“Marzio Etinus is an Archmage.”
Damien hummed to show he had heard. It was good to have official confirmation, but he already knew as much. Few people could hope to take over his senses like that, and while the girl might have supplied the mana, it was the old man who directed the spell.
Such a thing could have rightly been construed as an attack on a Revolutionary Councilor. It certainly was enough to ask for damages, and historically, it had been the basis of many a regional war.
Damien hadn’t demanded either. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about being attacked. He was furious and had to employ all his not-inconsiderable self-control to avoid reacting in anger. But his own wants and needs had long since become secondary in his quest to see the world’s order restored.
“Why are you not saying anything? We have a foreign Master in the city doing who knows what, and you don’t care?”
Giving up his attempt to puzzle out a particularly annoying spell configuration, Damien sighed and turned to Eleanor.
He appreciated the girl. He genuinely did. She had proven talented and eager to learn, was bold and daring when needed, and knew not to overreach. He couldn’t ask for a better apprentice. Her little crush notwithstanding, she was perfect, and even that could be turned into a new lesson. But she had the annoying habit of constantly seeking new information no matter the circumstance, which meant she rarely gave him time to slowly work his way around a problem like he enjoyed doing.
“He’s not a Master.” He finally replied.
Eleanor blinked in confusion. “I’m pretty sure he is. I know some Tower Masters are Experts, owing to the lack of local Masters, but in a place as powerful as Brander, I doubt that’s very common. Also, I found references to one Etinus the Tidebreaker that matches his description from around seventy years ago.”
“Still not a Master.”
Eleanor tilted her head, gears turning. She took a deep breath, and her eyes widened comically. “A Champion?!” She almost shrieked, though she had the presence of mind to avoid it at the last second.
“Indeed. A strong one, too. I didn’t recognize him at first because he didn’t let me. But as soon as I was out of his spell range, I immediately realized who he was. Marzio Etinus was once known as the Tidebreaker for defending the old Brander Kingdom from the Depths seventy years ago. He’s also known by a different name in recent times: The Mage of Broken Ties.”
Not an auspicious name for someone sent to open diplomatic talks with a new nation, but Damien wasn’t the kind to be scared by nicknames. Yes, Etinus deserved the name. He had ascended to Champion by single-handedly destroying the enormous Geas that bound the Branderi army to its King, thus allowing the nation to fall into civil war. It was also the right thing to do, as the soldiers had become little more than slaves at the whims of a madman.
It was because of this that the rest of the local nations stopped enacting oaths to enforce loyalty and leaned into slavery for the unwashed masses and into privilege for the nobility.
Some would say that he was the single starting cause of the abusive situation they were currently in, but Damien didn’t have such a reductive, simplistic vision of history. Tyrants did what tyrants would do. Just because slave collars were currently more common than ever, it didn’t mean that people didn’t suffer before their rise. Yes, the horrors visited upon the modern slaves were much more significant than most could comprehend. Being cut away from the Light was a sin beyond words. But their material suffering was mostly the same.
Etinus was not a good person. He also wasn’t evil. A particularly difficult-to-read shade of grey would be the best description.
“If you know that, it means you already have contingencies in place. Why did you send me to look through the library if you already knew?” Eleanor asked, frustrated.
Damien merely smiled, tilting his head, allowing the morning light to catch his eyes and give him a holy glow. The girl, predictably, blushed and backed down without him needing to explain. She’d kick herself for it later and push to become immune to his charms, which was incidentally excellent training.
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The diplomatic talks would be held in the beautiful mansion once owned by Admiral Dunster. While the nascent Revolutionary Navy had taken the barracks by the docks for itself and was busy refitting the few ships left behind to meet the high standards of those that had been captured during the campaign, General Dortmund had decreed that they didn’t need to waste time and money maintaining the many officers’ residences sprinkled around Treon. Only those closest to the docks were kept, and the rest were put into the pool of available resources to the other departments.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Damien hadn’t hesitated to snap the villa up as soon as he laid eyes on it.
While officially only the Spiritual Advisor to the Grand Marshal, he also led the propaganda efforts and, as of late, the Foreign Affairs office alongside the old alchemist.
As a result of all the work piling up on his desk, he didn’t feel bad about getting his hands on the most beautiful of the local manses.
Painted tiles gave each room and corridor a unique feeling and story, showing everything from the founding of Treon to the naval victories of the Southern Navy Group. The artistic value alone made it worth preserving, but Damien had other plans.
As soon as the Branderi delegation had been settled into their quarters, he summoned hand-picked clerks who had shown themselves capable of following his orders to the letter. Every chair, every painting, and every piece of furniture had to be placed with the utmost care. The aim was not simply to impress but to unsettle.
