Despite their resolve to help further they weren’t able to do much. The terror birds were simply too fleet of foot, and had torn their way into the city with such speed that by the time the crew caught up the monsters had eventually been put down after killing scores.

Flutic reeled.

The streets were emptied, carts and carriages abandoned, selling boards dropped, fruit and vegetables having rolled into the gutters. Here and there lay a mutilated body, entrails and blood glistening. Countless faces crowded the windows and balconies. City guards ran to and fro blowing their whistles and yelling hoarse cries. Patrols of House Drakenhart raced toward distant fights, but as horrific as the bloodshed had been, the monsters were soon all put down.

Weary, dusty, grim, Harald and his companions eventually set out for home. Their victories on the 13th Level felt distant and artificial; the goblins had been as nothing compared to the terror birds, and all of them were aware of how reliant they’d been on Harald’s Goldchops and the Shadow Mastiff.

With every corpse they passed, with every group of wounded city guards they saw clustered around a slain monster, Harald’s resolve only firmed further: he needed to close the gap between him and Hammerfell. He couldn’t rely on the Goldchops forever, and even they were ultimately insufficient to the task.

He wanted to be able to stand before the Dungeon Portal and cut down everything that came through. To protect the city at his back, to be the bulwark that the citizens needed to keep back the tide of monsters.

Abyssal Initiate Level 2.

Pitiful.

Rancor burned in his chest over Nessa’s decision to cut short their 13th Level raid. Sure, her decision had been affirmed by the Shuddering, but even so her leadership was too temperate and cautious.

Not that he disagreed with her. It didn’t make sense to push the crew till they were in over their heads and someone died. It was her job to see to it that they made it out safe, and that was all well and good.

But he needed more.

Wanted more.

So, as they trudged back, late afternoon sunshine sluicing down through the wisps of cloud, he made a dark and silent resolution.

By day he’d raid with the crew.

By night he’d raid with the Goldchops.

One for his class levels, the other for his Thrones.

With the Goldchops and Shadow Mastiff he could go much deeper, acquire far more scales than the 3,000 or so Crescent Moons they’d acquired for the crew. Which was really nothing once you deducted the 5,000 for Nessa’s levels, the 3,000 for Vic, and the 5,000 for him, Sam, and Kársek.

Those numbers, which had been academic when he was writing up the charter, a naive and good-hearted means of ensuring the crew was bound together and united in purpose, now rankled; he wanted his Third Throne, he wanted the boost of power that would give his Abilities greater longevity. Already the Aching Depths was a heavy burden upon their foes: what might it do when powered by three Thrones?

Sam bumped his shoulder with her own. “So?”

“Hmm?”

“I leveled!” Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not curious?”

“We’re all curious,” drawled Vic from behind. “But were taking your silence for embarrassment. We’re not ones to pry if you’ve been given wretched little Abilities, darling.”

“One, you absolutely are the prying type,” said Sam, twisting about to smirk at Vic. “And two? My Abilities seem… almost too powerful?”

“Go on then,” smiled Nessa. “Share.”

“Right. Well.” Sam snuck a glance at Harald and grinned. “My Active? Celestial Flair.”

Vic snorted. “Please tell me its sartorially inclined?”

Sam ignored him and read, “Ignite the heavens with your resolve; summon forth a burst of divine radiance, blinding foes ensnared within its purity and granting yourself moment’s grace.”

“That does sound good,” said Harald. “Burst of divine radiance?”

“Area of effect,” said Nessa, approvingly. “Blinding foes is always an excellent low-leveled power, and it being divinely sourced means it might even affect mid-level foes as well.”

“That ‘moment of grace’ part,” said Kársek, looking up at Sam. “Is it but flowery language, or an actual Ability benefit?”

“I’m not sure,” said Sam. “I was hoping we’d run into at least one terror bird so that I could try it out, but what can you do? But wait till you hear my new Passive: Guardian’s Mantle.”

Everyone crowded in a little closer.

“Enshroud your allies in the protective embrace of the Guardian’s Mantle,” read Sam. “This spectral shroud weaves resilience from the fabric of benevolence, lessening the sting of dark enchantments and mending the wounds of the valiant.”

“A healing aura?” asked Harald, delighted.

“And a protective one against ‘dark enchantments’,” said Nessa approvingly. “Sam, you weren’t joking about these being powerful Abilities.”

“How much healing?” Vic slung an arm over Sam’s shoulder as he rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Probably dependent on your number of Thrones, correct? And you with two should make for a decent rate.”

