Commerce Emperor Chapter 41: The Plan (Patreon)

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I looked upon Archfrost’s capital with a heavy gaze.

When Koshro the Conqueror first unified the lands that would eventually become Archfrost through violence, he decided to raise a grand palace between the barren plains and cold rivers that used to be his tribe’s home. When his advisors suggested that he set up his capital in more fertile lands to the south, he famously replied that only hungry men could hope to rule.

Koshro died before he could see his palace’s construction through and his dynasty hardly survived him by twenty years, but his future successors fulfilled his vision. The capital of Whitethrone looked more like an elegant fortress than a modern city from the clouds above. Mighty walls thrice thicker and twice taller than Snowdrift’s protected well-ordered streets of bricks and ancient stone. Great statues of fallen knights oversaw rectangular plazas covered in mosaics representing dragons, griffins, dreadwolves, and other creatures. Whitethrone’s houses and buildings were taller than those of Walbourg; their architectural style more angular and less refined. I immediately recognized a tall marble tower fitting the description of Whitethrone’s famous witchcrafting academy and the holy mausoleum of Chernoglav, where the Priest-King rested. Thermal sources exhaled columns of white steam rising up to the sky.

However, all of these monuments existed in the shadow of the Winter Palace: a colossal castle of exquisitely crafted ice, with five snow towers and stalactite walls. A crystal briar labyrinth occupied the space between the outer and inner walls, alongside gardens kept warm by thermal sources. It was a magical place, a fleeting dream kept alive by the power of essence.

Koshro’s son, Koshrak, had ordered his witchcrafters to build it with ‘ice that would never melt’ to show his mastery over the land. So great was his ego that he wished to tame the very heart of winter. The sorcerers fulfilled his request by infusing ice with adamantine essence, a costly process that bankrupted the fledgling dynasty and led to its collapse.

Still, Koshrak’s grandiose dream endured for centuries and came to represent kingship over the land. Rulers came and went, but the castle? The castle stood eternal. All would-be kings of Archfrost had fought to hold it.

And now it’s Roland’s turn. I hoped my friend would keep the castle longer than his treacherous uncle did. Can the Berserk Flame melt eternal ice, I wonder?

Alaire and I stood along the airship’s guardrail, though she appeared more interested in my expression than the architectural marvels below us. “That’s strange,” she noted. “Most can’t contain their excitement when they see the first Winter Palace for the first time. I expected more enthusiasm from you, Robin.”

“It’s a wonder to behold,” I conceded. “Stone would be more practical than ice if you ask me, but I admire the originality.”

“Not enough to smile,” Alaire replied, her arms crossed. “You’re afraid.”

I gathered my breath. She knew me too well. “I am.”

A crown of souls and human desires. The more I pondered that possibility, the more I came to believe Daltia was indeed trying to craft an Artifact of her own. What other feat could prove her aptitude to replace the Goddess Herself in the hearts of men? She will create an Artifact that holds sway over the very soul of humanity.

Unlike the sky, the earth, the sea, and the fires of the world, the collective perception that ruled our Classes didn’t depend on the Artifacts. Mankind unknowingly determined the shape of our powers through consensus. If Daltia succeeded in creating a crown capable of altering that flow of consciousness, it would strengthen the Merchant class until it became divine.

How much time did we have until the Devil of Greed completed her work? Years? Centuries? How many human souls did it take to create an Artifact? I suspected no one knew the answer, not even Daltia herself. She had spent seven centuries bartering for souls, hoping that the next trade would be the last.

No wonder Eris hunted the Devil Coins so relentlessly. I would discuss Daltia’s plan with her in private once we found a moment to. This might help jog her memory; gain insight into her other self’s plans.

I shook my head. Daltia was a long-term problem, and her divine ambitions to rule the world would come for naught if Belgoroth destroyed it first. My magical sight already picked up the subtle currents of wicked essence traveling north of Archfrost, like winds subtly announcing the onset of a storm.

