Commerce Emperor Chapter 42: The Crown of Fire (Patreon)

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Silence reigned in Whitethrone’s great cathedral.

As a Hero, I entered its great walls as early as nine in the morning alongside most of my colleagues. The Fatebinder and the Priest led our procession, the former walking slightly ahead of the latter in the gilded robes of her esteemed office. Reformist and traditionalist-minded bishops alike followed behind them with flags representing the Artifacts. I could taste the tension between the two groups, though none of them acted upon it. I was not aware yet of the settlement the Fatefinder negotiated with her niece and the Reformists, but it seemed to have spared us a religious war… for now.

Thousands of onlookers had gathered outside the cathedral to witness the coronation. A dense perimeter of armed knights held the crowds back with spears and halberds, though a few managed to throw flowers at us nonetheless. Eris and I waved at these people with warm smiles. Colmar and Marika were too embarrassed to do the same, and Cortaner simply ignored the crowd.

Most of us were too tired to fully enjoy the moment. We had spent the better part of yesterday and last night refining our tactics, crafting weapons, drafting contracts that would help us stave off injuries, and preparing for the fight ahead. We were as ready as we could be.

I didn’t come empty-handed to the ceremony either. I carried a heavy golden scroll in my arms, one that would determine Archfrost’s future.

Our procession entered the cathedral at a steady pace. A massive hall of marble stone sprawled ahead of us under a hundred-foot-high ceiling held by crystal pillars. Two lines of gilded knights stood along the path to a gemstone altar and a pearly sarcophagus. Our group stood a stone’s throw away from its platform, while Lady Alexios and Selestine climbed up it.

It’s bigger than Walbourg’s cathedral, I noted as I observed the location more closely. A place fit for kings.

My eyes lingered on the pearly tomb overseeing the hall. It shone brightly under the pale light of stained glass windows representing the Glorious Generation of Heroes who founded Archfrost. The Priest-King Chernoglav, Roland’s ancestor and the man who started the current dynasty, rested inside. Four hundred tilts of marble paved the cathedral’s floor, each housing a legendary knight of Chernoglav’s army. Father used to tell me that they would rise from the dead in Archfrost’s darkest hour to defend the realm.

What would it take to wake them up from their nap?

“Do you think we will have time for a dance after this, Robin?” Eris whispered in my ear. Not even a coronation could silence the chatterbox. “My feet are getting restless.”

“I doubt that,” I whispered back. Roland intended for us to fly straight north within an hour of the ceremony’s conclusion. “Will people raise a cathedral for us after we die?”

“For you, handsome?” She put a finger on her lips. “I suspect your followers would open a museum and extract a toll on visitors instead.”

How appropriate for a Merchant. The idea brought a smile to my face.

My good mood lasted until a set of four bishops entered the hall, each of them wielding a different symbol of the four Artifacts: a wand, a cup, a golden coin—thankfully not the devilish kind—and a sword. They carried the royal family’s regalia on a crimson cushion: a circled crown of silver topped by four horns of enchanted ice, at the center of which shone a radiant sapphire; and a sword of reinforced gold laced with adamantine. Both were breathtaking pieces of craftsmanship, but the sight of the former filled my heart with unease.

“I need to talk with you after this,” I whispered to Eris.

My solemn tone caused Eris to raise an eyebrow, but she assented to my request without objection. “Whenever you want, handsome.”

“Thank you,” I replied before shutting my mouth.

The four bishops put the regalia on the altar and then walked away from it. A procession of dignitaries entered the hall afterward. Duchess Griselda and the Walbourg delegation walked side by side with Duke Sigismund, the lords of Archfrost, and foreign ambassadors from all across Pangeal. Representatives had come all the way from Irem and the Stonelands to witness Roland’s coronation, though none had shown up on behalf of Soraseo’s homeland; which was probably for the best.

I held my breath as the king and queen finally made their entrance.

