《The Alkahest》


 Chapter One: Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest

    The Alkahest


    Chapter One: Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest


    The slow, methodical beats of the mana-engine lulled through the wooden walls of the airship. Wood creaked around the bedroom that Cedric Alkahest inhabited, the young man of nineteen gazing out of the ship¡¯s porthole and staring down at the rolling landscape dotted with small farms and smudges that he could make out to be dirt roads of the countryside. He yawned slightly, still waking up from the restful sleep he¡¯d taken while traveling within the Old Blue, an economy trade-transport hybrid airship he¡¯d taken from Yal-Hest to the Old Capital of the Orestien Empire, Paraval.


    Old Blue yawned, banking as it turned, allowing Cedric to gaze upon the distant city; his destination visible, as the call of the ship¡¯s nearing arrival was what had woken him from his deep slumber. He turned to his bedroom¡¯s amenities, a quaint little smattering of a small bed, an exceptionally minimalist desk, and a resting trunk at the base of the bed.


    He walked over to the trunk and opened it with a deftness borne of familiarity, quickly pulling on his long coat and finding the small kit of hygienic supplies he¡¯d sequestered within his traveling bag. With his mind clearing of groggy fog, he started getting ready for the day.


    He tapped a long silver needle¡¯s tip against every tooth within his mouth, each bit of contact followed by a pulse of cleansing mana scrubbing his teeth of bacteria and plaque. He then took a short draught of an alchemical potion, a breathy and exceptionally long-lasting minty coolness settling into his breath. He continued with his ritual, taking out a simple rag and using it to scrub his dry body. The rag too was enchanted, and with an additional dab of alchemical cologne and sanitizer being applied to his body, he rubbed at his dry body with the implement, the enchantments woven into the cloth absorbing, destroying, and stripping his body of excess oils, dirt, and a very slight dusting of necrotic energies killing off and stripping bacteria clinging to his dermis. It functioned well for what was a hastily designed traveling kit, solving his hygienic needs quite well.


    He completed his routine by drawing out his casting implement, a cracked length of blackened bone with a masterfully cut gem of painite embedded in the base of the curved rib-bone of an infant red dragon. The cracks within the rib-bone were melded with melted adamantium, the magical material a bright crimson-red, highlighting itself on the blackened bone and complementing the gemstone that furthered the color palette of the wand.


    The wand was softly tapped onto the crown of his head, a generalized cleaning charm stripping his scalp of dead skin and cleansing his hair of oils. He then took out yet another alchemical product, lacing his hands with an oily liquid that he then streaked through his hair. Well-practiced motions shaped his hair without the aid of a mirror, and before long he knew through tactile touch that his hair was perfectly messy to a fashionable degree without looking sloppy or unhygienic. ¡®Like he rolled out of bed looking like a Ten¡¯, was the look Cedric was going for, his looks pulling it off rather well with the clothing he often sported.


    He adjusted his coat and fixed the suspenders of his trousers, smoothing out wrinkles with a light application of mana channeled into his clothing during the brisk brushes of his touch. Cedric pulled out his travel mirror, flicking open the circular device and inspecting himself in the small disk of reflective material. His hair was indeed as he felt it, just how he liked it, while his dress was also of suitable quality for Paraval¡¯s climate.


    Paraval was a colder city, located to the far north and was subject to heavy blizzards, weathering rain, stormy-overcast clouds, and was altogether a cold and wet climate. Cedric had familiarity with these climates, although it felt like a life-time ago since he¡¯d needed to actively remember how to prepare for them.


    Likely because it was a life-time ago.


    He chuckled at his internal inside joke, inspecting the two pairs of high-quality high-boots coated with a water-proof coating of alchemically rendered slime resin, something that his coat lacked; instead, the long-coat was enchanted to resist the elements and conditions of Paraval¡¯s climate, filled with down feathers, although in his testing he¡¯d found the enchantments to be somewhat lacking. His tests were done in simulated arctic conditions, as Cedric was anything if not someone to take something to full completion. If he wanted an outfit capable of withstanding cold climates; then he¡¯d make one capable of withstanding any climate. Even with the ¡®lackluster¡¯ enchantments -to only Cedric¡¯s perspective- the warming and cooling enchantments were a valuable addition.


    Cedric had done his research on the city and knew that if he wanted to live comfortably within the region, he¡¯d need to dress accordingly. Not to mention that his current outfit was also inspired by the city¡¯s current fashion trends, being the burning heart of the Orestien Empire¡¯s cultural roots.


    The city itself was fighting several cultural wars with other provinces within the empire, as the incorporation of several different peoples and human territories with unique cultural identities, many with ancient and bitter rivalries with one another had created a toxic political environment for a culture to exist within. Many parties within the empire refused or bitterly worked with one another, let alone the culture that conquered them. Imperial Law and the Edicts of the Emperor, an ancient and legendary figure that founded and still ruled to this day -even two-hundred years after the fact- kept the provinces in a state of stable civility with one another. Even then, provinces rebelled in their own unique ways by staking out a unique identity to cling to.


    While the Emperor¡¯s word and power kept blood from being split, bitter rivalries between ethnic, cultural, religious, and regional groups twisted into more politically acceptable methods of decompression. Intrigue, social sabotage, strained relations, trade disputes, or duplicitous and outright scandalous methods of harming one¡¯s neighbor were employed in war¡¯s stead. The politics of the Orestien Empire was a messy place to step foot within, one filled with the greedy, gluttonous, hedonistic, and traditional. A stifling environment, and one that Cedric had grown up within.