“I’m a gambling man, but for the first time in a long while I don’t see a clear path to victory,” I admitted. “We have options, but no guarantee that any of them will work.”

I supposed I struggled most with my own powerlessness. While I had done my best to plot Belgoroth’s demise with my allies, we couldn’t tell whether our strategies would succeed until we tried them. Worse, I would be forced to stay at the back. The clash in Walbourg had shown me just how little a Merchant factored in a clash of titans.

“People like you make their own luck, Robin,” Alaire replied. “Have more faith in us. We will pull through.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, amazed by her confidence. “Since when did you become the optimist between us?”

“Since you helped me lift the burden of the Brynslow name off my shoulders,” Alaire replied, a smile on her lips. “You supported me when I was at my lowest point, Robin. Now it is my turn to lift you up.”

“We are pretty far up already.” I chuckled and pointed at the clouds. “Can Silverine carry us higher than the Vernisla?”

“She will, if you buy off some of her weight,” Alaire joked back. My, she had truly changed if she was willing to indulge in my nonsense. “I know what you’re thinking, Robin. I’ve been there too. It is not a good feeling to rely on others to win your battles, but sometimes you have to let go.”

She did know me well. My eyes lingered on her mark. “Your Class doesn’t weigh on you like it does on Roland,” I noted. “Quite the contrary. It freed you.”

“It did.” Alaire looked at the horizon and the mountains beyond. “I am certain where I will go once we have defeated the Lord of Wrath and visited the Deadgate. The sky's the limit now.”

Once we defeat Belgoroth; not if. Unlike me, Alaire didn’t doubt our future victory. I had to admit her boldness rejuvenated my bravery. She has grown.

She had a point too. Alaire trusted me to pull Snowdrift back from the brink, and now it was my turn to believe she and the others could match Belgoroth in battle. Gold wasn’t the only measure of wealth.

I was rich in powerful friends too.

The Vernisla slowly began its descent towards the capital. Archfrost’s soldiers had cleared the city’s largest plaza to make room for the airship and its guests. I could already see signs of festivities around the nearby streets: makeshift markets rising from nothing, crowds gathering to see the airship’s descent, throngs of visitors entering the capital through its gates…

Roland’s coronation should take place tomorrow, alongside the final signature of peace between Archfrost and Walbourg. My homeland’s people had two causes to celebrate after a decade of war and plague.

I couldn’t let the Demon Ancestors take their happiness from them.

As expected, Roland awaited us alongside his future queen and a host of noble dignitaries. A cadre of Heroes escorted them: Eris, Cortaner, and even Colmar. His presence surprised me. My undead friend would never have left Snowdrift without having fully restrained the Blight in its midst. Moreover, he had brought Little Benicio with him. Marika’s son nervously fidgeted in place, probably intimidated by the presence of so many adults around him, but his eyes lit up with excitement once he saw the Vernisla.

I took it as a good omen.

My gaze wandered to a new, yet familiar face among the crowd: a pale and fair beauty surrounded by a cadre of armored Penitent Ones, with long purple hair so dark it verged on black and eyes of glittering gold. Her regal black and red dress fluttered in the wind as she looked at the Vernisla. I immediately noticed an unmistakable physical resemblance to Selestine.

I quickly guessed the woman’s identity even before I noticed the golden symbol on her forehead: the holy mark of the four Artifacts bound inside a circle and crossed by the Old Erebian numeral for twenty-one.

Lysandra Alexios, Fatebinder of our age and mistress of the Arcane Abbey, had come to crown Roland and deal with the Reformists. She was the first and final Hero, whose Class commanded all others; and the woman with the answers I sought.

The Vernisla softly landed in the plaza far more easily than it did in Walbourg. Whitethrone’s architects designed the capital’s streets to be large in order to let armies ride through them more easily, so our dear Captain Marika enjoyed more space to navigate. I climbed down first alongside Alaire, with Selestine and our fellow Heroes in tow as royal trumpets announced our coming.

Roland and his queen were the first to greet us. “Welcome home, my friends,” he said upon warmly shaking our hands one after the other, while Therese exchanged a kiss on the cheek with Alaire. “I have missed you.”