Roland and Therese’s carriage stopped short of the cathedral’s doors. They walked together side by side under the watch of elite knights. Both were breathtaking to look upon. Roland arrived in the Priest-King’s gilded ceremonial armor while his future queen wore a white satin dress embroidered in silver threads. Both carried a mantle of blue velvet lined with ermine and adorned with the icy crown heraldry of Archfrost. Soraseo helped Roland carry his own mantle, while Alaire did the same for Therese’s.

Orchestras, chorus, and military drummers played a strangely harmonious blend of religious songs and war marches as the royal couple and their ‘handmaidens’ walked across the hall. They stopped in front of the altar and knelt as the Fatebinder and the Priest recited prayers in Old Erebian. They called upon the Goddess to guide the couple and for the Artifacts to safeguard Archfrost. I had never been a religious person, so I mostly listened to the music in respectful silence without paying too much attention to the words.

Once the litany was complete, the Fatebinder and the Priest proceeded to anoint the ruling couple one after the other. Lady Alexios painted the golden symbol of the four Artifacts on Roland’s face and then Therese’s, whereas Selestine inscribed the silver heraldry of Archfrost itself. I’d heard it was rare for a suzerain’s wife to be honored alongside her husband, but Roland insisted that Therese be treated as his equal. I supposed he sought to make people forget her foreign origins.

Once both rulers were duly anointed, Lady Alexios and Selestine individually blessed the king’s regalia. The background song ended right as the Fatebinder took the crown of Archfrost into her hands.

“Roland Chernoglav of Archfrost,” she said, her sharp voice cutting through the heavy silence of the hall. “Do you solemnly swear to rule justly? Do you swear to protect the weak, to defend your land from evil, and to cherish its people as if they were your own children?”

“I solemnly swear,” Roland replied with kingly dignity.

“Then the Goddess shall bestow upon you a crown of glory and righteousness, as she blessed the Priest-King before you and shall bless the ones that shall come after you.” The Fatebinder raised the crown until it shone brightly under the light of burning braceros. “May the Artifacts confirm you in your throne and bless your land with eternal felicity.”

Everyone held their breath as Lady Alexios deposed the Crown of Archfrost on Roland’s head. None tensed up more than I. I half-expected the Knots to strike, or for a demon to appear out of nowhere to ruin the moment.

Evil did not triumph today.

The crown sat upon Roland’s head and fit him perfectly. Heavy was our Knight’s gaze, but solemn and determined too. Selestine offered him the golden sword next, which he welcomed with a thankful nod and steely resolve. When he rose to his feet, he truly looked like a Hero of legends reborn.

His uncle Sigismund next presented him with a smaller diadem fit for a queen. Roland took it, then crowned Therese himself. I had never seen her look so radiant or smile so blissfully until today. She had waited a lifetime for a throne and a companion who would respect her as his equal, and though Roland might never love her the way I had loved Mersie, he helped her rise nonetheless.

This would usually mark the end of the ceremony, but I still had a role to play.

“Lord Waybright, Duchess Griselda,” Roland beckoned us. “Come forward.”

I stepped towards the king alongside Duchess Griselda. She had had the good sense of dressing modestly today so as not to overshadow Therese and arrived with a silver quill in her hands. We both knelt in front of the ruling couple and presented them with our gifts.

Roland and Therese both put a hand on my golden scroll and raised the other. They gathered their breaths, then uttered as one the oath that we had rehearsed together.

“We hereby swear to maintain the integrity of the United Kingdom of Archfrost and its territories,” the king and queen declared, both to the assembly and to the world itself, “to respect the Arcane Abbey, to enforce the freedom of religion, to guarantee the equality of rights of all of our citizens before the scales of justice; to maintain peace within our borders; to not raise taxes except with the agreement of our institutions; and to protect our subjects from those who would seek them harm. We swear to abide by the rule of law and to govern in the sole interest of Archfrost and its people.”