“It almost feels like too much,” protested Sam, sliding out from under Vic’s arm. “Beacon of Hope and Shield of Valor felt solid, but Celestial Flair and Guardian’s Mantle feel…”

Harald wanted to remind her of her Soul Rank. But it wasn’t his place to do so in public. Luckily, it was Nessa who spoke up for him.

“Sam, you acquired this class on the 47th Level. I’ve never even heard of a Netherwarden Knight before. It makes sense that your Abilities would be of a different caliber than what we’re used to seeing.”

“True.” Sam considered, clearly wrestling with her emotions. She glanced at Harald again, and returned his smile. “Well, I guess I’m not complaining.”

“Complaining?” His smile became a grin. “You can heal us and protect us from dark magic, while blinding our foes, sending a mobile shield around the crew, and lifting our spirits against panic and fear. Who would have thought you’d be such a team player?”

“It’s an interesting mix,” said Nessa. “The Celestial Flair is the closest she has to a direct attack. Her class is clearly meant to work as part of a team, lifting and enhancing and protecting everyone else.”

“I’m not familiar with your class,” said Kársek hesitantly. “Would you share the description?”

“Sure, of course,” smiled Sam. “Sworn defenders against entities that emerge from beyond, Netherwarden Knights wield the power of light and darkness in equal measure. Their solemn oath to protect reality from the encroaching nether forces grants them abilities that are both awe-inspiring and fearsome.”

“A most impressive class indeed,” said Kársek. “Most impressive!”

Sam ducked her head.

They arrived at the Darrowdelve Manor. Baldric Avenue was unusually quiet, and they entered the grounds only to split in the entrance hall, each person going to their room to freshen up. Sam said something about getting a meal going, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Harald closed his bedroom door and rested his brow against the heavily varnished wood. It had been a full day, complete with the raid on the goblin bosses, the wounds, the victories. Then the Shuddering. That had been… he blew out his cheeks. Intense. But more than that, frustrating.

Harald clenched his eyes. He felt feverish. He saw again Lady Hammerfell leveling an entire third of the square with one sweep of her giant sword.

Whereas he had only danced about, depending on his Goldchops to do all the work.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Goldchops that he hadn’t even earned. They were a gift from his father.

He couldn’t take any credit.

Level 2 Abyssal Initiate.

Never had he felt so inadequate, so behind, so useless.

Harald pushed off the door, stripping his gear and clothing as he went, and ended up before one of his windows in his small clothes, fists clenched, gazing out over the distant estate wall at the towers of Flutic.

It had been over a month since he’d begun this new quest. In three weeks he fought Yeoric. On some level, yes, he’d accomplished a lot. He’d more than doubled his physical stats, found himself a terrifying Servitor, acquired Artifacts, written a new charter, forged a new crew.

All in a month.

But it didn’t feel like enough.

What if the next Shuddering opened to Level 47, and those hollow stone golems began to pour out? What if Lady Hammerfell hadn’t been on hand today? How many people had died before the last terror bird was put down?

There wasn’t enough time.

But he had to make the most of what he had.

Harald pulled open the window, closed the shutters, then drew the curtains. He went from window to window, repeating this procedure, until his bedroom was dark. Then he sat cross legged on the floor and closed his eyes.

The darkness wasn’t absolute, with some faint gray afternoon light filtering in around the edges of the curtain, but it was close.

Shadow Fortitude immediately set to work, restoring his reserves, energizing him.

Harald sat for as long as he could, distant voices alerting him that people were gathering in the kitchen, and then he rose, dressed, and descended to join them.

The mood in the kitchen was sober. Nessa sat to one side, sipping a glass of wine, while Kársek and Sam finished serving bowls of meaty soup. Vic sat as bonelessly as ever in his chair, having donned new finery and resting with pursed lips.

“Harald.” Sam flashed a smile. “Soup?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He sat. The food was good. Everyone settled in and got to eating.

Finally Sam set her spoon down. “I’ll be doing the accounting this afternoon. I’m aiming to try and pay everyone their dungeon delve fee on the same day we return, and will be keeping public accounts in a dedicated ledger. Perhaps I should keep it here, so that anyone can examine it when they wish?”

Kársek gave a firm nod when nobody else spoke up. “I think that prudent, Miss Sam. The correct and proper keeping of accounts is fundamental to the long term success of any business venture.”

Sam smiled gratefully at him, then peered at Harald. “You all right?”