“So did I,” I replied with a smile. “Is it proper for a king to shake hands with us commoners?”

“Aren’t we all equals in the Goddess’ eyes as fellow Heroes?” Roland teased me back before kissing Selestine’s hand. “Lady Selestine, I presume? As the Priest, what is your opinion?”

“Whether kings or peasants, all lives should be treated with equal fairness,” she replied calmly, though her gaze mostly lingered on the Fatebinder.

Lady Alexios took a step forward to greet us, with Cortaner, Eris, and Colmar at her back. She and Selestine faced each other, a tense silence stretching between them. Anyone could have sensed the… I wouldn’t say hostility, but both clearly shared a mutual defiance.

“Selestine,” Lady Alexios said, a hint of cold distance in her voice.

“We meet again, my aunt,” Selestine replied with a respectful, if tense bowing gesture. “I pray that you enjoyed a safe trip.”

“Mine was less grandiose than yours.” The Fatebinder looked up at the Vernisla. “What a wonder your generation has built. A dragon of steel and skill.”

“Ours doesn’t breathe fire yet,” I said while kissing Lady Alexios’ hand, as custom demanded. As I suspected, her skin felt as inhumanly hot as her niece’s. “It is an honor to meet you in the flesh, Lady Alexios.”

“The feeling is mutual, Lord Waybright. Eris has spoken highly of you, and tales of your successes have reached as far as Mount Erebia.” Her words sounded sincere, if aloof. I could tell that this woman had none of Selestine’s gentleness. “The Goddess smiles on your generation.”

As she smiled on the first? “As her voice, I hoped you would enlighten us,” I replied politely. “We have many questions.”

“Your Alchemist pressed me with inquiries the moment we met.” Thankfully, Lady Alexios did not deny my request. “I hoped to oversee a council of Heroes once these greetings conclude. We are running out of time.”

Soraseo squinted behind me and then asked, “How much?”

“A day’s time at best,” Lady Alexios replied. From the certainty in her voice, I guessed she had a way of checking on the Demon Ancestors’ seals from afar. “But we shall discuss it in private.”

I glanced at the crowd of dignitaries around us. I had no doubt that Cortaner probably investigated each of them and identified who among them would belong to the Knots. However, an ounce of caution never killed anyone.

I moved aside as the Walbourg delegation climbed down from the airship. I watched on with apprehension as Duchess Griselda appeared. Roland greeted her with a brief, baleful look of pure resentment, as I would expect from someone meeting with his father’s killer. From the way Griselda’s guards kept their hands on their swords’ hilts, they feared a fight too.

Thankfully, my trust in both parties proved well-earned. Roland gathered his breath and then offered his hand to Griselda in friendship. The duchess hesitated an instant before returning the gesture. I watched on in respectful silence as Walbourg and Archfrost finally agreed to peace.

Colmar, Cortaner, and Eris soon joined me. “My, my,” the latter said with a sly smile. “Here I feared that they would kill each other on sight.”

“Men are flawed,” I replied, “but they can learn to be better.”

“Something a certain Lord of Wrath never understood,” Eris conceded.

Even Cortaner seemed optimistic about this resolution. “I sensed no lies in their exchanges,” he told me. “You have done well, Waybright.”

“A compliment from you, Corty?” Eris asked with a raised eyebrow. “And it’s not even backhanded? I am shocked.”

“Do not toy with me, Belarra,” the Inquisitor replied sternly. “I find your behavior highly suspicious. Lady Alexios’ trust does not keep you above reproach.”

I immediately came to her defense. “Eris is flighty sometimes, but trustworthy.”

“Is that so?” Cortaner held my gaze for a moment. I sensed his power activating to compel the truth out of me. “Would you trust her with your life?”

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation, then added under the auspices of the Inquisitor’s power, “Everyone is entitled to a second chance.”

Eris stared at me with an unreadable expression. Cortaner, meanwhile, kept his arms crossed as he studied my reaction. He had approached me with his suspicions on Eris when we left for Walbourg, so to hear these words from me probably reassured him.