This text was the result of a thousand compromises. A promise to both honor the Arcane Abbey and yet allow for Reformists to practice within Archfrost’s borders, to maintain the social order while giving commoners a chance to gain more rights, and to enforce peace with Walbourg through mutual concessions.

However, an oath was only as strong as the paper on which it was printed on. I unfolded the scroll and pointed at a blank space next to my own signature. The ruling couple proceeded to sign with Griselda’s enchanted silver quill, before the Duchess herself imitated them on behalf of her duchy.

My mark burned beneath my gloves. So powerful was its light that it shone through the leather. My Class validated the trade of the century.

I purchased the right of the monarchy to wage war upon Walbourg and its other territories, as I purchased their ability to fight the monarchy through force of arms. I undid institutions law by law, privilege by privilege, shuffled them, rebuilt them, and perfected them.

In one stroke of a quill, my social contract put an end to Archfrost’s bloody scars and opened the path forward to a peaceful future.

When at long last the light in my palm died down, the royal heralds sounded their trumpets. “All hail King Roland of Archfrost and his queen!” They sang. “Long live the king! Long live the queen!”

Only then did we acclaim them with thunderous applause. Everyone stood up and clapped not only for the new king and queen, but for a new era of peace and prosperity for Archfrost. Roland saluted the dignitaries by raising his golden sword while his queen smiled warmly at Alaire and the others.

I exchanged a glance with Eris, who swiftly teleported away. I pulled out a small draft of paper from under my cloak the moment she vanished.

“Your Majesty,” I said while presenting him with the document. “Would you kindly sell me your Blights before greeting your loyal subjects?”

“With pleasure, my friend.” Roland signed the document with a stroke of the silver quill. “I pray that you find yourself happy with your purchase.”

Roland’s signature carried more than its weight in ink. The collective will of all of Archfrost backed my proposal to buy all of Archfrost’s Blights—from the one in Snowdrift to the curse created in our attempt to retake the capital—as a package deal with a piece of land which would serve as their tomb.

I remembered the first time I brought a disease from Count Brynslow and sealed it in a coin. Blights were no different than plagues in the end, only mightier and more destructive. Much like a sick man could sell the infection plaguing his flesh, the new king of Archfrost successfully sold me the evil haunting his lands.

To my delight, my power validated the trade. I sensed it in my bones and in the very air. A bright light glowed through the stained glass windows, right from the direction where Colmar had entombed his holy runestones. I detected a faraway stream of essence so strong that my magical sight could pick on it from leagues away.

I sensed no hostility from the light. No wrath nor grief.

Roland and Therese exited the cathedral first. Their citizens acclaimed them with such cheers and loud chants that I could hardly hear anything. The king and queen returned the greetings with waves of their hands and warm smiles.

I walked after them alongside the other Heroes, though I focused on the horizon rather than on the crowd of onlookers. A pillar of golden essence arose from the countryside behind the cathedral and pierced the heavens above. Archfrost’s citizens had seen a golden dawn grace their country right as the new king and queen exited the cathedral. I assumed many would take it for a miracle.

And a miracle it was. Streaks of crimson corruption—the remains of Belgoroth’s Berserk Flame—hardly managed to survive a few instants before the golden light purified them. It wasn’t just Colmar’s runestones that purged the Blights, no. The hopes of Archfrost had gathered to purge the Lord of Wrath’s grim legacy off the land.

This pillar was more than light. It was all of my work in Snowdrift and my allies’ efforts to broker peace made manifest. Selestine had joined her hands in prayer at the sight, as did Cortaner. Alaire, Marika, and Soraseo smiled at the miracle with hearts full of pride. Even Colmar appeared touched.

It’s gone. Snowdrift’s Blight is gone. I had a hard time believing in my own eyes. All that work finally paid off.

It felt good to make a difference.

Eris finally returned to us in a cloud of white smoke. “Our new king swore a kinder oath than Bel’s,” she whispered in my ear. “He will have an easier time keeping it.”