    ¡®Thankfully, I¡¯ve escaped. At least for now.¡¯ Cedric thought wryly.


    Not something that was commonly thought, to say the very least. Many born within the ranks of nobility desired to be the first son and to inherit. That wasn¡¯t truly incorrect, but this Empire was different in terms of succession. Largely because Succession itself was rare. To succeed one¡¯s father or mother required the current reigning patriarch or matriarch to die, which with the resources, medical care, and protections available to keep a house¡¯s leading figure-head in good health was difficult; even within a world as deadly as this one. Old age was kept at bay through alchemical, magical, and physical might won through hard work or potent and valuable treasures.


    It created a messy case of a house needing places to throw their spawn and young, allowing them to generate renown for the house and not become wastes of space.


    Children of a House would be trained and invested within, built up and raised to certain expectations and given the opportunity to prove their continued worth. Showing oneself as a good seed would see more investment from the main house, eventually culminating in the potential to establish a branch. A branch house that would ultimately swear fealty to the main house, but there was a great difference of social status in being ¡®one of lordly titles¡¯, and not just a Scion.


    This incapability of inheritance, save for in the direst or carefully prepared of situations, had young spawn from all houses, large and small, racing off to various paths of life; all hoping to carve together enough acclaim and renown to their name that their deeds would grant them the capability to raise a Lordly House with titled land for themselves. Failure would be met with disownment, banishment, public exile, or a quiet life outside the view of political enemies depending on how liked one was or how merciful a house¡¯s leading figure felt they could get away with.


    ¡®My two brothers were always competitive brats¡­¡¯ Cedric sighed, not thinking fondly of the two significantly older men who¡¯d always sneer and stymy his efforts in learning the arcane and mystical arts. He was six and they were in their late teens and nearing twenties; Cedric could still remember their petulant and spoiled bullying, trying to dissuade or cripple the opposition early in its gestation.


    He rolled his eyes. ¡®Glad they left for the Royal Academy to go do Knight shit. Gave me plenty of peace to study without their antics.¡¯


    Military status and reputation went a long way to establishing one¡¯s value within the eyes of a House, as serving the Empire directly led to ties with the Imperial Standing Armies, an army that had conquered a great swath of the continent of Orevale. Disciplined, with internal organizations and logistics that supported the army, a standing banner of Arcanists, Magisters, and Sorcerers, paired with the physical might of well cultivated Aura Experts known as Knights within the Orestien Empire. They were power manifested, and ranking high within the military as a potential ranking officer like an Imperial Marshal would easily be seen as grounds to be rewarded with one¡¯s own lands and titles, not even by their own family, but by the emperor himself.


    Cedric¡¯s brothers had gone this route, and he could deduce why. They were afraid of their oldest siblings.


    Cedric and his two elder brothers, Calem and Tyvalt, were the youngest within their family. Their parents were old yet were still biologically capable of producing children. They¡¯d had children ¡®late¡¯, not seeing a real need when even now, Cedric¡¯s grandfather was ruling the House of the Alkahest. His father was the sole remaining heir in line for the seat, his other siblings either dead or having claimed their own houses or positions requiring political neutrality. They were in their sixties when they¡¯d had their first children, having been using contraceptives consistently throughout those years without children, as houses that spawned children like rabbits during heats were a headache to manage. Two children were born in their sixties, two girls, and they were his eldest siblings. They were thirty-eight and thirty-five as of now, and due to slim pickings of men with comparable status as their own, and their personal strength; willingly unmarried.


    His eldest sister had a nineteen-year age gap between himself and her, which was an age gap as old as he was. Cedric had seen precious little of his eldest siblings, beyond a few paintings and one or two meetings when he was exceptionally young.


    The eldest children of their family would be the female line, consisting of two exceptionally competitive and talented Knights. With his brothers also falling into the path of becoming Knights, it was quickly discovered that Tyvalt and Calem were comparatively untalented when placed against their sisters in martial tournaments. Cedric knew that the two brothers were exceptionally competitive and had developed an insecurity complex from their elder sisters; it was whispered by the servants whenever he was picked on by the two.


    It was sad to know that they¡¯d chosen to take that traumatic experience out on their youngest brother, but Cedric was mature enough to move past it. He cared little for his family, in all honesty, struggling to see any real bond or heart-tugging attachment to a family that was as removed and competitive as his own.


    He was apathetic to his abusive brothers. He was indifferent and an effective stranger to his absent eldest sisters. His father was a frigid man that he met ¡®once-in-a-blue-moon¡¯ to be gauged by his inquisitive stare and demanding voice. His mother was often traveling, a sorceress who had an active job in applying wards and defensive enchantments in key strategic locations throughout the Empire. Her work was secretive, demanding, and had her innately closed off to most all connections that wanted to dig past the polite and disarming smile. Even to her son she was professionally cordial, uncaringly dismissive when busy, or mockingly patronizing towards.


    He snapped his hand-held mirror shut, a deep frown on his face. Cedric was an isolated young man, one that took refuge within libraries and deep sanctums spread out through several estates that the Alkahest House owned. He was raised by servants and tutors assigned to his education, although much of his education was merely refinement of what he already knew. Reincarnation would do that to a young man, and in some ways, Cedric preferred it that way. Without being a reincarnation, he wondered what his upbringing would¡¯ve created. Broken, instead of merely being damaged, perhaps.