“I see,” Cortaner said, his words noticeably heavier than before. “I pray that your trust is not misplaced, Waybright. Many deserve a second chance… but few take it.”

Colmar’s head snapped from one of our allies to the other, then he wisely changed the subject. “I am glad that you could broker this peace treaty, Robin,” he commented. “This realm can finally mend its wounds.”

“I hope so,” I confirmed. I glanced at Benicio, who had quickly run into his mother’s arms. Marika smiled warmly upon seeing her son and hugged him tightly. “If you agreed to attend the coronation, then I suppose the Blight is finally under control?”

“As much as it can be. I anticipate that it will dissipate naturally soon enough, but we can still proceed with our original plan.” Colmar presented me with a map of the capital’s outskirts. A large part of it remained shrouded in the Blight created during our battle with Sebastian. “I have taken the liberty of preparing the proper site outside the capital. All we need to do is gather Archfrost’s Blights at the proper location with your power. The charged runestones I buried underground should wipe them out.”

“Now let’s hope Roland can sell me the Blights,” I replied. Destroying all that corruption would prove a relief in these dangerous times. “What about the quicklime solution?”

“I have developed a chemical solution that quickly hardens when exposed to air and stockpiled barrels of it.” Colmar pointed at my rapier. “I have also experimented with transmuting weapons into adamantine, but results have been mixed so far.”

“It doesn’t surprise me,” Eris said while looking away. “It takes a good smith to work adamantine. The ore by itself is awfully impractical.”

Colmar gave her a strange look, as if suspicious as to why she understood so much about the substance. I often wondered how much my friend had picked up on the same hints that made me guess her true identity. Cortaner certainly noticed them.

Once Roland and Duchess Griselda finished with protocolary exchanges of greetings and gifts, the guards ushered us Heroes into the Winter Palace proper for a council meeting. To my slight disappointment, not everything inside the castle was made of ice. The occupants used hardwood for shelves and paved the floor with heavy carpets. Burning foyers also kept its corridors warm without melting the enchanted ice.

On one hand, I applauded the practicality of those living choices; on the other hand, they contrasted a bit too much with the palace’s aestheticism. I would have used glass shelves.

“Robin?” Eris whispered into my ear as we closed the march. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Someone has to,” I replied warmly, though I was slightly worried for her. “Are you ready to confront him?”

“No.” Eris let out a sigh. “But I won’t waver either.”

No matter how much their paths diverged or the atrocities they committed, she and Belgoroth used to be friends. It couldn’t be easy for Eris to confront her living sins.

Eventually, we made our way to the top of a tower in a cozy room of gleaming ice. A chill wind blew through an open window, right next to a large mirror standing in between bookshelves. A hardwood table large enough to accommodate over a dozen people occupied the center. I quickly sat there between Marika and Colmar. Roland, Soraseo, and Alaire took the left; Selestine, Cortaner, and Eris the right; while Lady Alexios faced me from the other side.

I took a moment to observe the assembly. The Priest, Merchant, and Knight had gathered with all their vassal Classes. A third of this generation’s Heroes would stand against the Lord of Wrath. I hoped the number advantage would give us the edge.

“Wait,” Marika said upon examining the mirror. “Is this a one-way mirror? Is someone observing us on the other side?”

“I am surprised you could tell with a glance, Lady Marika,” Roland said with a slight chuckle. “This room is the prime minister’s study. My predecessors used to keep spies on the other side to keep an eye on them.”

Selestine let out a sigh. “I was told that Archfrost embraced the spirit of chivalry.”

“Human nature does not stop at the border,” I mused out loud. Some things never changed.

“I’ve had the secret room condemned,” Roland declared. “We can speak with open hearts.”

“We can, but will we?” Colmar asked, his glass eyes turning to the Fatebinder. He immediately went for the throat. “You have much to answer for, Lady Alexios.”