“And unlike Belgoroth, Roland will fulfill its spirit over its letter,” I replied with confidence. I glanced at my fellow Heroes as we regrouped. “Quite the light show, don’t you think?”

“Did our plan work?” Colmar asked with some hesitation. He feared failure more than anything.

“I wouldn’t say it worked.” Eris teased me. “I would qualify this trade as a complete and utter success. We cleaned the Blights in one stroke.”

Many breathed in relief, though none louder than Marika. “So it’s over,” she said. “It’s finally over.”

Colmar shook his head. “The Blights are only a symptom. The disease remains.”

And the true enemy quickly reminded us of his presence.

A surge of malevolent essence erupted in the northeast, so powerful that Arcadian witchcrafters probably picked up on it from a country away. A foul sensation of blood filling my mouth washed over me alongside the nauseous smell of charred flesh. The pulse lasted less than an instant, yet the crowd around the cathedral grew quieter. Even people with no essence training had noticed it.

I looked at Roland, who now held his golden sword with his two hands rather than one. The Knight’s mark burned like the heart of the sun under his metallic gauntlet. Its heat caused the metal to let out a whiff of steam.

“He’s out,” I whispered under my breath. “He’s out.”

“Then we must leave now,” Cortaner said sharply.

Lady Alexios exited the cathedral with a deep scowl on her face. “The seal is broken,” she confirmed, her words heavier than stones. “The Lord of Wrath comes for us.”

I looked at my allies, all of them brimming with determination; though none more than Roland, who nodded at me with his golden sword in hand.

“Let’s go, everyone,” I said. “It is time to save the world.”

I had always wanted to say that, and yet prayed that this moment would never come.

As Roland warned us earlier, this would be a hard day.

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The Vernisla left the capital in an hour’s time and soared straight for Stonegarde.

Alaire and Silverine scouted ahead of our airship, with Roland and Soraseo following her on the back of trained wyverns. A few of Vernisla’s old subordinates had been kind enough to sell me their riding skills and mounts in exchange for a cushy retirement and the promise we would avenge their fallen captain; assets which I quickly transferred to our Knight and Monk. Their expertise paled before the power granted by Alaire’s, but they should help support her in aerial battle. I had also taken additional measures to protect the mounts and riders from Belgoroth’s essence-induced fury. Time would tell if they worked.

It’s not just mounted mastery, I noted as I observed Alaire gracefully riding on her pegasus from our airship’s deck. I had flown on Silverine’s back often enough to detect a noticeable increase in speed and agility. The Cavalier Class also empowers the mount.

I wondered if it would work on the Vernisla too. The Cavalier should be limited to riding animals and other monsters, but our Classes often behaved in unexpected ways.

The rest of our troop would remain on the Vernisla. Marika piloted the ship, while I had posted Selestine and Eris on the deck to throw fireballs at any potential attackers. Cortaner’s armor unfortunately made him too heavy for any flying mount to carry effectively, but his knowledge of Iremian rune cannons meant he could support me and Colmar with the artillery.

Lady Alexios alone remained in the capital. We couldn’t afford to risk the Fatebinder’s life. If we failed to stop Belgoroth, she promised to release our marks back into the world as soon as possible. Perhaps our successors might be able to stop the Lord of Wrath before he could ravage Archfrost, though I had my doubts.

Belgoroth would murder thousands if we failed today.

“It’s quite the beautiful view from so high above,” Eris told me as we looked at the sky from the Vernisla’s deck. “I will never grow weary of it.”

“I enjoy it very much too,” I confessed. “Now that I’ve sold my fear of heights at least.”

“You tell me, handsome. Can you believe that I was afraid of drowning once? I had an awful time finding a buyer willing to take that one.” Eris smiled at me. “What did you want to discuss back at the cathedral?”

“We think that Daltia wants to create an Artifact of her own,” I told Eris. I was loath to discuss the subject ahead of a major battle, but there would never be a perfect time for it. “A crown of human souls.”