    The staff that he associated with during his time within the estates while growing up were professional and often rotated out. The staff were all slaves, ordered to refuse any sexual advancement on pain of death enforced by magical bondage. The male staff were to report any homosexual or deviant behavior. They recorded his every move, reporting to whoever held their chain.


    Watching eyes hounded him, suffocated him. He had no friends, no confidant, no support structure; nothing.


    At age four he learned a beguilement spell that would distort and confuse a person¡¯s senses, and with glee he had all his watchers see a studious boy either exercising, studying, or dallying about. ¡®Perfectly normal behavior, nothing wrong here,¡¯ was the enchantment he applied to their weak broken shells they called minds.


    All the while he studied and wandered his estates, exploring dark ruins and secret entrances, enjoying the ancient knowledge of old libraries, learning from respected tutors that reported excellent mental acuity in absorbing their teachings. He performed adequately within social functions as a polite, disarming, and moderately charming young man; another face in the crowds of scions making forgettable connections with one another.


    By eleven he was experimenting with alchemy, exploiting his family¡¯s lost or stashed wealth, hidden within odd places or forgotten rooms, leaving dazed and beguiled servants behind to purchase laboratory equipment and key potion ingredients from cities and towns he¡¯d visit when venturing to various estates or tutors. He brewed, enchanted, cast, and practiced the arcane arts.


    Then a turning point came into his new life, one that would see his already worsening viewpoint of his lot in life fall into cynicism and isolation. At the culturally vital age of twelve, he was summoned to his Grandfather, Lord Alkahest.


    Cedric frowned deeply as he remembered his first time interacting with that old fossil. A man older than the current Empire, a loyal supporter of the Emperor, and acting Royal Magister. He walked into an ornate office, inspected by the old man for three minutes, his blank white eyes stabbing into him, before being waved away dismissively. Not a word was spoken.


    It wasn¡¯t until the next day that he discovered the Patriarch had assigned him dedicated tutors within the mystic arts, along with an allotment of alchemical reagents and a dedicated lab.


    His father had summoned him promptly, demanding he explain why his lord father decided to invest these rare and expensive resources in him. No fatherly pride was to be found, and instead a cold and brutal man stared down an anomaly within his house.


    He¡¯d played dumb and was forced to experience eight consecutive days within the dungeons, and out of pure spite he suffered through those days, any resemblance of growing love or kindness towards his new family killed off root and stem by this act of cruel abuse. He lived off water drizzling from cold and damp stones along with the gruel he¡¯d be served with periodically, shivering on cold stones, naked as the day he was reborn. Each day he was asked by a masked servant, and each day he was silent. Then, as the eighth day came, without explanation, he was let out of that damp cell and brought to his promised lab, to which he got to work without pause or second doubt.


    Not to prove himself to anyone, or to avoid such treatment. He respected no one within the House of Alkahest and would thus be remiss to attach emotional value in a desire to be respected by those who wouldn¡¯t give him the barest minimum of their time. He was not a dog who whined at the lack of his owner¡¯s touch, no matter how nice his bed was. Cedric worked and slaved over the refinement of his magical talents due to several reasons.


    The seed was his own innate interest in the mystic arts. Every boy on Earth has tried to cast Fireball. He remembered the embarrassing moments in middle school when he¡¯d stare at his palm, flexing the muscles and tendons of his hand to get a flame alight. The seed was always there, the desire for power. The mystic arts were the water that let that seed sprout full.


    The roots of his passion, the things that fed that seed its vital nutrients to grow were unique. In his desire to learn the mystic arts, he desired to improve his ability to learn.


    Alterations were taken to his own mind using enchantments and mental manipulations, enhancing, culling, shaping, and distorting his own mind. His roots grew; wild and free.


    Cedric at the young age of four, frustrated with his lack of freedom due to the constant observation of the servant staff, stumbled upon a primer for the illusory arts. With no-one willing to cast these magicks on, he used himself as a test-dummy. He started to hypnotize himself. It started small. Better habits, more motivation, great highs of rewarding brain chemistry when he worked on anything magical, an extension of patience.


    Then it escalated. A removal of boredom during times of tedium, heightened focus and mental acuity, codified memorization tricks correlating to specific qualia induced via magical stimulation, and on he went. Years went by and he constantly built, artificially modifying and dissecting his own mind, learning how he ticked, how he broke, how he could make himself better. Nuts were knocked loose, welds were broken, and in their place mythril and adamantium plates were alchemically bound to create a mind that was verifiably divergent from humanity itself.


    These alterations and enchantments that Cedric had placed on his own person, enchantments that he described as ¡®Study Aids¡¯, led to a real and false love of the art. An ingrained habitual desire and rewarding behavior similar to exercise, applied to a mental study with flowing creativity and tangible aspects of power and expression led to real attachment to his attainments within the craft. This attachment was enhanced and exacerbated by his artificial inducement of psychological and chemical addiction towards performing and improving within the art, tied to the real survivalistic need of becoming better within it if he was to thrive within society.


    He sighed audibly within his cabin, sitting on the bed as he reminisced about his life and family.


    Or the lack thereof.


    His family was invested in him so-long as he displayed a willingness to develop himself in their interest. His father was suspicious of him and his attainments of his magical prowess and abilities, as was reported back to him by his tutors. His mother followed in that suspicion after testing him shortly during his fifteenth birthday, finding his control and connection to his magic to be leagues beyond his age group, and his finesse in defending his mind from mental alterations was at such an adept level of skill to be a gritty challenge for a Sorceress of her class.