The Fatebinder joined her hands, her expression cold and serene. This woman reminded me of a glacier: ancient and unshakable. “The Goddess alone will judge me, Lord Alchemist. What sin do you blame me for?”

“Withholding important information from us for a start,” Colmar declared. “You knew the Demon Ancestors were the first Heroes from the start, yet you kept their nature and capabilities hidden from us. Keeping this information a secret impaired our efforts to fight the Knots.”

Alaire’s head snapped in his direction in shock and surprise. It now occurred to me that as the latest Hero to join us, I hadn’t fully kept her in the loop yet. I suspected some of today’s exchanges would come to her as a shock.

“The Arcane Abbey has spent centuries doing everything in its power to reinforce the Heroes and weaken the Demon Ancestors,” Lady Alexios replied calmly. “Should the information that the two are one and the same become public knowledge, then the people of Pangeal would doubt you. Your marks would weaken, as would the Ancestors’ seals.”

“But why not tell us?” I asked sharply. “We would have kept the secret.”

“Do you think yourself the first Merchant who attempted to break their Class’ rules, Lord Robin?” Lady Alexios appraised each of us. I didn’t fail to notice the short pause she marked when observing Eris, though she quickly moved on to Roland. “Neither was Lord Roland the first Knight to act unknightly.”

Roland sank in his chair, his jaw clenched in frustration, but he did not deny his mistake.

“Whether done out of curiosity or in good faith, these acts mean to walk down a slippery slope,” Lady Alexios said. “My predecessors have learned at a great cost that Heroes who receive too many gifts too early grow entitled to them. The first generation achieved great feats such as a corrupted form of immortality; a temptation too great for some of their successors to overcome.”

“You wanted us just strong enough to fight the Demon Ancestors, but not to become powerful enough to replace them,” I guessed. I supposed it made sense considering the risks that someone might find a loophole through the Class’ safety measures, but still, a little assistance would have spared us a great deal of trouble.

Selestine scowled in displeasure. “You haven’t changed much, my aunt. You cannot trust others to make informed decisions.”

“I cannot afford to risk the safety of millions on a hunch, Selestine,” Lady Alexios replied coldly. “Even you must realize that this Reformist schism that you push weakens us at a critical moment.”

“There is never a perfect time, my aunt,” Selestine countered. “This reform is long overdue.”

Cortaner snorted behind his helmet. “Any moment would have been better than this one. Half the seals binding the Demon Ancestors have failed, and Belgoroth’s will shatter tomorrow.”

“How can you be certain?” Soraseo asked with a scowl.

“The first Heroes included a warning system in the seals,” Lady Alexios explained. “The Blights that the Knots spread across Archfrost have steadily weakened Belgoroth’s prison in the City of Wrath. I predict he will break free tomorrow, then travel south to devastate this country.”

“My strategists anticipated as much,” Roland said grimly. “I have already redeployed my troops to Stonegarde, where the beastmen gathered an army. We shall travel there as soon as the coronation concludes.”

“We should leave now,” Cortaner insisted sternly. “We are wasting valuable time.”

“We need all of Archfrost to acknowledge Roland as its king,” I countered, my fingers trembling. The moment of truth had come. “Both to deal with the Blights and strengthen my plan.”

Cortaner turned in my direction. “Your plan?”

“We have explored multiple methods to deal with Belgoroth, and one appears promising,” I explained, a hand grabbing my rapier and another taking a dagger on my belt. “Roland, I’ll need your help.”

Roland frowned at me. Eris was supposed to explain our plan to him, but he clearly struggled to understand its details. “What must I do, Robin?”

“Take my rapier and sell it to me for a gold coin,” I all but ordered him. “Then do the same with this dagger.”

Roland followed through with my request with a puzzled look. He seized both weapons while the other Heroes watched on with attention; none more intensely than Eris and Lady Alexios.

“I shall sell you this rapier for a gold coin,” Roland proposed.

“I accept.” My mark glowed, but refused to validate the trade. A shame. I had hoped for another outcome. “Now the other.”

