Theo smacked the rump of an enchanted Karatan. One of Azrug’s many carts barreled through the eastern gate, tearing a path over the newly built road toward Rivers. They had called for aid shortly after the wraiths disappeared from the gates. The administration of the town determined this was the fastest way to get them the potions they needed to defend their town.

Tresk gave constant reports through the military administration interface about wraith locations. More worrying than the lingering ghosts was a message Theo had received from Alise. Fenian insisted on seeing him and refused to share information with anyone by the recently minted Archduke of the alliance.

Alex’s feet slapped over the cobbles as she joined him, headed for the town hall.

“We need a hospital.” Theo entered the town hall, his eyes casting over the wounded held there. Whatever the ghosts did to them, it was deeper than normal surface wounds. “A big one.”

Fenian had his own room on the second floor. It had a decent view of the fields behind both the town hall and the Adventurer’s Guild. A flash of white shone from the western battlements. Another potion thrown to drive off the damned ghosts.

Fenian groaned, rubbing at his stumps. He didn’t lift his head from the bed. His eyes were locked on the ceiling. “Theo… that was close.”

“Close? No shit,” Theo scoffed, approaching the Elf’s bed.

Ribbons of invisible energy sloughed off the man, as though he were a snake shedding skin. Theo felt the sting of them in the air. The foul taint of some far-off realm. Something that was certainly attracting the wraiths. The alchemist placed a [Hallow Ground] carving under the cot, then knelt near his friend.

“Start by telling me why and how you traversed the realms,” Theo said.

Fenian finally turned to look at Theo. His face was still battered, one eye almost swollen shut. They were wounds too grave for the potions to heal immediately. “I didn’t expect Karasan to flee so far. Let alone into a dead realm.”

“Which dead realm?” Theo asked.

Fenian shivered, shaking his head. His face paled, going slightly green. “I’d rather not say. Oh, but the gears are turning in your head. I can see them. Fine. Balkor’s realm.”

“The ‘betrayer’ in ‘Balkor’s Betrayal’?” Theo asked. He thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “Why not. What happens when a god is killed?”

“Killed?” Fenian asked, groaning into a seated position. He collapsed moments later. “You don’t kill a god. Not entirely.”

“Fine. How did Karasan flee into the godly realms?”

“He’s an ascendant. Naturally. And he has something I need,” Fenian said.

Theo let the silence set in between them. This had to do with Khahar, he was certain about that. Yuri was always known for his big plans, even back in the day. Things that everyone was certain would never work. Somehow, he always pulled them off. Whether it was spying missions, combat operations, or just stupid dice games with foreign spies, he always got the job done.

The alchemist felt something. As though someone were standing right behind him. He turned, finding no one. It was a familiar sensation. The attention of a god. Theo took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He could feel the edges of those realms. They scraped together here, too many to count. Too much attention from too many gods.

“Let’s try… this,” Theo said.

The dust in the corners of the room fell in cascading sheets as the room shook. Theo’s force of will exploded outward, smashing against all those spying realms. Tero’gal rose like a tiger from the reeds, battering the other realms away in an instant. The invisible strands of power fell away from Fenian and he gasped a breath. Angry cries issued through the ether. Over the Bridge and into the alchemist’s mind.

Too bad.

“You need to teach me that trick,” Fenian said, breathing easy now.

“Where is Uz’Xulven and Parantheir to protect you?” Theo asked. “What’s the point of being their champion if they won’t help you?”

“They’re busy. Spent some of their power helping me through the realms,” Fenian said. His voice came in that familiar cadence once again. Almost sing-song and too self-assured. “Since you’ve dropped a privacy field, you’ll be happy to know that Khahar did the deed. Fan’glir, Zagmon, and the Eye are all dead. As dead as they can be. Their realms are in ruin and he lords over the ashes as the Arbiter.”

“What’s the implications of being an Arbiter?”

“The gods were always meant to have a watcher. But they changed the rules after the game had started. Your friend Yuri has set things straight, though. Mostly. There’s a few more pieces to put together.”

“What does it mean that I have my realm? Not just a realm represented in the mortal plane, but a real realm?” Theo asked.

“Part of the design. A plan that spans eons, I think. I’m just uncovering the outer bits of that plan. Pieces from what I can put together. From what Khahar told me, you know. After his ascension.” Fenian paused as though he were collecting his thoughts. Theo could sense this was something he’d kept secret for a long time. “Not like I can go anywhere. Not until my limbs regrow. That lovely woman told me you applied a new potion.”

“Yeah, you’re going to have baby limbs for a while,” Theo said, pointing at the Elf’s stumps. “Story time.”

“Right. Story time.” Fenian cleared his throat, coughing and hacking up green mucus. Theo dabbed the edge of the Elf’s mouth with a section of his Starbristle cloth. “Thank you. The Eye had plans for you from the start. He mapped out your progress to the day, and was quite angry when it didn’t play out his way. Khahar tipped the scales, although I don’t think he ever knew it was you. Theo Spencer from Earth.”

Theo’s brow knit tightly, then he released the tension in his body. Of course. “He seeded the Bantari in Broken Tusk. Because of the Tara’hek.”