    Memories of said lesson had his already present frown deep into a scowl, brow furrowing with those memories. Scathing fires dancing along his mind, burning hot iron nails lancing into his temple, sharp serrated nails clawing at his temple and frontal cortex¡­


    He sneered. Every encounter he¡¯d had with his new family within this life had only ever led to bring him pain or uncertainty. He¡¯d recognize that he benefited greatly from their wealth, archives, libraries, and connections. His name had weight from the womb. He was significantly advantaged compared to nearly any other person on this globe. The logical side of him stated he should be thankful for the opportunities granted to him by the family, the wealth he indirectly benefited from, the resources he had access to, and all he had to pay for it was some discomfort and pain.


    The human half of him knew that this House was not his family and recoiled from any thought that tried to connect emotional attachments towards the House; even those that were born from logical transactory gratitude. For he remembered the sleepless nights, fearing that he was being watched at all times. He remembered the distinct lack of privacy that he experienced in every aspect of his life. He remembered the harsh rebukes from his tutors, expecting absolute perfection from a student that performed at levels far beyond his age.


    Yet, Cedric was no genius. He was hard working to an extreme, motivated, determined, and absolutely passionate. However, the leaps of logic, innate natural connectivity, and clicking concepts that so demarcated a genius had him floundering. Conversely, this ¡®lacking¡¯ talent, pushed him ever onwards. Potions supported him and his body for days at a time, not once sleeping as he studied, practiced, studied, practiced, and kept doing so until his body and mind were so broken that studying and practicing were all he could do. He remembered a time where he spent an entire month locked away within his laboratory, refining that damnable solution and catalyst he needed for an abominably difficult potion that grew any desired form of gemstone when poured over a mineral. It was how he¡¯d obtained the Painite for his wand.


    As the memories flooded his mind Cedric took a deep breath and began practicing a breathing exercise, recognizing that he was having a panic attack. Slowly, his body eased away from the tension that had racked it. Instead, a soft relaxation and determination took the place of the anxiety and trauma that his domestic situation inspired. Another enchantment that lurked within his mind, identifying the rapidly increasing stress hormones and acting to resolve and reduce their effects on his body.


    ¡®I¡¯m past that. I¡¯m nineteen now, headed for the Academy. No more servants, just my¡­peers.¡¯ He sighed, a grimace on his face. The social functions he¡¯d attended throughout his youth, parties, balls, and period of celebration and displays of decadence from various political factions rubbing one another¡¯s success in the other¡¯s face were his own personal hell. It was networking, to put bluntly, with competitive, ambitious, and cunning snakes all bunched up into a tightly packed room with thinly veiled masks of social civility budging together with old rivalries, newly burgeoning friendships paired with just as many -if not more- enemies.


    Cedric did¡­okay during those periods.


    He took the path of the magister, mage, wizard, or whatever one wanted to call a magical practitioner. Each title had its own connotations in how one served or functioned within society and the Empire itself. A Magister was a servant directly tied to the Emperor, a Sorcerer was a free-lancer of significant power, a Wizard was a jack-of-all trades and usually a scholar or professor, and a Mage was an umbrella term for all magic practitioners regardless of gender. Arcanists were usually purely scholarly, but they were also the best curse-breakers and anti-mages due the sheer depth of their knowledge. They were usually lumped in with Wizards, although a woman could be referred to as an Arcanist; Witch was avoided by principle. A Mystic was an even more broad form of an Arcanist. It was generally used to refer to a ¡®very wise magic practitioner¡¯ who dealt with the most obscure and esoteric forms of magic.


    His siblings took the path of the Knight, physically powerful and skilled individuals who called on an internal reservoir of ¡®vital energies¡¯ known as Aura to fuel their body with supernatural abilities. The Empire referred to these individuals as ¡®Knights¡¯, although other regions and cultures had their own terms, such as ¡®Fighters¡¯, ¡®Warriors¡¯, ¡®Monks¡¯, and so on.


    Social functions were the path for those that lacked talents within magic and aura, acting as an area of expertise to pursue, and one that was keyed towards the political and economic sides of running an Empire. While personal power was extremely valued within a world that was filled with magical entities, rival empires, fantasy races, demonic influence, and on the list went; an Empire was built not off the backs of those with a strong arm, but by those who could talk and trade ideas with one another. Nobility who specialized within social functions used these periods during their youth to, one, find that talent, two, hone it, and three, to develop meaningful connections with the talented, powerful, connected, or socially important of society. Ambitious youths would form cliques of other ambitious youths, creating blocks of power that would form the foundation of the future empire¡¯s political map.


    Cedric was taken out of his distant reminiscence by a brass horn extending from the wooden facade of his cabin that crackled with static. A voice echoed from the pipe it was attached to. ¡°All passengers, we have docked at Paraval High-Port! Calling for departure!¡±


    Cedric took a deep breath, gathering himself mentally and spiritually. He stood a minute later, taking up his trunk filled with his belongings, and cast a lightening enchantment on the contents and wooden trunk itself. It drifted to his side, hanging like an over-large briefcase freed from gravity. He made his way into the hallways, empty save for himself as he¡¯d caught a rare flight to Paraval from Yal-Hest, the ancestral arid desert that his family inhabited.


    The Alkahest House, to an Earth-Born man like himself, was a family that descended from a strange mixture of Germanic and middle-eastern ethnicity. That was just a comparison, however, and his ¡®mixed race¡¯ was just an ethnicity in and of itself, an old combination of the northern tribes that migrated from the Long Frost ages prior, settling within the arid deserts of the Hetal Region. Natives of the Hetal mixed with the Northern Tribes, creating the now-named Hestites; but in antiquity were known as the Het-Kal.