He had studied the layout of Brander’s Sage Council Palace through remote viewing—which had required all his persuasiveness to pull off, as the divination division was very busy scouting the northern paths these days. It was a place Damien shouldn’t have known about in such detail, but all the delegation members should have recognized it easily. He wanted the diplomats to walk into the mansion and feel the uncanny familiarity of a place that should have been entirely out of bounds. He wanted them off-balance from the moment they set foot inside.
I’m also man enough to admit it’s at least in part revenge for the little trick they played on me. But only in part. I couldn’t react overtly to it, but simply taking the abuse would set a terrible precedent.
Chairs were arranged in deliberate patterns, paintings selected to echo the white and blues that dominated the Sage Council Palace. Everything was meticulously placed to mimic the grandiosity and subtle messaging of Brander’s seat of government. He even went so far as to have the large ballroom converted into a grand meeting room, complete with a massive table at its center that was a one-to-one replica of the Branderi government’s council room. Each chair was engraved with the name of a diplomat, a personal touch designed to technically convey respect while asserting subtle dominance.
When the final adjustments were made, Damien walked through the mansion, checking every detail. Even as the Branderi waited outside, he walked the path the diplomats would take from the grand entrance hall to the ballroom, just to see if he had missed something. His clerks followed at a distance, ready to move anything that didn’t meet his exacting standards.
He paused before one of the large tapestries that adorned the corridor. The scene depicted was the only piece out of sync with the rest of the stage: the failed crossing of the Scale River, the natural border between Brander and Haylich. He wondered if anyone would notice.
With everything ready, he gave the order to allow the delegates in. Damien greeted them with the same composed politeness he had shown at the docks. He led them through the mansion, carefully examining their reactions. It didn’t take long before he noticed the subtle signs of confusion—furrowed brows, sideways glances, and hushed whispers. They recognized something but couldn’t quite place it.
As they entered the ballroom, Damien could see the moment realization dawned on them. A few exchanged quick, uneasy looks, shaken by the unsettling familiarity of their surroundings. The old Champion didn’t bat an eye save for a quirked eyebrow, though Damien hadn’t expected to get anything from him. Beyond his magical power, the man was likely a fine politician. He wouldn’t make such a mistake and likely expected something in retaliation.
Damien’s lips curved into a faint smile when the youngest of the delegation snorted harshly upon entering. Ah, to be so brash.
“Please, be seated,” he gestured to the table, where the engraved chairs awaited. “We have much to discuss. I trust the accommodations were to your liking.”
The diplomats took their seats, some more cautiously than others, possibly expecting another surprise. As if Damien would be so foolish as to repeat the same pattern twice.
“We stand at a pivotal moment in history,” Damien began, taking his place between the clerks he had assembled. “Our nations both know intimately the yoke of tyranny. We understand the tragedy the people are put through for the sake of cold, unfeeling rulers. Today, we seek to establish relationships founded on respect, fairness, and shared prosperity exactly because of that mutual understanding.”
His words were carefully chosen, designed to echo the rhetoric Leonard employed when speaking to outsiders. However, they also pulled on the Brander Republic’s greatest weakness: its complete diplomatic isolation from its neighbors as the only local nation to ban slavery.
“We thank you for the warm welcome and vow to participate in these talks with honesty and integrity, forever thinking of the People,” Yullen answered, still keeping up the facade of being the delegation’s leader. Damien didn’t mind. It made things more interesting.
The discussions then turned to the practical matters of trade. Damien drove a hard bargain on the goods the Revolution needed to sell the most—food and mana crystals. Damien was in a strong position with a large vein of mana crystals recently discovered outside Treon. He pushed for lower tariffs, arguing that the abundance of this valuable resource would benefit both nations if they could establish favorable trade terms on even just a single good. It would serve as a precedent for the future even if they didn’t hammer everything out right now.
“We have the capability to provide mana crystals in substantial quantities,” Damien repeated, locking eyes with Yullen. “But it is imperative that excessive tariffs do not overburden our people.”
“Tariffs are the wall that protects local markets from being flooded with cheap exports.” The Branderi replied unflaggingly. “Your discovery of a significant mana vein is good for all and will surely bring you prosperity, but you must understand that we have carefully curated our local prices. Allowing you to enter our markets without softening the blow with tariffs would see our producers out of business.”
Ugh, protectionism. They had no problem charging us through the nose when we could only buy, but now that we have some leverage, they are suddenly worried about the consequences.
But the real challenge came when the discussion turned to enchantment materials. Brander had an abundance of these, but their prices were notoriously high. Damien knew this was the one thing he could not do without—enchantment materials were crucial for the Revolution’s ongoing efforts to secure their position. Hetnia had only the Darkwood as a source, and while efforts to ensure a steady supply were ongoing, they couldn’t abuse it too heavily lest they incur the Guardian’s wrath. Most of Haylich’s came from Nevielle and Mossovy, and the northern Duchies were unlikely to sell to rebels.
Leaning forward, Damien played his hand. “We understand the value of these materials, and we are prepared to offer something in return that is of great interest to Brander—the knowledge of Pure Casting.”