“There he is,” Fenian said, clapping his one arm on Theo’s shoulder. “He can be smart sometimes. Mostly, we keep him around for his good looks.”

“How could he predict a bond?” Theo asked, regretting the question the moment he asked it. His hand went for the locket that no longer hung from his neck. An item lost on his old body. On Earth. “Nevermind. Where is Karasan? Do we need to kill him?”

“I’d absolutely love to kill that snake.” Fenian let out a frustrated breath. “He’s too slimy to catch, though. No, I need to change tactics. Well, I destroyed his kingdom. That’s a start. Oh, there’s a problem. The undead have… uh… well, they’ve gotten out of control.”

“Oh, really? The horde of undead you unleashed on the continent has gotten out of control? Was it ever under control?” Theo asked.

“Well, it was. Then it wasn’t. Depending on your reaction, I may or may not have done a bad thing.”

“What did you ‘maybe’ do?”

“Planted a bone from the fallen god Balkor under a small town near Qavell. Hypothetically bringing with it the power of undeath, and the unending hunger of the living dead to the continent. This all depends on your reaction, of course. I didn’t do it if you’re upset.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

What an absolute nightmare. Theo had to take a moment to see how he felt about the situation. The undead were a problem, that was true. But were they something that impeded Broken Tusk and the newly formed alliance? Not really. They created a barrier that protected them from a Qavelli response. Even a Veostian assault would be hard to muster.

“My reaction depends on how permanent the undead are,” Theo said.

“They’re completely undying, now. The first wave of undead that left Gardreth were reanimated undead. With Balkor’s bones around, they’ll keep creating new undead. From monsters, people, even plants if they’re sapient enough.”

“On a scale of one to ten, I’m five upset,” Theo said.

“Oh! I can work with that. Then it was me! I did it!”

“What’s the endgame?” Theo asked.

Fenian gripped Theo’s forearm hard, a manic look flashing in his eyes. “My Throne, Theo. I need my throne. So do… well, let’s worry about mine first. Oh, the Span has fallen to the undead. Veosta is under attack.”

“Cool. We’re not just war criminals anymore. Now we’re doing genocide.”

“I didn’t create the cycle of life and death. I just thrive in it,” Fenian said.

The trader had more information to deliver, but it was about trade deals. Representatives from far-off nations had heard the first whispers of a free port on the continent, and would arrive shortly. Fenian had a plan for the undead, but the plan was to make a plan. Otherwise, he wanted them to scour the northlands. Qavell city still stood, as well as Veosta city, but that seemed like a matter of time.

“Veosta will last the longest. They have High Priests of Glantheir. The Qavelli are godless, and will fall accordingly,” Fenian said.

“Perfect. So, I’m guessing you’re not doing any trading runs in your condition.”

“Not now. I just need a day to regain my strength. I was fighting for years in the realms this way. Lost the leg first. Then the arm. You know how it is.”

Theo shook his head, rising from the bedside as someone entered the room. Alise came in with reams of parchment, approaching Fenian with requests for items. He seemed happy to fall into his old life, even if that whole thing was a lie. The alchemist left the town hall to meet with Aarok and Luras about the fight after getting word that Xol’sa had mostly recovered. One less thing to worry about.

Aarok was pissed about the battle. He hadn’t considered ghosts as an enemy, and placed an order with Salire for infinite [Hallow Ground] items. He complained when she refused to write him down for ‘infinity potions’, but took his order all the same.

“We need a giant bubble of that potion,” Aarok said.

“I think I need a few more levels for the ‘giant bubble’ ability,” Theo said, laughing.

“Can you imbue this?” Luras asked, holding out a single, iron-tipped arrow.

Theo chanted, passing his hands over the item several times. He wasn’t used to his new spell, and the process took several attempts. His mana drained away as he warded the arrow, applying the [Hallow Ground] effect with a [Detect Enemy] trigger.

“Looks like it,” Theo said. “Anti-undead arrows? Well, I don’t think the effect is as strong as on the bonework.”

“Then we’ll use bone-tipped arrows,” Luras said, nodding. “Add that to our arsenal.”

Theo checked his inter-town communication system. There were chat logs between Alise and the other leaders. They had the ghost problem under control, but it was like putting out fires that started themselves. A game of wraith-based whack-a-mole. But the effect of the frantic battle, and creating so many different potions and wards, was a ton of experience for the alchemist. Enough experience to send his personal level to 21. He spent the free point in [Wisdom] sending him over the threshold of 30 as he stood with his companions.

A rush of insight flooded through him. It wasn’t like when he increased his stats over a threshold with potions.

As with everything in Broken Tusk, things got back to normal quickly. People were already working again by the time Theo left the eastern wall. He wandered to the shipyard, finding the frame of more than one boat in progress. They were farther along than he expected, and the angry Elf Laedria Wavecrest waved excitedly when she saw him.

“Trade boats!” she shouted, gesturing vaguely to the skeletal ships. “Gonna be some big bastards. Good thing you dug this channel so deep.”

“I counted on it,” Theo said, approaching the woman. He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Any chance you can increase your production?”