It hardly seemed to surprise her. Eris looked at the horizon, her smile fading away.

“Once, in a land far far away, a woman dreamed of peace and prosperity,” she said with a voice brimming with sorrow. “Until she came to the startling realization that the selfish desires of mortals would forever conflict with those of others. A gaping hole called greed lurks in the heart of men and compels them to forever seek more than they already have. But no matter how much they try to fill it, that pit is truly bottomless.”

“All of the world’s wealth can’t change human nature,” I replied.

“Hence why I sought to reshape it,” Eris confessed. “I suppose that is what my other self is trying to accomplish. She wants to fulfill her greed by owning the very soul of mankind. I am sure that in her mind, she is fulfilling people’s desires. She seeks to create the paradise that the Goddess promised us.”

“One under her control.” I trusted that power to no man, let alone a demonic embodiment of greed and unfulfilled desire. “How long would it take for her to complete her crown?”

“I do not know, Robin.” Eris’ hands gripped her scepter with all of her strength. “I hope to gather all the Devil Coins beforehand.”

“I could help with that,” I proposed.

“You want us to travel together, enjoying merry adventures while we try to collect the coins that make up my broken heart?” Eris hid a chuckle with her hand. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

I smiled at her. “I would like that, Eris.”

She looked at me without a word, her eyes studying my expression. Did she doubt my resolve? Or was she afraid of it?

“After we are done with Belgoroth, and if we all live through it,” I said, knowing that it would be a very big if. “I would like to build a business, see the world, and help you collect the Devil Coins. Wherever problems arise and evil festers, the Knots are never too far away. I could kill two birds with one stone. Spread the wealth around and drain Daltia of her own.”

“You know that a honeymoon usually comes after marriage, right?” Eris winked at me. She always did that when she wanted to lighten the mood. “Am I so irresistible to you?”

I chuckled. “Yes, you are.”

“You are too kind, Robin, but you don’t know what you ask for.” Eris’ expression turned solemn. “Things won’t end well between us. You know that.”

“I don’t,” I replied. “And neither do you.”

“You are too naive, Robin.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I am not expecting a warm welcome when the Goddess returns. After all I have done, the rivers of blood I’ve shed, the shallow graves I’ve filled… Stories like mine don’t have happy endings.”

“Then why do you seek one so fervently?” I countered.

Eris looked away at the rising sun, her hair flowing in the wind. “Because once the Goddess comes to punish me, I want to say that I did my best to make up for what I did.”

“That’s the thing,” I replied. “The outcome of your quest is the domain of fate. I say you should strive for the best. I say there’s hope for you, but you won’t be able to seize it unless you commit to it.”

“My Goddess, are you trying to sell me a happy ending?” Eris raised an eyebrow at me, the light in her eye slightly rekindled. “I had that go-for-broke mindset in my youth too. I wonder when age will temper yours.”

“Someone told me once that the secret of success is to go from trial to trial without losing enthusiasm,” I replied with a chuckle. “I won’t give up on you until the verdict comes, Eris.”

“You will be the death of me.” Eris bit her lower lip for a brief instant. “I cannot answer you now, Robin.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” I replied warmly. “Take however long you want. I will be happy with whatever you decide.”

“I swear I will give it genuine thought.” Eris gave me the most bashful of smiles; and it was all the sweetest in its sincerity. “Thank you, handsome. Your words mean more than you think to me.”

I quickly kissed her on the cheek and then left her on the deck. I descended alone into the depths of the Vernisla to take my post in the artillery room. Colmar and Cortaner were already hard at work there.

“Is this ship alive, Robin?” Colmar asked me while he loaded the rune cannons. He had replaced one of his hands with a metal gauntlet; holding a very special trick which I hoped would prove decisive in the battle to come. “We lack a crew yet it moves on its own anyway.”