    Cedric himself was pale for his ethnicity, lacking the dusky tone that people of his region usually inherited. This was due to him inheriting the pallor of his mother¡¯s skin, the woman originating from a Paraval itself and was in fact a daughter of Duke Paraval, City Lord of the ancient northern settlement and cultural home of the Empire. His lacking melanin, paired with his dark hair, gray eyes, and dower features would have him pegged as a Northman. However, his softer features, slimmer body type, and moderate height of five-foot ten made him different from the far stouter and taller men of the far north.


    He exited from the living quarters and narrowed his eyes to the natural sunlight that briefly blinded him. He quickly adjusted, glancing towards the lowered ¡®plank¡¯.


    ¡®Walking The Plank¡¯, in his world, was a form of execution done by pirates and navies in older ages. In this world, it was how one disembarked their ship.


    Cedric walked to the plank and inspected the plank¡¯s inscribed enchantments and the mana fluctuations emitting from the thick plane of hardwood. He found the ¡®feather fall¡¯ enchantments adequate, if somewhat inefficient, but doable for their intended purpose of cheap mass production. The moment he stepped on the plank, its magics infused his being, glowing specks of white light dancing around him. He walked it with firm strides, before stepping off its edge.


    He drifted off, the winds of the cold weather billowing and stealing him away from the ship itself, however, the enchantments of Feather Fall allowed a soft form of wind-propulsion, allowing someone even tentatively familiar with internal energy manipulation to guide surrounding winds to be protective or forceful, controlling one¡¯s decent.


    Cedric aimed his descent down towards the processing center, as not doing so would have Gryphon Knights sent after him, and they were often unapologetic when being rough in arresting those who failed to float within the allotted air space.


    His gaze drifted towards where several crates and mercantile goods were being off loaded, automatically being guided by magical forces on the ground using long-distance ritual foci to guide the winds around the tightly bound shipments of goods towards loading areas. The airspace of a city was fervently protected and surveilled, as ever since the goblin hijacking of The Cloud Whale, and subsequent usage of the ship¡¯s armaments to bombard and raid two villages and one major port town, Lords and Imperial Agents have been exceptionally strict on the observation and allotment of air security. It wasn¡¯t hard to down an Airship with static defenses or a mage tower that many cities held, but a sneaky deployment of explosives or volatile alchemical reagents were a security threat.


    It reminded him of nine-eleven and the subsequent air-port security increases.


    Cedric floated from the sky, shivering inside his warm coat as the cold winds invaded the enchanted article of clothing. It wasn¡¯t long before he landed within the customs area. The few passengers that were joining him on the flight had already been processed, leaving him to be the last. A knight, wearing a decorated great-coat with a popped collar to protect his face from winds, along with a sharp military cap walked up to Cedric, a scholarly page by his side.


    ¡°Papers of identification, sir.¡± The knight stated politely, if bored and blunt.


    Cedric dug into his coat, promptly pulling out an envelope, and a booklet. He handed the envelope to the knight, before opening the booklet and holding its pages down with a thumb, bearing its pages up towards the two.


    The knight took the envelope, pausing to scan the booklet, before coughing abruptly and cleared his throat, ¡°Aa-h, L-Lord Scion, welcome to Paraval!¡± The knight saluted with surprise and a bleed of nervous anxiety. ¡°I, erm, I¡¯m afraid I must confirm your identity, as one of a Great House, we cannot have any imposters or shapeshifting rogues causing chaos.¡± The knight recovered from his bout of anxious nerves at meeting the Empire¡¯s elite, shaping up and conforming to his training.


    The page, a boy of roughly fourteen years squared his shoulders as well, glancing nervously between both his senior and the apparent member of high-nobility.


    Cedric smiled casually, ¡°Please, go right ahead.¡± He said with a relaxed demeanor. Cedric himself was a handsome young man with a smokey voice that had been roughened from inhaling one too many vats of potion fumes during synthesis. Lasting if minor damage had been done to his vocal cords, although his respiratory system had been healed by inhaling an oxygen rich healing fluid that restored their function. Said fluid failed to restore his vocal cords to their optimal state as they were overseen during diagnostics. He¡¯d been deep in his studies and had hardly even noticed the difference in his vocal pitch, the diagnostic after-the-fact reporting them healed, but he¡¯d failed to consider how they healed.


    By the time everything was said and done, Cedric took it as a lesson to wear proper safety gear and use his fume hood, as just because things were easy to heal, doesn¡¯t mean he was capable of diagnosing and repairing everything; for even minor wounds can kill.


    The knight nodded and turned, waving another man over and turned to leave, leaving Cedric and the man¡¯s Page to shiver within the cold.


    Cedric frowned, waiting, thankfully not needing to wait long for a man dressed in a resplendent great-coat with shining epaulets and medals decorating his chest to burst into the loading dock. Wisps of silver faded from his form, indicating he was reinforcing his body using Aura. The man himself was giant, standing at an estimated six foot eight and was as broad as a barrel. His great strides at up distance, his face heavily obscured as it was covered by his raised great-coat¡¯s collar and a bicorn hat that shadowed his eyes. He stopped before Cedric, towering over the smaller man and leaning down, the action revealed a heavily scarred and weathered face, one that Cedric stared into without fear and hesitance.


