

Equality?

‘What is that? Is it tasty, or is it just empty air?’

Something confused him, “You two do realize you are signing up for Paraval’s Academy of Magic, correct?”

“Y-yes, Scion Alkahest.” Alice confirmed shakily.

“You’re going to be around dozens of Scions.”

The two sisters visibly froze. It was like watching a computer think and slowly load.

“First, stand up.” The two girls stood woodenly. “Next, loosen up. Get defiant.” He thought about that and blanched, remembering some fucked up conversations he’d had with other Scions. “Er, belay that. Some Scions like defiance and see it as a challenge. They’ll will want to rape you because bragging about how they ‘broke you’ is for some reason impressive, fucking degenerates…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “But it’s better than being submissive and getting walked over.” He finished, the two girls staring at him in horror.

“The rumors are true?” Alice whispered. She was likely referencing the stigma placed on non-nobles attending institutions meant for the nobility. Imperial Law dictated that all educational facilities were open to all classes of people, but they just raised the entry price to unreasonably high levels, barring most off from entering. Then there was the fact that they were outsiders who were inherently lesser than those already attending, It created an utterly toxic environment that itself warded off applicants; unless that toxic environment was so toxic it beggared belief and became mere rumor.

“Eh. Yeah. Pretty much.” The aristocracy were all pampered little babies taking what they wanted from people who couldn’t protect it. The class system worked a bit oddly within the Orestien Empire. At the top of the peerage system there was the emperor with his powerbase being the Imperial Army, and his Magisters. Then below him there were the Archdukes, who were usually either the emperor’s brother, sister, or his most capable and trusted children. There was currently only one Archduke, and that was House Lappland, who’s lord was the Emperor’s third son.

Then there were the Dukes. There were seven dukes within the Orestien Empire. The Alkahest, the Paraval, the Xong, the Ferverach, the Lantvandi, the Ceormor, and the Almendro. The Alkahest, his house, ruled over the lands of the Yal-Hest, a desert environment located in the southern parts of the continent. The continent itself was effectively split in half from east to west. The west was held by the Great Eshal Forests, a continuous woodland that extended in the north with great boral giants and coastal redwoods, down into more moderate climates with temperate oaks, pines, and poplar, into the sweltering jungles to the far south. Eventually the forest ended nearly a thousand miles on, separated by bogs, swamplands, and rivers; yet was unbared and undivided by mountains.

The sons of men and titans, the dwarves and men of Orestien existed on the eastern half the continent, with many scholars attributing the Eshal Forest to the elven god Eshala with its queer formation and lack of disruption. It was home to the populations of the elves and beast-kin, with any attempt at colonizing the forest ended poorly.

The lands of Yal-Hest were divided within the system of peerage.

Below the Dukes were three marquises ruling the border of the Eshal Jungles. Cedric held great respect for the Marquises of any territory, for they were the guardians of their lands; the first defense against foreign invaders. He always tended to treat the sons and daughters of marquises with more respect than he did other Scions, because what they faced, and what they were raised to face, was a truly grueling fate. Many of the Marquises were patrons of slavery, which might’ve soured his opinion if he wasn’t acculturated into being a slave owner, even if he only bought criminals.

The Empires of Men, from the First to the Eighth, were built on a system of slavery. This ironically wasn’t because of choice, but necessity. When facing foreign invaders near constantly, the markets of war needed to produce more than just blood. It also needed gold to put boots and food in the marching armies headed off to war; not to mention the practice dramatically increased morale for the soldiers.

The greatest nations back on Earth were built on the backs of slave labor and blood. It was by exploiting their labor forces that their people could advance rapidly, technologically, culturally, or industrially. The fall of the Roman Empire could be attributed to many factors, but a driving force of their economy was that of slave labor and the constant expansionist and imperialistic mindset that the empire lived on. The Roman Empire fell into decadence and collapsed partly with the Byzantine carrying the flag until the prophet within Mecca gave rise to one of the most powerful empires in the world that ended the torch bearing Byzantine.

The Empires of Man were built off slave labor because of a simple geographical facet that placed the Empires within a state of constant stalemate. They were incapable of destroying or removing or culling a continent spanning forest and its population. The Eshal was always filled with a population of foreign savages and alien states, while also being an amazing source of natural resources like timber.

From beast-kin tribes to elven nomadic groups, and further south down in the savanna, the Orcs. The Eshal Forest was constantly generating legions of barbarians that seemed to always get the good idea of raiding the Empires of Man. Armies would be raised, thrown into the forest, and came back with slaves. Then the Empire would find that an entire province, as in the entirety of Yal-Hest or an equivalent territory, was devoid of its children.

Full Blooded Fae-diddling elves liked eating children, apparently.