“I wished it was alive!” I complained as I moved to assist him. My power’s restrictions prevented me from giving an object its own soul. “However, I have discovered that if I buy someone’s ability to move a certain way and then imbue it in an item designed for the same, then it automatically repeats the same movement.”

“Fascinating.” Colmar studied a pipe carrying steam through the ship. “Did you teach an oven how to fill itself? How did you achieve this? None of the clothes you imbued with knowledge in Snowdrift could move on its own.”

I suppressed a chuckle at the irony of Colmar, a ghost-powered suit, complaining about inanimate clothes.

“That’s because I imbued clothes with knowledge, not ability,” I explained. “The airship lacks the intelligence required to truly act autonomously or repair itself, but it can function without a crew so long as we have a captain steering the wheel to give it direction.”

“How did you find people willing to sell you their ability to move?” Cortaner asked suspiciously. “Anyone doing it should have dropped dead on the spot.”

“The key was to ask for extremely specific abilities,” I explained. “Being capable of curling up and rolling on the ground isn’t too useful for most people and its loss doesn’t impair them in their daily lives, but if I imbue it in a gear mechanism, then it can rotate on its own.”

“I see.” Cortaner crossed his arms. He seemed thoughtful all of a sudden. “Could this mechanism work without a runestone to power it?”

“I’m not sure. The airship does require a large amount of them to work.” I raised an eyebrow at the Inquisitor. “Why that question?”

Cortaner focused back on the rune cannons. “You should travel to Irem someday.”

I was about to push him for details when Marika’s voice came out of the soundstone-speakers. “Everyone, we’re approaching Stonegarde,” she warned us. “Do you all have your jumping bags?”

“We do,” I confirmed. Each of us passengers carried a silk bag on our back, tied by three strong ropes to our shoulders and chest. I recognized it as an advanced version of the prototype Marika and Mr. Fronan developed back in Walbourg.

“If we are ever thrown overboard for any reason, position yourself with the bag turned to the sky and then pull the central rope,” Marika said. “I insist: bag pointing up, chest pointing down, pull the rope as soon as you can.”

“Yes, captain,” I replied. A laugh answered me through the loudspeakers.

I took a moment off the artillery loading to look through the portholes at the world below. We had flown past Snowdrift a while ago and now approached the northern mountains. Tall peaks of black stone and white snow arose like jagged teeth piercing the horizon. From so high above, I caught a glimpse of the northern lands beyond; windswept plains of endless ice, frozen rivers, and ancient forests where the beastmen struggled to survive.

The fortress of Stonegarde stood as the border between our lands and their own. The great castle occupied the only practical pass between the mountains, its two great watchtowers standing shoulder to shoulder with the lowest peaks. A great black bridge joined them together by arching over a colossal gate of reinforced steel; one tall enough to let a giant through, yet too narrow for more than four riders to ride across. This mighty defense marked the end of Archfrost and its best line of defense against northern invasions.

Two worlds lay on each side of this metal fence, and both had gathered their troops. Archfrost’s royal armies had established a well-ordered camp in Stonegarde’s shadow, compact and defensible, with deep ditches and rows of identical tents. Their battle standards fluttered in the summer wind.

The beastmen forces on the other side couldn’t be any more different. I’d heard a general called Zharkov led them on behalf of the Knots, but none of what I saw screamed organization. A sea of disparate skin and wool tents, wooden carts, and wagons covered a plain of ice like a spill of oil on water. Hundreds, if not thousands of cookfires breathed columns of smoke along the mountain pass.

We were too far away for me to catch a glimpse of its occupants, but I did notice the presence of mammoths and stonetusk mounts. I expected a motley of boarkin, tuskmen, and waterkin like those we fought near the capital, and other werewolves to be among their numbers.

“What an awful sight,” Colmar commented as he looked through the window. “Ice as far as the eye can see.”

No wonder the beastmen want to conquer the south. I already knew the north was a harsh landscape, but seeing stretches of barren snowfields from above truly put the tales into perspective. They have no future here.