    ¡°Ha.¡± The giant grunted. ¡°Heard ye¡¯ were comin¡¯. Welcome ta¡¯ Paraval, Cedric Alkahest.¡± His chest and throat rumbled as he hawked a ball of phlegm to the side, having to lower his great coat lest he shoot it inside his clothing. ¡°I assume ye¡¯ have an acceptance letter¡¯?¡± His accent was thick, and his massive leather glove covered hand extended out in expectation.


    Cedric jerked his head to the knight that shadowed the man, and the giant turned and snagged the quickly offered letter.


    The giant ripped the paper sheath with dexterous sausage fingers, bringing the small sheet of paper to his weathered eyes and reading it with intent. He grunted, ¡°You¡¯re a bit early, the big-wigs and Great Houses start sending their kids over in yay¡¯ ¡®bout a week or two, most.¡± He grumbled, ¡°Brats with no sense, those ones.¡± He glanced down at Cedric with narrowed eyes, ¡°Weh¡¯ ain¡¯t gonna¡¯ be seein¡¯ any foolery from ye¡¯, are weh¡¯?¡±


    Cedric chuckled at the playful intimidation, ¡°Depends on what kind of foolery you speak of.¡± He deflected, an amused smile crawling on his face.


    The Knight Captain laughed, a hand clapping down on Cedric¡¯s shoulder, nearly sending him sliding into the snow. ¡°Haha! He barks, he does! Now, ye¡¯ cheeky laddie, '''' The man¡¯s hand tightened, ¡°I aint¡¯ playin¡¯ now.¡± He growled, ¡°We¡¯ er¡¯,¡± He gestured around to his accompanying knight, ¡°We¡¯s havin¡¯ a city ta¡¯ protect, we does. You braties come er¡¯ and stuff up da¡¯ place with yer¡¯ snobby whinin¡¯, and we¡¯ll toss ya¡¯inta¡¯ da¡¯ pens, we will. Got dat¡¯, little bratty?¡±


    Cedric¡¯s eyes crinkled in amusement, schadenfreude dancing in his eyes at the thought, ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Captain. Keep at it.¡± He said with real gratitude, patting the tall man on the forearm.


    The Captain¡¯s eyes widened a bit in surprise at the complement, chuffing as he reared back up. ¡°Mayb¡¯e yer¡¯ not al¡¯ bad.¡± He murmured, ¡°Now den¡¯, I heard ¡®bout ya¡¯ from da¡¯ Duke. He¡¯ll be wantin¡¯ to talk ta his Grandson, he will. I¡¯ll send up word, be expecting a message ¡®bout some meetin¡¯ to be comin¡¯ round from the Duke, ya? You¡¯s gotta¡¯ place to be settin¡¯ up while da¡¯ waitin¡¯ for da¡¯ Academy?¡±


    Cedric nodded, ¡°I have a place booked within The Warrens.¡±


    The Captain reared his head back, ¡°Da¡¯ Warrens, he says?¡± He repeated, shocked. ¡°Tha¡¯s where da¡¯ Adventurer types gather and sleep, laddie. Why ya¡¯ restin¡¯ yer¡¯ head there?¡± He narrowed his eyes, ¡°You lookin¡¯ to get inta¡¯ trouble, ye¡¯ are?¡± He warned tonally.


    Cedric shook his head, ¡°Business, connections; but of the type we ¡®braties¡¯ tend not make.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I have my reasons besides that secondary goal, though.¡±


    The Captain stared at him for a long moment, before chuffing again. ¡°A smart one, ye¡¯ are. Good head, but an adventurous heart, ye¡¯?¡± He hummed, ¡°Yer¡¯ lookin¡¯ fer¡¯ work, aren''t ya?¡±


    The younger man blinked, hesitantly nodding, ¡°I have been¡­sheltered.¡± He admitted softly. ¡°This world is dangerous. I do not know how much.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± The Knight Captain muttered, ¡°Wiser words never said.¡± His accent thinned. ¡°The Guard posts plenty of mercenary contracts, jus¡¯ so yer¡¯ aware. Come by tha¡¯ office and talk to Knight Warden Grant, tell ¡®em Yoknir sent ya¡¯. He¡¯ll get ya¡¯ somethin¡¯ ta¡¯ get started, but you best come prepared.¡± He rubbed at his collar, ¡°Don¡¯t wanna¡¯ send back no frozen corpse to yer¡¯ southern lands. Holds bad in em¡¯ heats.¡±


    The black humor had Cedric chuckling.


    Yoknir¡¯s eyes crinkled in respect to the noble who could stomach it and find it funny. That, and the fact that as far as Yoknir had seen, this young High Noble had been entirely genuine to him, no petty mask or false words, just a young man, far from home, looking to make a life that has meaning to him. It made an impression on the giant Knight Captain, and with one last clap to the back, had Cedric on his way.


    Cedric was guided through customs and was soon left deposited on the streets of Paraval. The city itself was a grand sight, and Cedric made no waste of time exploring. He was first drawn to the unique architectural design of the city, done with what to him felt like a mixture of late-medieval architecture blended with the advancements in city building taken from the magi-tech revolution sweeping through the city. It was coated with Germanic, Norse, and Bavarian styles of building and decoration; an eclectic mixture of northern tribes combining to form one people under the Empire, sweeping south and taking the world by storm.