When he first heard about it, he thought it was propaganda; there were myths like that back on Earth. But then he realized it wasn’t when he heard of the Wyld Hunts. They happened about every decade, sometimes every half-decade. Elves were naturally superior to the common man, at least physically. They were just born superior, and depending on how they trained, usually always had some form of talent in Aura or Magic.

They were also extremely culturally diverse, and some of those cultures tended to be a bit barbaric.

When death-squads numbering in the tens of thousands slink out from their forests to come eat an entire region’s worth of children; blood feuds and cries of extermination get called. Hatred breeds, and thus one gets that entire race-war thing going on. Some tribes of Beast-Kin were cannibals straight up, although at least they were honest about it and ate everyone.

The Beast-Kin had their own quirks of taking humans as slaves, thralls, and bed-slaves; but it’d be hypocritical of him, an Imperial, to decry that behavior. The Orcs too ate humans, raped humans, and the like; but they did that to each other as natural cannibals that liked eating meat. From what he’d read it wasn’t really in their culture or biology to care, and the warmongering warriors were ever the picture image of battle-loving maniacs. Normally eating people came with risks of disease, but Orcs were iron-stomached, while the Elves were meticulous in their preparation.

Cedric wasn’t racist towards Elves even knowing this fact. He was a little bit biased towards fucking savages that ate children, but most Elves in the nation weren’t child eating monsters. Most elves in general weren’t.

At least, he hoped so…

As much as Cedric tried to deny it, he was, ultimately, an Imperial. He belonged to the ‘micro’ culture of the Yal-Hest, but for however much he might be an American, he was now an acculturated High Imperial Nobility. He had been since he turned like, ten or something; eventually something just clicked, and he stopped thinking himself as an American outside of sarcastic monologs.

It left him feeling a sort of patriotic and communalistic ire when thinking about foreign invaders. The concept of a foreigner meant that he in some way attributed the Empire as his home, and thus wanted to protect his home as was human nature. His unique perspective allowed him to see that change within him, and he found it oddly sad for some reason.

With the Marquises handling the borders, below them were the five Earls. Some territories called them Counts, but Yal-Hest called their third-most powerful peerage Earls. The Earls were the middle-managers. Lower than a Marquis in terms of importance, yet they were the ones that tended to manage most of the goings-on of the region as the largest land-owners. They tended to have their own vassals in the form of barons. Barons that went beyond the line of duty or served gloriously under a Marquis could be raised into Viscounts, and by the duke’s word could then be raised into a Marquis.

Why skip over Earl? The answer to that was land. Marquises were those that dealt with border-controls, and new land tended to always be handed to either barons or viscounts, and if they proved capable of holding that land, were titled Marquises. That happened rarely, with viscounts and barons being the most interchangeable and expendable of nobility.

Then there were the Knights, Sorcerers, and Imperial Clerks.

The Empire needed a lot of bureaucratic resources and manpower to operate its functions. Directly tied to the emperor’s authority and name, the Imperial legions of Magisters and bureaucrats were an army of self-important cogs that kept the machine functioning. They held a very centralized authority and directly reported to the Royal Magister, and were often trained as capable mages, courtly scribes, and spies. To obtain that vocation was luck of the draw, largely taken from orphanages around the capital, or recommendations granted to various colleges and schools around the empire.

Sorcerers were a complex beast. If a magic user of notable might, culturally appraised by the size of their internal reserves, were to appear; then they tended to be treated as minor nobility. Sorcerers tended to act as free contractors, expected to appear at the behest of a nobility, and tended to form into independent organizations known as towers, cables, cults, or hermetic orders of scholars. The archetype of the ‘wise man’ held great cultural significance in the hearts of men. Dwarves tended to laugh at their heading of ‘young greybeards’ who haven’t even lived a third of their greybeard’s lives, while gnomes were too varied and insane to have a collective opinion.

Lastly, Knights. They were Knights. The simplest of them all, a warrior of skill and intelligence, often a son or daughter of a baron or viscount, swore themselves to a house to serve them in their best interests and attempted to obtain enough accolades for titles of land, or potentially being raised into peerage. They formed the backbone of armies, the hammer and anvil, and were enforcers of various knightly codes. Many Knights tended to follow the creeds of various gods, worship and faith tending to grant blessing and holy powers, creating paladins.

Within the Eighth Empire, Paladins were somewhat rare. The Imperial Faith of Iso didn’t inspire many knights, and they turned to disorganized sects of smaller religions, or older creeds; this created fragmented Knight Orders. At least, initially. Three-hundred years since the founding of the Eighth Empire, and the Knight Orders had created Templar Knights, powerful and very Elite sects of specially trained Knights that were led by their Grandmaster. The Knight Orders would swear to various Lords, obtaining immense patronage for the service of immensely powerful, organized holy men. They didn’t take land outside of expanding their operations, requiring temples to be built to host their men and worship many diverse Gods.

Throughout the many decades, three Knight Orders have had their stars rise above all others.