The beastmen of these lands used to belong to the Demon Ancestors’ army and were pushed back north after they lost the war. I had never truly questioned that version of the story until Colmar informed me of his people’s origins. I assumed a few beastmen willingly threw their lot with the Demon Ancestors—many humans did—but I wondered how many of these soldiers’ ancestors had no choice but to fight under the Beast of Sloth’s orders. Their alliance with Belgoroth sounded like a final call of desperation.

I hoped to find a way to broker peace between my people and the beastmen. No one deserved to suffer in the cold like this, and especially not for the crimes of their ancestors. I suspected more than a few tribes would be willing to make peace with Archfrost in exchange for settling south. Maybe Selestine could help with that. The Artifacts might improve the northern lands’ climate if we voiced the request properly.

That was a problem for another time, however. The beastman army would try to invade as soon as Belgoroth arrived to reinforce them. Their forces would pour through the pass to devastate Archfrost and tear it asunder. Snowdrift’s proximity to the fortress meant that it would be the first city to fall.

I couldn’t let its people suffer another war; not after we freed them from the Blight that threatened to engulf them.

“Robin,” Marika’s voice resonated from the soundstones. “I’m sure I’m just imagining things, but… didn’t you mention a dragon was near the Deadgate once?”

“A dead dragon,” I replied. “The Glorious Generation slew the great wyrm Xernobog at the City of Wrath and entombed his remains there. His demise is what opened the Deadgate in the first place.”

Marika marked a short pause. “I see…”

Cortaner turned his head at the soundstone speaker. “What bothers you, Lunastello?”

“It’s a silly thought, but… if Belgoroth has the Cavalier’s power, and it lets him ride any creature…” I audibly heard Marika clear her throat on her end of the line. “Does the mount have to be alive?”

I froze in place and quickly exchanged a glance with Cortaner and Colmar. The silence stretching between us immediately told me that none of us had entertained the possibility.

A terrible roar answered Marika’s question.

A rumbling noise stronger than any explosion resonated across the mountains, starting avalanches and rockslides. A noxious aura of suffocating evil and bloodthirst fell upon the land. A searing wind followed, so hot that I felt its warmth even inside the protective hull of the Vernisla.

A great cloud of smoke descended upon the mountains from the north, staining the pristine blue sky with the red texture of fresh blood. I blinked upon seeing the hint of great wings longer than any ship and then froze upon realizing my mistake.

That was no cloud, but a burning ghost flying above the land of the living.

The sheer size of the beast—over three hundred feet in length—struck me with fear. Its wingspan cast a dark shadow on the beastmen below. The beast might have looked like a noble lizard with wings once, but centuries of decay and the flames consuming it from within had reduced it to an unholy husk.

A ruddy glow emanated from its remaining black scales like lava cooling between cracked stones. An unsettling yellow glow shimmered from its charred bones. The Berserk Flame flowed through the monster’s dried veins, animating its clawed limbs, moving its wings, fueling its breath. The monster reared its immense head at the land below, revealing a maw of fangs taller than spears and a gullet of volcanic fire.

Yet however mighty it may be, that creature was a mere puppet. I detected no intelligence in the smoking holes that used to be its eyes.

Its master rode on its back, right between the wings.

His charred armor of tarnished gold had turned pitch black. Sick yellow fire burst out of the chinks, the gauntlets, the slits in the helmet, and all the other tiny openings in his shell of metal. A cloak of searing smoke fluttered from his shoulders like the fiery tail of a blazing comet. I caught a glimpse of a greatsword too heavy for any man to carry attached to the knight’s back, and a lion-faced helmet whose eyes burned with the eldritch glow of the Berserk Flame. The familiar feeling that let me identify a Hero flared in the back of my skull, raw and sharp.

The burning knight raised his left hand upward to the sky in a silent challenge. A sword mark burned on the back of his metal gauntlet with all of his endless fury and hatred.