    White plaster walls were done up with homey facades, paired with bits of wrought iron fences and elaborate arches. Stone arches formed overpasses that lifted over heated sewer streams or walk paths, narrow bridges extended over the very same walk paths, paired with arterial cobblestone central roads that allowed large amounts of foot and carriage traffic to pass through the large city. Brass piping and the clunky machinery of gnomish and dwarven engineering ran rampant through the streets, their automata pulling along through foot traffic as they navigated their loads of materials to the industrial or mercantile district.


    The city itself was packed, even during this chill. Every other building he passed by seemed to be a pub, tavern, or inn filled to the brim with rowdy individuals cheering, songs of bards, or the cat-calls of service women showing their tantalizing bodies for display within the chilling cold. Cedric was aware that this city was a den of crime, petty and grand. As ancient as it was, people have long since learned the ways to integrate themselves within its status quo without upsetting law and order enough to warrant brutal crackdowns on their morally and legally gray business.


    Brothels and sex work ran rampant, as did smuggling, unlawful slave trading, and the sale of illicit or restricted goods. Cedric knew such information due to how infamous the black markets of Paraval were, catering to many within nobility. For the city thrived on its free trades, and the wise forces within knew to pay their dues to the ones that truly controlled the city.


    He obtained directions towards his living arrangements from people off the streets, being led to areas that showed this side of the city. Its darkness only grew more and more dense and blatant as one went deeper into the city¡¯s old districts and things became more crowded with the average citizenry.


    Cedric had everything on him managed, wary of pickpockets. His posture was tight and guarded, keeping a certain level of attention on his pocket, coat, and hands. Even then he wasn¡¯t too worried about getting finessed, as his wand and other valuables in person were cursed to only be held by his hands. Anyone that dared try to take it with intent to steal would find that the item they¡¯d tried to grab was in-fact so hot that they¡¯d experience the full pain of a sixth-degree burn.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    That was a burn that went bone deep, and the curse wasn¡¯t physical, but entirely illusory; meaning that instead of one¡¯s nerves being burned away in that same instant and the target not feeling anything, they felt the full intensity of a sixth-degree burn for however long they touched his stuff with intent to steal.


    While one might think it overkill, in the empire, theft was an offense punishable by dismemberment, being sold into slavery, or death. Cedric¡¯s wand was also his most precious of valuables and was utterly priceless. Stealing from a High-Noble already was a death-worthy offense, but to try and steal something so precious to one was worthy of a fate worse than death itself.


    The Wand¡¯s value came from its production and the materials needed to create it. It was the product of his attempt at hatching an old and ancient dragon egg found within one of his family¡¯s estates. He¡¯d succeeded in hatching a dragon but failed as the dragon died in its infancy mere moments later.


    Cedric wasn¡¯t too broken up about the death, as he obtained dragon scales, blood, and bones to be used in alchemical works.


    The rib cage of the infant dragon was alchemically rendered into an ultra-dense curved length of bone, the base and original design of his wand. However, in his attempts at attuning with the bone wand, he shattered it when he infused an ungodly amount of magic into the bone. To fix this issue, Cedric used ¡®golden joinery¡¯, often known as Kintsugi with a stolen adamantium show piece short-sword. This bound the shattered bone with the melted metal, and the attempt at attunement went through with wondrous results.


    A wand functioned as a foci, the lacing of enchanted adamantium infused with his mana allowed it to easily channel his energies, drawing on the innate strength and power of a dragon¡¯s lineage and blood to add a bit of extra potency to his spells. The painite gemstone held at the butt of the wand acted as a battery and amplifier for magical spells casted using the tool. The unique and ridiculously rare gemstone made up of zirconium, calcium, boron, aluminum, and oxygen held interesting mystical effects too.


    The gemstone had a unique coloration of being utterly black with streaks of burning crimson throughout its transparent crystalline form. The exact purities of these elements were alchemically altered and modified to enhance this unique coloration. Painite itself was used in his wand¡¯s creation due to its unique coloration and rarity, but even more critically was its mystical symbology and how it affected the casting of certain spells.


    Painite granted Cedric an uncanny ability in casting cursed flames, fires that couldn¡¯t be snuffed, caused horrifically painful and incurable wounds, and fires that fed on unique energies like Aura or Magic instead of base oxygen. These flames were usually horrendously difficult to control, but using a painite gemstone as a focus allowed eerie dominance over those formidable forces.


    Other gemstones held similar abilities in the control, power, and finesse in casting magical spells of certain schools and discipline, but Painite held itself as utterly unique and synergized wonderfully with the bones of a red dragon and the unique coloration of adamantium. Cedric had been debating a name for his wand for ages, and even now was hesitant on what to name the item. This was due to the fact that Cedric was painfully aware of the fact that the artifact he¡¯d created was absolutely unique, if not legendary.


    The value of the wand was unknown, even to Cedric, for it was a truly one-of-a-kind work. Wands that he¡¯d been offered to use by tutors were tools of dramatically worse quality, made from wood and alchemically rendered magically receptive catalysts; far worse than the natural synergistic ingredients he¡¯d use to make his own. Other wands he¡¯d seen were often unadorned with gems, and those that tended to be exceptionally overpriced for their practicality; either falling into one of two categories, blatantly gaudy, or decorative showpieces. From auctions he¡¯d attended, social functions, or even his inspections of his mother¡¯s wand; they were all significantly poorer quality, showing just how powerful of a wand he¡¯d managed to create for himself.


    His wand thus deserved the most protective of curses and a powerful name, a name that he¡¯d been tongue tied in applying to the implement.


    ¡®It will come eventually.¡¯ Cedric decided as he kept himself wary of thieves, as it¡¯d be a shame to become the center of attention when a would-be fool starts screaming in utmost agony.