Roland raised the dagger I had given him. “I will sell you this weapon for a golden coin.”

“I consent to this trade.”

The weapon appeared in the palm of my hand in an instant, and my purse became lighter. My heart pounded so hard in my chest that I feared a stroke. Lady Alexios and Eris both exchanged a glance in understanding.

Selestine, who knew the implications, didn’t hide her enthusiasm. “You were right, Lord Merchant,” she said with a wide smile. “It worked.”

“I do not understand,” Roland said with a scowl, and he wasn’t the only one. “What worked?”

“This rapier belongs to me; the dagger, to a dead soldier who fell fighting Belgoroth in Walbourg,” I explained after calming down. “According to the intel we’ve gathered, Belgoroth can die. He won’t stay dead, but if we slay him in battle, there’ll be a very short window of time when he sleeps in the dirt.”

“Indeed.” The Fatebinder nodded sharply. Her fair, icy expression had finally softened a little. “His soul will return to his sword and then use the flow of negative essence to craft a new body.”

“Which means that for a very brief moment, Belgoroth’s sword will lack an owner capable of providing consent,” I explained. “Now, the Knight masters any weapon he touches. I wondered if this included gaining a claim to ownership over it. From what this experiment shows, if Roland touches a weapon whose wielder is dead–”

“Then I count as its owner,” Roland guessed, his eyes bright with hope. “Belgoroth’s soul and the corrupted mark are parts of the sword, are they not? With your power, we could split the Class–”

I stopped him dead in his tracks. “My power won’t let me buy Belgoroth’s soul nor his Class; the former because it would violate the mark’s safeguards, the second because all Classes belong to the Goddess instead of the Heroes wielding them. However, what I can do is trade essence.”

“Oh, I understand!” Colmar rubbed his gloved hands with enthusiasm. “Creating Soulforged Adamantine requires binding an adamantine object to a worldly concept such as wrath or pride! Without that connection, it is no different from common ore!”

Roland remained lost. “You wish me to sell you all of the world’s wrath?”

“No, no, no.” I smirked from ear to ear. “You will sell me the sword’s connection to it.”

“What difference does it make?” Cortaner asked sharply.

“A big one,” I replied. “On the way to Walbourg, I attempted to transfer essence to an object unsuited to hold it. It immediately crumbled under the strain.”

“Soulforged Adamantine focuses a concept’s flow of essence into a conduit,” Eris explained. “Consider it like damming a river so wild and powerful that only adamantine can hold it back. Anything else is instantly destroyed.”

“A Demon Ancestor is akin to a clock,” I further elaborated. “They are fueled by an intricate mechanism that feeds on itself. The Demon Ancestor bound their souls to Soulforged Adamantine. To soulforge their adamantine in the first place, they used ancient witchcrafting techniques to connect their chosen item to a concept like wrath. The connection constantly feeds them with wicked essence that grants them immense power, corrupts their mark, and turns the seat of their soul indestructible. Henceforth, we have only two solutions to break down the machinery: end the very concept of wrath, which sounds impractical for now–”

“Or cut Belgoroth off from it,” Roland guessed, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.

I nodded in confirmation and then turned to Roland. “If you sell me that connection as a package with a common item—like say, a piece of clothing—the flow of corrupt essence will instantly destroy it. The object will crumble to dust under the weight of all Pangeal’s anger.”

Roland shifted in his seat. “Wouldn’t it release the essence immediately? The Blight that would arise from it would dwarf all others.”

“Robin won’t buy the essence itself,” Marika countered. “He will buy the connection between the sword and the concept of wrath. The small, intricate gear that keeps the clock turning.”

Lady Alexios nodded in assent. “Without a connection to the sword, the essence should simply revert back to its pre-Belgoroth state: aimless and everpresent. Anger will continue to exist, but it won’t coalesce into a physical incarnation.”

“Belgoroth’s sword will become a prison for his soul,” Colmar muttered to himself. As an undead himself, he would know. “Without access to wrathful essence, he will be unable to recreate a body for himself and his weapon will revert back to common adamantine: near-indestructible, but no longer impervious to damage.”