“I’m building two boats at once, my guy,” Laedria said, laughing. “What more do you want?”

“Three. Maybe four at once?” Theo asked. He shook his head immediately after that. “No, this is fine. Are you being paid?”

“By your administrators. Was hoping we’d get a bonus when we finished them.”

“Of course. The Southlands Alliance is buying all the trade boats you make. We’ll work out an amount, but I can’t see them being worth anything less than 100 gold.”

“Thereabouts.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. We still have a cash problem,” Theo said. His eyes lingered on the boats for a long moment. Until he heard the clatter of bells in the distance. The frantic ringing that meant trouble was around.

[Aarok]: Foreign ships sighted entering the canal. Gronro divisions, if you’re not too wounded to fight, report to the eastern approach wall. Broken Tusk divisions, same. Prepare for battle.

“Oh, he’s pissed today,” Laedria said, chuckling. She still joined Theo as he darted for the south-facing side of the harbor’s wall.

The pair ascended the steps in moments, leaning over the edge to squint against the afternoon sun. Three massive ships were coming in a line up the canal. They bore standards Theo didn’t recognize.

“Hey, they’ve got coalition flags. From Partopour,” Laedria said.

Theo turned to the Elven shipwright. “Friendly?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, mostly. Sometimes. They normally have a flag with a sword if they’re gonna gut you.”

Theo watched as troops assembled on the adjoining wall, leveling weapons and preparing to attack. A voice boomed from the lead ship, magically enhanced as slurring in poorly spoken Qavelli.

“Is Broken Tusk open for business?” the voice echoed across the town. “Do you require aid from the horde of ghosts that washed over our ships?”

Theo didn’t know if the ships were close enough to hear him, but he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted back. “We don’t require help. But we are open to trade.”

“I am Miltar Sharp. Trade Admiral of the Partopour Trade Fleet,” the voice boomed back. “We are requesting a peaceful docking with Broken Tusk. With whom am I speaking?”

“Archduke Theo Spencer,” Theo shouted back. “Leader of the Southlands Alliance. Traitors to Qavell.”

“We have no love for the Qavelli bastards,” Miltar said. “Nor do we care what your position is among them. As the acting representative of the Partopour navy in this region, I extend my hand in welcome, Archduke Theo Spencer.”

“Tell them to raise the gates,” Theo ordered. Laedria scampered off.

The ships approached, waiting for the gate to be lifted. The hung unnaturally against the canal’s current, owing to the upgrade ability of the shipyard. Theo finally got a decent look at the Trade Admiral. His features were somewhere between a normal Human and Half-Orc. His skin was tinged green, and he had small tusks protruding from his lower lip. The man wore a red tricorn hat, with a sweeping coat that didn’t befit the hot day. His crew worked the sails, scattering on the deck of the three-masted ship.

The gate rose.

Theo watched as the ships passed under the massive gate. The crews went into motion on the three ships, mooring them at the dock. No one disembarked. They waited until the alchemist hurried around the harbor, standing under the towering vessels.

“Permission to come ashore?” Miltar asked, waving excitedly at Theo.

“Permission granted!”

Miltar’s men threw ladders over the bows of their ships. The Trade Admiral was the first to descend, although his crew was already scattered around the docks. Theo appreciated the respect this man gave him. More than any other leader had ever managed for him.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Miltar said, bowing.

Theo bowed back. “The Southlands Alliance is eager to make new friends. Especially her esteemed guests from Partopour.”

Miltar fanned himself with his hand, feigning a fainting spell. “My, my! You know how to greet a guest, Mister Theo Spencer. Would it be agreeable for my crew to unload wares for display on your dock?”

“Please do,” Theo said, gesturing to the open spaces of the dock. There was plenty of room for them to set up vendor stalls. “Could I invite you to my town hall? You’ll have to excuse the mess, we were just attacked.”

“By all means, take your time my good man,” Miltar said. “Oh, a procession.”

Theo spun around, finding his command structure approaching. Azrug, Alise, Gwyn, Luras, and Aarok approached. The alchemist got a sense that both Alex and Tresk were uneasy at first. They were shaken by his sudden sway in emotions. He could feel the Marshling lurking nearby, but the goose was right at his heels. Honking.

Theo introduced everyone, including Alex, to the Trade Admiral. He removed his hat, revealing a balding head, and bowed to everyone as they were introduced. The formality and kindness of the exchange had everyone taken aback.

“It is always a pleasure to see Half-Ogres in the wild,” Miltar said, following Theo up the road. “As a Half-Orc, I see them as distant cousins.”

“Really?” Aarok asked.

“We’re all lost children, us half-breeds.” Miltar clapped a hand over Aarok’s shoulder and laughed. “May I ask if the ghosts were a part of the undead in the region? I’ve heard bad things about them, but…”

“But there’s none here,” Theo said, gesturing to his town. There were wounded here and there, but it appeared things were back to normal. “We’ve taken precautions.”

“As traitors often do,” Miltar said with a nod. “No offense meant to those traitors present, of course. Death to Karasan and all that. To be honest, Partopour doesn’t care. We’re interested in one thing. Trade.”