Belgoroth announced his return with a rain of fire.

His dragon vomited a sea of light onto the land below; not the golden light of hope that we had unveiled to Archfrost, but a stream of Berserk Flame hotter than magma. The fire descended upon the center of the beastman army like divine judgment. Tents turned to ash in an instant; the flames swallowed thousands. An unstoppable tide of burning essence consumed the invaders who thought the Lord of Wrath would lead them to victory. Plumes of smoke filled the horizon.

My allies and I watched the scene through the porthole in stunned silence, utterly horrified by the devastation. So terrible was the slaughter that faces appeared in the storm of ashes. The screams of the dead announced the incoming birth of a new Blight.

“He’s firing at his own troops!” Marika shouted through the loudspeakers, her voice brimming with both fear and outrage. Colmar and I were too horrified to say anything.

“The Lord of Wrath is on no side but his own,” Cortaner replied grimly. He alone didn’t sound surprised. “He does not need an army.”

It didn’t take me long to understand what he meant. The undead dragon did not stop its onslaught at the beastmen. It continued to vomit fire on Stonegarde and blew it up in a single salvo. The stone shattered, the steel gates melted into a puddle of metal, and the thousand lives manning the citadel went up in smoke.

The knights of Archfrost dispersed in panic when the sea of flames fell upon their camp next. The inferno incinerated their horses and fortifications in an instant. When the dragon finished exhaling its breath of ruin, a chasm of fire and ashes split the northern mountains in half. Stonegarde had become a charred crater and the flames scattered yesterday’s enemies across the land.

This was the power of the first Heroes; the might that the Knight Class once held before the Fatebinder wisely fractured it. The ability to kill thousands in the blink of an eye.

We had all miscalculated. Roland, the Knots, myself… we had all expected Belgoroth to lead the army his cultists and allies worked so hard to gather. We thought he would lead the beastmen to battle, break through Stonegarde, and then wage war upon Archfrost like any conventional warlord. It would have made sense.

But when I recalled how Belgoroth behaved back in Walbourg, abandoning his allies to die and ignoring us Heroes to focus on taking as many lives as possible, it occurred to me that the Lord of Wrath was not a rational general. He was a berserker who held both his foes and enablers in contempt. He required no army to fight by his side, and rewarded defiance and subservience with the same bitter reward.

Death.

“He’s going to incinerate all of Archfrost…” I muttered in horror. “He’ll burn the land from above and salt the earth with Blights, one city at a time…”

How long would it take for Belgoroth to reach Snowdrift? Hours? In a day’s time he would have set the land ablaze from the mountains to the capital. In a week’s time, the western side of the continent would become a sea of fire.

He wouldn’t stop there. He would keep flying and burning everything in his path until he had scorched the world’s surface to cinders.

Not today. I clenched my fists and found my resolve. Not today.

Roland charged first into battle, roaring with his lightning spear in his hands as he ordered his wyvern to fly forward. Alaire and Soraseo fearlessly followed after him. In comparison to Belgoroth’s dragon mount, our allies looked like sparrows challenging an eagle to battle.

But challenge him they did.

“We’re engaging him!” Marika shouted through the soundstone-speakers. “Prepare to fire!”

She didn’t need to ask us twice.

I moved behind a runestone cannon right as Marika veered the Vernisla to the right. The hull quickly opened. The sudden burst of wind nearly threatened to send me overboard, but Colmar quickly helped me hang onto the fixed artillery.

The wooden panels that separated us from the world outside slide aside. I found myself facing Belgoroth’s dragon as he flew straight at us, closing half a league in a minute’s time. The flap of its immense wings whipped up a storm of dust underneath. I sensed Belgoroth’s bloodthirsty glare on us through the wall of rising smoke.

One way or another, one side wouldn’t escape this fight alive.

Our cannons thundered and fired the first salvo.

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Next Chapter 

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A/N: no story of mine is complete without a dragon ;) I've foreshadowed that one for a while.