The Order of Ascendent Dawn, worshippers of Sorael, Angel of Light. Healers in the line of duty, these Hospitaller Knights were very popular heroes to the common folk and soldiers alike. Their patron, Sorael, was once simply just a summoned Angel of the Goddess of the Sun, Solariel. However, Solariel fell into relative obscurity, and only recorded mention of her Angel remained, with the Knighthood holding an inspiring history of coming from nothing but scraps of a legend and building a resplendent faith from it.

The Order of Yore, Warrior-Scholars that record history, texts, knowledge, and tend to have a mixed membership of faithful Sorcerers and Templar Knights. They worship the Scribe God, a God so ancient they have no name or identity to claim. The Order of Yore works to potentially reclaim their God’s stolen or lost identity, while preserving all histories within their temples. They hold great relationships with the Order of Ascendent Dawn, both helping each other in piecing together lost histories.

Lastly, the Lantvandic Knights, an Order of Templars that was formed by an ancestor of the now Ducal House of Lantvandi. The Lantvandi or ‘von Lantvandi’ means ‘of Lantvandia’. They come from a bitter continent to the far-west, having traveled over the Altola Ocean to reach Orestien, this stranded legion of a foreign human nation from a very foreign land cut their way through the Eshal Forest, and into the Empires of Man. They then became mercenaries during the collapse of the Seventh Empire, then soon served the ascendent Petty King Wodin Rothsland, and their Company Commander was awarded the title of Marquis. Taking the name of Lantvandi in honor of their homeland, the mercenaries continued to work for the Petty King, soon earning the rank of Dukedom.

They brought with them their land’s God, Nodum, God of Storms, Calamity, and Disaster.

‘A very fitting God for that family,’ Cedric mused.

To obtain upward mobility within society, an individual needed to climb that ladder. It often took extenuating circumstances and impossible odds to do so, but it was indeed possible. The two girls in front of him were likely just two commoners, likely from a small family that was moderately well off, or had a tragedy strike them, and had the girl’s needing education. As obvious magical practitioners, it was most common to see Sorcerers not from the ranks of nobility trained in a sort of apprentice-master relationship by wandering Sorcerers.

Magical knowledge was a restricted resource, and while the nobility lobbied to as hard as they could to restrict its presence within the population, it was nearly impossible to do so in any reasonable effect. While magical knowledge was important for one’s advancement, every generation there would always be someone who became some Merlin-esque figure and threw the status-quo out the window to teach some hillbilly how to cast fireballs. Genius, intelligence, and talent existed outside of socio-economic class, and magic tended to be a very fast equalizer; for it didn’t matter how fancy Cedric got with his own magic, a fireball was a fireball, as too was a lightning bolt.

Both would kill him dead if he just stood there and took it, with the most basic magical ingredients to a good fighter being piss-simple to create just by watching nature. Control to the wind to move faster, throw fire and lightning to kill things, and throw magic at things that were harmful. There was always that one autistic kid that had things just click, and suddenly that autistic kid was an old monster living it up in the hills, periodically teaching kids how to grunt correctly and cause a volcano to explode.

Watching as the two girls visibly sweat and re-thought their plans about attending ‘high-school, elitist fantasy edition’, Cedric popped in with an offer.

“I could take you two under my wing.” He shrugged. Noble sponsors were one of the only ways these two girls were going to get through their schooling without being utterly abused. As a Scion of a ducal line, Cedric was ‘up there’ in the hierarchy. Sadly, he doubted he was going to be the highest. There was undoubtedly going to be other ducal scions, and knowing his luck, the Lapplands were going to be there.

‘Fuck those dudes, my lord.’ For some ungodly reason his generation’s Lapplands had spawned in threes. The triplet sons were around his age, maybe a bit younger, and at least one was going to attend the magical academy. The Royal-Imperial College needed to have some face, so the Lapplands were likely going to send at least one son there. ‘I truly pity those girls for having those buffoons as brothers.’

The twin daughters of the Lapplands, Anastasia and Annette Lappland, he remembered because they were the sole people who could organize and boss around those three embodiments of human scum. Honestly, from what he observed, the Lapplands seemed like good folk; the sons were just crass as all hell. The ‘conversation’ about ‘breaking’ the ‘defiant’ came from a brief introduction to the three boys. He was unsure if that was a poor joke, but holy hell was it an introduction.

Scared out of their wits, but it seemed Sestrel had a bit of bite to her yet still. “And what do you gain out of doing that?”

He laughed at her bite, “I dunno.” He shrugged. “Sell yourselves.”

The two looked disgusted, and he sighed. ‘Fucking slaver culture…’ He corrected himself, “Present your talents; give me a reason to protect you. Flaunt your feathers, show yourself off, and advertise your talents.”