It was the old Merchant’s mark that had made the Demon Ancestors; henceforth the new one should unmake them. At least I hoped so.

“We could then purify the sword in a sanctuary, clean the mark, and eventually destroy the now breakable sword to exorcize Belgoroth’s soul for good,” Selestine confirmed, albeit with a grim scowl. “If King Roland survives it.”

A tense silence followed. Most of us had already brushed with Belgoroth’s influence, whether by confronting his Blights or fighting him head-on in Walbourg. I would never forget that overwhelming evil radiating from his Berserk Flame. A mere sliver of the Lord of Wrath’s essence would drive anyone mad. Our Classes had shielded our minds from his influence, but to hold the very core of his power might prove too much for them.

I exchanged a glance with Roland. Our Knight understood the risk all too well. After all, he had nearly fallen the same way Belgoroth did. Holding his foul sword might trigger his mark’s safeguards to prevent its corruption or worse.

“I didn’t have my mark when I first saw the sword,” Marika replied grimly. “Even in its sealed state, it corrupted my lowlife husband into a monster and nearly threatened to drive me mad. To hold it at full power…” She shook her head. “I do not think any normal human could resist it.”

Hence why I wished to interrogate the Fatebinder. She alone might reassure us.

“Would a Hero, Lady Alexios?” I asked her. “Would the Knight’s mark shield Roland from the sword’s power?”

The Fatebinder pondered my question for a long, agonizing minute. I took the fact that she even hesitated as a frightful warning sign.

“I cannot say,” she finally admitted.

My jaw clenched on its own. Her answer disappointed us all, though none more than Colmar.

“You cannot say?” my undead friend asked in disbelief. “You are the Fatebinder. No one should know more about the marks than you do.”

“This situation would be unprecedented, Lord Alchemist,” Lady Alexios replied calmly. “I suspect that if our ancient predecessors considered this option at all, they deemed the risk too great and elected to seal the Demon Ancestors instead.”

“An option that we lack now,” Selestine muttered in disappointment. “So we would take a gamble?”

“I can attest to this: the new marks were designed to avoid corruption by their holder.” Lady Alexios gave Roland’s mark a sharp look. “If our Lord Knight fails to resist the sword’s influence, then the Class will kill him and return to me.”

Alaire, who had listened in silence so far, finally rushed to Roland’s defense. “We cannot take that risk,” she said sternly. “Archfrost has no heir. If Roland dies, it will spark another civil war.”

“Therese and I have…” Roland blushed brighter than a rose. “We have taken the necessary steps to avoid that outcome, with Colmar’s assistance.”

Alaire’s eyes widened in shock, as did mine.

“You…” Alaire stared at Roland, her words dying in her throat. “Is Therese…”

Roland let out a heavy breath. “She is.”

“I have already overseen artificial insemination on medically-impaired couples in the past,” Colmar confirmed. “The procedure worked as expected. The child should develop without any complications.”

I dared not ask for medical details. Those didn’t matter anyway. Roland and Therese wouldn’t love each other the way parents should, but I knew that they would shower their child with affection.

“You took a great burden for our country,” I told Roland. “I sympathize.”

“Archfrost needs an heir for its stability,” Roland replied with a grim scowl. “Especially if I am to fall in battle.”

I prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but I anticipated casualties too. We would still have to confront Belgoroth in the field even if we didn’t proceed with my scheme.

“Your plan is full of holes, Waybright,” Cortaner said, his voice laced with skepticism. “First of all, we must slay the Lord of Wrath, which will prove exceedingly difficult. Second, our Knight must hold the sword before its owner returns from the dead. Third, he must be in a state where he can consent to a trade with you. Fourth, you must also live long enough to agree to the trade.”

“I agree it is by far our riskiest option, albeit the one with the highest rewards,” I replied. “We have considered other strategies to restrain Belgoroth, but I doubt any of them will contain him for long.”

“The choice belongs to Roland,” Soraseo decided. “What will you do?”