“Me?” He forced a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Vic snorted.

“Perhaps because you’re brooding and looking upset?” asked Sam.

“Then perhaps I am. Upset, that is.” Harald glanced around the table. “Did nobody else feel next to useless during that Shuddering? What would have happened if Lady Hammerfell hadn’t been close?”

Vic’s smile was cruel. “How graphic a description do you desire?”

“My point is that we need to do more. I need to do more.”

“Harald,” drawled Nessa, swirling her wine within her glass. “I appreciate extremism as much as the next lady, but this is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Harald grimaced and bit back his retort. He was feeling wild, would no doubt sound crazy if he voiced his desires. They were all watching him with a new sense of caution. So he inhaled deeply, held his breath, then forced a smile. “Apologies. I’m just stirred up.”

“Of course,” said Sam, reaching out to put her hand over his own. “We all are. Shudderings are terrifying. But there’s only so much we can do till we get stronger. And we’re working on it.”

“We are indeed,” agreed Vic. “Both Nessa and Sam leveled up today. Remarkable. I’d suggest a celebration had the Shuddering not so thoroughly ruined the mood.”

Nessa raised her glass in acknowledgment.

Sam reached over to the counter and pulled over a stack of letters. “And we’ve other matters to contend with, it seems. This one’s from House Celestara.”

Harald rolled his eyes.

Sam opened it, scanned the contents, then held it out for whomever wanted to take a look. “I think Lady Celestis is getting a little impatient.”

“To be fair,” said Vic, “it has been almost two weeks.”

Had it? Harald frowned. Nessa had disappeared for three days after that dinner, then they’d trained at fighting with shields in formation for a week, followed by today’s delve… “You’re right. What happens if we don’t respond?”

“At all?” Vic raised an eyebrow. “Lady Celestis will grow offended and send Lady Yseult knocking. Which would be very awkward, as she’d no doubt demand an answer. You would then blurt out that you decline, Lady Yseult would make veiled threats, and we’d have made an enemy of House Celestis.”

“Great.” Harald raked his fingers through his hair. “So what’s the best move?”

Nessa sipped her wine. “An insulting response, obviously. I can help draft it.”

Vic’s smile was pained. “Lovely. Or perhaps you could make a final decision on joining Countess Sonora’s House? Refusing Lady Celestis would be a much safer proposition of you had House Drakenhart to hide behind.”

“I can’t,” said Harald. “That would provoke House Thornvale to make good on their threat to reveal Vorakhar’s influence.”

“Ah,” said Vic, inclining his head as he glanced meaningfully at Kársek. “You’re right. Then perhaps the next step is to seek a word with your patron?”

The young dwarf was adept at reading the room; he muttered a polite excuse, stood, and walked out the back into the garden.

“Such a polite young dwarf,” said Vic admiringly. “Such tact, such bold humility. I do declare, we should hire a dozen more. They could carry me about the dungeon on a palanquin.”

Sam snorted despite herself.

“I do need to speak with Vorakhar,” said Harald. “I need to neutralize Thornvale, then petition Countness Sonora for her patronage, then refuse House Celestara before they become too upset at my prolonged silence.”

“Then allow me to pen an artful apology,” suggested Vic. “I’ll buy us some time without saying anything.”

Harald nodded grimly.

“And…” Sam held up another luxurious envelop. “A third letter from Lord Jin of House Silvershield.”

“Awkward,” said Nessa with a dark smile.

Sam opened it. “He’s… very polite for someone who is clearly growing annoyed.”

“You never replied to him, did you Harald?” asked Vic.

Harald shook his head.

Sam handed the letter to Vic. “Lord Jin had a private note inserted into Master Ling’s paperwork after the auction, and then wrote a formal letter… was it ten days ago?”

“The man spent a bunch of scales on my estate sale,” said Harald. “Does that give him a claim on my time or attention?”

“Not his auction activities, no,” allowed Vic, throwing the letter down. “But his being a Gold-ranked raider of House Silvershield does. Unless you’re trying to actively antagonize two of the most powerful Houses in Flutic at once?”

Harald rose impatiently to his feet. “I’m not trying to antagonize anyone.” He set to pacing. “I just want to be left alone to train. But, barring, that, fine. Vic, can you write Lord Jin an apology, and promise him… what? I don’t want to go to dinner at his house and have him fish for my loyalty.”

“Hmm.” Vic tapped his lips. “We could mail him a bucket of swine shit. That’ll convey your feelings quite accurately.”