Their eyes sparked with realization. Alice started as she toyed with her necklace, “I’m a novice Enchanter and a Force Mage.” She whispered. “I learn magic fast! I just…don’t have much to learn from.”

“I’m a hermetic witch.” Sestrel bit out, “I learned from nature and what I could figure out on my own. I’m okay at natural alchemy, although I don’t know anything fancy like transmutation or more advanced brewing methods.”

Blinking at that he cocked his head, “Those are my vocations.” He mused.

The two girls blinked, themselves confused, “Which ones?” Sestrel asked with a furrowed brow.

“I’m an Enchanter, Alchemist, rather skilled at Force Magic, although I’m a bit ignorant on hermetic magics.” Cedric shrugged. “I guess that fits in neatly. I’ll just take you two under my wing and we’ll have ‘study sessions’. Just don’t refute me when I correctly claim you two are charity cases.”

Alice nodded thankfully, while Sestrel narrowed her eyes with inherent pride.

He rolled his eyes as he caught her attitude, “You want to get raped? Fuck off with the pride, be my little duckling, and you’ll get through school with snide comments and a bruised ego. If anyone pushes you around, just invoke my name. If they keep pushing, you’ll need to escape, tell me what happened, and I’ll have your back. At that point it becomes an entire ordeal about honor, pride, and dick measuring.” Cedric sighed exhaustively, “Mien Gott.” He groaned, already feeling the annoyance his future self will need to deal with.

While Cedric and his future classmates weren’t hormonal teenagers, they were instead collage age elitist classist scumbag rich-kids going to a hyper-competitive college. If Alice and Sestrel left without a complex of some sort, then he was going to proclaim himself Patron Saint of Patrons.

“Thank you, Scion Alkahest.” Alice bowed, Sestrel following shortly. “You’ve shown us endless generosity and kindness.”

“Eh, call me Cedric. At least in private, I guess. Or maybe in public; the fuckwits will think we’re fucking if you do that. Benefits and negatives, pros and cons.” He mused amusedly.

Both girls gave Cedric an appraising look, and then glanced at one another. Words were left unsaid as Cedric turned back to the quest board and gave it a gander.

“Why is Scion Alkahest acting as an Adventurer?” Sestrel asked a bit caustically.

“The maidens, of course!” He cheered, drawing a glare from the baggie eyed receptionist and Quest Master holding the fort down. “But really the experience. And reagents.”

Alice toed the ground, “Do you need a party?” She asked.

Cedric snorted, “Afraid I’m a bit too advanced. Not to sound self-aggrandizing, but I’m elite in my age group.”

“Your not much older than we are!” Sestrel argued.

‘Ah, so that’s why she grew upset about me being her teacher.’

“I’ve studied magic since I was three. At age four I was leading servants around with illusions and mind-magic both. At age eight I was practicing advanced levels of pyromancy that developed into cursed fire. I am an expert within the realms of illusion and mind magic, and you dare question my tutelage?” He grinned, and an odd gong sounded out, the two girls immediately stumbling as their vision distorted; one eye had its images inverted, while the other eye saw only the electromagnetic spectrum in 3D. He contained the sound to a space around them in a ward he’d set down, only affecting them.

The Discordant Gong sounded again, and this time it was an entirely different illusion; the illusion spreading to the cerebral and auditory senses, causing them to immediately spill onto the ground as their balance fell out. Alice looked like she was about to puke, while Sestrel was frantically flailing about.

With a snap he canceled the magic, the two girls staring up at his amused smile with wary surprise, “You know Mind Magic?” Sestrel whispered, no small amount of fear in her voice. Mind Magic had a reputation. He wasn’t surprised that the two girls didn’t defend against it, as one of the most powerful aspects of his magic was that it worked while an entity was surprised and unprepared. Some Mind Magic, like Whistle of Death or Demon King, needed a moment for them to work, allowing an unprepared entity to defend against the magic. Others, like the Discordant Gong, worked instantly but to less effectiveness as they weren’t allowed to root themselves fully into the affected person’s mind.

“Certified expert, madam.” He grinned cheekily, but then frowned gravely, “Don’t spread that around.” He warned, drawing immediate nods from them both. Smiling again, Cedric offered them a hand up, and they took it. “Sad to say that for how advanced I am, I’m a bit of a lone wolf, yeah? Cursed Fires, indiscriminate Mind Magic, you know how it is.” He chuckled.

The two girls swallowed, “Ye-yeah.” Alice stuttered an agreement.

Clapping Alice on the shoulder to her wince, Cedric strode past them to grab a quest. “I trust you two know what to do?”

They blinked and nodded, “Thank you, Cedric. We won’t take more of your time.” Alice supplicated.

“No problem. I’m happy to help. Soul’s stained as it is.” Giving them a jaunty wave, he walked off.

Looking down at the mission, he sighed. ‘Tis going to be a long two weeks.’