Roland scowled in silence as all eyes turned in his direction. I had no doubt that he would take the risk for his homeland’s sake, the same way I was willing to fight against an enemy that trumped us all in strength and cruelty. However, he still harbored a doubt.

“Lady Alexios, if you will forgive me a question before I answer this one.” Roland faced the Fatebinder. “Why us?”

Lady Alexios’ brow arched slightly.

“Why were we chosen?” Roland raised his hand and the mark glowing brightly on his skin; the holy symbol he nearly threatened to stain in an act of fury. “The question has bothered me for a long time. Were we truly the best choices available? Or people in the right place at the right time?”

“You were not chosen because you were the best, Lord Knight,” the Fatebinder replied. “You were chosen because you would fight for the dignity of the weak.”

The dignity of the weak? I glanced at my own mark, as did a few of us. How could my Class know that I would fight for that?

“The Goddess once selected the world’s greatest merchant to receive her mark,” the Fatebinder said. “A girl whose wits and ambition allowed her to become Pangeal’s wealthiest woman. To her, every human interaction served to amass wealth in the service of a grander purpose, until humans became a commodity like any other.”

Eris remained as stone-faced as an ancient mountain, her grip on her staff tightening.

“Belgoroth was the finest knight of his time,” Lady Alexios continued. “Valorous, honorable, righteous… so righteous that his purity turned into intolerance. When reality failed to conform to his impossible ideals, he began to see faults in everything except himself.”

The Fatebinder looked at our reflection in the room’s mirror. What a disparate motley of Heroes we made. “I have long wondered why the Goddess bestowed her marks on the Demon Ancestors. I would have expected maybe one of the seven to abuse their powers, but all of them? For a long time, I wondered if our creator acted out of malice. It was only when I became the Fatebinder that I understood the truth.”

Lady Alexios rose from her chair while we remained seated. Her shadow loomed over us, which I realized neatly illustrated her point.

“When you stand at the apex of the world,” she said, “You can only look down on others.”

Then it struck me. I glanced at my comrades. A woman cheated by her husband; an undead desperately trying to save lives after losing his own; a fallen princess and a bastard countess, both vassals to a contested prince forced to hide his true self from others’ sight; an inquisitor who had trapped himself in a shell of steel to atone for his sins; a Hero who had fallen, only to rise back from nothing; a clearly inhuman priestess persecuted for her beliefs… and a would-be merchant who one day decided to fight the corruption he had been forced to partake in.

“The Goddess, while kind-hearted, stood as high above her creations as the clouds above the earth,” Lady Alexios explained. “She could not see the world through human eyes. This is the lesson the first Fatebinder kept in mind when she petitioned the Artifacts to create a new set of marks. The new Heroes would not stand above mankind. Instead, they would endure the same hardships as the people they were supposed to defend.”

Whether prince or pauper, we had all suffered the bitter string of failure. Of powerlessness.

My mark hadn’t chosen me because I would become the best Merchant, but because I would try to be the best without compromising my morals. The traits that made Belgoroth the ultimate Knight were what turned him into a terrible Hero.

Roland’s mark chose him for the same reason I trusted him to make peace with Walbourg: because it understood that his heart was in the right place.

Archfrost’s future king rose up from his seat, lighter than before. This time, we all imitated him.

“Tomorrow will be a hard day, my friends,” Roland said, his voice brimming with determination. He had made his choice. “We are to face a powerful enemy. Once the dust settles, we may not all live to see the sunrise.”

He drew his sword with a king’s grace.

“But if you stand by my side, I know we can prevail,” Roland declared with resolve and confidence, his blade raised to the ceiling. “One way or another, this shall be our finest hour.”

Our marks considered us worthy.

It was time for us to prove it to ourselves.

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Next Chapter 

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A/N: I admit I had less time than I wanted to work on that chapter; I had to deal with some copyright/theft issues on Amazon lately, which are a constant annoyance.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Robin's plan is kind of the culmination of all his experiments over the volume. The next few entries will be a big adrenaline ride.