Nessa snorted.

“Barring that, too,” sighed Harald.

“Fine. I’ll send him an apology as well, and say that you are… currently indisposed due to…” Vic paused to consider. “Intestinal distress? No. I’ll think on it.”

“Thank you.”

“You should rest,” said Sam, tone concerned. “We fought twice today, Harald. We’re not wasting our time.”

“I didn’t say we were.”

“You’re clearly thinking it.” Sam’s tone was inexorable. “We fought two pitched battles against the goblins, then resisted a Shuddering. Isn’t that enough for today?”

Harald grimaced as he forced himself to meet her eyes.

She was watching him carefully, her concern obvious.

“You’re right,” he lied. “It’s enough for today.”

*

The manor was quiet. Vic and Sam had departed for the evening. Nessa had disappeared into her room with a bottle of wine and a book, while Kársek was in the garden shed, repairing tools and just keeping himself busy.

Harald lay atop his sheets, fully clothed, waiting.

He couldn’t have slept if his life depended on it.

Class training during the day, Throne training at night.

Finally the Eleventh Bell rang. Harald counted the peals, then rose swiftly and set to donning the gear he’d cleaned during the evening. He buckled his sword, hefted his pack, and patted his pouch with what little scales remained him.

He listened at the door.

Silence.

So he cracked it open, padded past Nessa’s dark door, then descended the staircase to the entrance hall.

Nessa sat by the front door, one ankle crossed over the other knee, a book open in her lap.

Harald froze.

She glanced up at him in dark amusement. “Evening, Harald.”

He straightened. “Nessa.”

“A little bird told me you might try this.”

He descended the last steps and stopped before her. “Do you mean to stop me?”

“No.” She gestured at the door. “This is your house, and honestly, I’m probably the last person here who should pretend at virtue. If you want to go raiding by yourself, well. You’re a full-grown man, aren’t you?”

“I am.” He watched her suspiciously. “Then why wait up?”

“Just so that I could impart some words of wisdom.” Her smile was mocking. “Seeing as I’m a level 5 Bladeweaver, and all. And your Delve Captain.”

Harald moved to the door. “Thank you, but maybe next time.”

“I’ll be quick. Please?”

Harald closed his hand on the handle, then bowed his head. All he had to do was yank it open and he could be off down the driveway. But there was something in her voice. Something complex that he couldn’t quite understand. So he grimaced then glanced sidelong at her.

“I know what you’re feeling,” she said, not rising from her chair. “That need. It’s an addiction. No amount is ever enough. If you really go hog-wild, then perhaps it might satiate you for a few days, leaving you wrecked and ruined, but before long that need comes creeping back in, doesn’t it? I saw the way you looked at me when I called the raid over on the 13th this morning. You’ve given me a fairly wide range of looks over the years, but never one like that. Never one so close to hate.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Oh, I’m all too aware. But in that moment it wasn’t even me that you were mad it. It was whatever was getting between you and your need.”

“You make it sound like I’m addicted to glory.”

Her smile was cold. “So you picked up on the parallel I was going for. Yes. That is what I’m calling it. An addiction.”

Anger arose within him. “If needing to be strong to save others is an addiction, then fine, I’m an addict.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” She leaned back, closing the book and setting it on the floor beside her. “Come on, Harald. I’m a fellow addict. I hear that siren call nightly. I know the pull, the rationalizations, the hunger. You say you want to help people, but what you really want is power. You want the thrill of becoming more capable. You want to reach deeper levels, you want more powerful Artifacts and Servitors, you want fame, the reputation, the ability to do what you want. Don’t you?”

Her eyes glittered as she studied him.

Harald’s mouth was dry.

He tried to recall his words to his mother. Though of Vorakhar’s grin. Thought of his Soul Gift, Insatiable Void.

“No,” he said. “I’m not like you. You use glory to hurt yourself so that nobody else can. You want to believe that we’re the same so that you’ll feel better about your weakness, but I only want power to help others. We are not the same.”

The glittering light in Nessa’s eyes died as her face paled.

Harald’s heart was pounding, his gut taut, his mind blank as he stared at her. He wanted to take back his words, to apologize, to contextualize them, but he couldn’t.

Nessa stood, her movements jerky. “I see.”

“I appreciate your waiting up for me. But it’s not necessary. I’ll be back before dawn.” And before he could make thing worse, Harald pulled open the front door, and stepped into the night.