    In his travels, he soon found himself within a location most interesting within the city. Located near the Northern Gates, the towering stone walls protected by mystical wards and magical enchantments dominated the skyline. The homes and buildings within this area were far sturdier, constructed out of stone, brick, or insulated wood. Gates of iron and steel separated this area into easy to control blocks, and the pedestrians thinned away. People still populated this district, but it was filled with a different sort.


    Men and women of all kinds of races and cultures, even those not belonging to the Orestien Empire milled about the streets. They wore armor, cloaks, heavy clothing fit for the environment, and all manner of weapons decorated their bodies. He couldn¡¯t help but stare at a man covered entirely in white fur, a thick circular shield of steel attached to his furry left forearm, while a heavy mace dangled from his right hip. His face was savage and monkey-like, primitive, yet holding undeniable sapience and intelligence within his eyes. Joining him was a thin and tall figure that Cedric had seen too many to not know was an Elf; a pair of sabers were at his side with a cloak of white made to camouflage into snowy terrain hiding his features.


    It was rare to see an elf not in a collar within The Empire, the Western regions of the empire constantly raiding and skirmishing with the eclectic mixture of tribes and dominions located within the Great Eshal Forests. The Eshal Forests was a massive expanse of forests that expanded from the far north with boreal pines and dense primeval winter wonderlands. This Great Forest extended to the dense jungles of the south, unseparated by prairies and instead melded with a rainforest folded within the Great Eshal Forests; for the feature consisted of dozens of conjoined forests that evolved and mutated to their environments; uncut by mountains, and those that did exist were dominated by the forests either way.


    From the moderate temperate forests in the west, along with the famous giant redwoods along the coast of the continent, to the sweltering heats of the rainforests down south, and the freezing boreal forests that bled off into the northern tundra and southern deserts. Within this massive expanse of land lived ancient elvish peoples who remembered the last empire that bordered them, one that fell and shattered, only to be recently reunited under a new culture and banner. Isolated within these massive forests, the Empire¡¯s existence was likely a myth or boogieman to the Elvish people who lived in its depths.


    The Empire was a beast that fed itself on war; conquering nations, engaging in rapid expansion, employing the integration of average citizenry into the empire, and the enslavement of any and all that rivaled them. There were massive industries established all across the empire, from combat sports, sexual slavery, trained servants, warrior slaves, and more. It left the Empire with few allies that didn¡¯t share the human-centric ideology that it so espoused and created a xenophobic culture to go along with it.


    The Empire, however, did have quite a few allies; surrounded as it was by enemies, concessions were needed to be made to survive the game of global politics. From the Dwarven Clans and Gnomish Kingdoms, and even other Human City States led by extremely powerful and independent individuals; the world was more than just the Empire. However, with the human-centric policies of the Empire, it led to a nation dominated by stigmas; all built to feed the engine of war, to feed itself, and to constantly advance its imperialistic desires.


    If there was a breaking light within this grim situation, it would have to be the enforced international neutrality that was allotted to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild, allowing the free wandering of non-human individuals he saw before him today.


    In a world with magic and monsters, there were people who were powerful enough to cleave the mountains in twain, or rewrite reality; the talented few who desired to put their talents to the good of all raised a banner that stood tall throughout ages and weathered the fall and rise of empires and nations. The origins and history of the Adventurer¡¯s Guild was a mystery, although Cedric had suspicions about an individual like himself starting the stereotypical cliche organization in ages past.


    The Adventurer¡¯s Guild was an eclectic mixture of men and women from all walks of life, all races, cultures, and ethnic groups that wanted to put their talents in adventure, exploration, and combat to good use; they ranged from merely adventurous spirits, mercenaries, people on hard times, to outcasts and wanderers. Whether it be rare artifacts needing to be recovered from dangerous depths, a rescue mission of gnomish miners lost in dark tunnels, the slaughter and extermination of a goblin camp, the exploration of a newly discovered desert temple filled with unholy undead, or the bounty of a black dragon that has been terrorizing the northern waterways for the last few years; Adventurers were the ones to call.


    Adventurers traveled the globe in search of the next mission that would pad their bank accounts, enjoying diplomatic immunity within nations that employed their kind, although often with several caveats and restrictions.


    The Empire employed the Adventurers Guild in cities that needed a Guild, which were usually frontier cities and towns. Despite being an old capital of the nation, Paraval was a far northern city that was neighbor to plenty of nasties and monsters native to its region. It attracted the sorts that saw wealth and danger aplenty within its mountainous valleys, tall mountains, and northern wastes. The nobility would pay out the nose for a Desert Snow Fox pelt, or a mantel piece of a felled Great Elk, or ancient ruins and archaeological finds dating back to the oldest of civilizations.


    Adventurers held a twisted reputation with the nobility and social structure within the Empire. The common citizenry disliked Adventurers, being fed propaganda that alienated foreigners, outsiders, and those that were different to the cut standards of the Imperial Dogma. The nobility were an eclectic mixture of opinions, of course, but most either fell into two camps; one regarded them with disdain, viewing them as uncultured ruffians and vagrants, hypocritically purchasing goods that were obtained through their exploits. Others offered bare levels of respect, seeing them as competent mercenaries with wide ranging experience obtained through years of travel and exploration. Valuable and expendable tools worth the price needed to purchase them.


    They were integral facets to many cities private and public economic sectors, providing martial assistance, information, or magical aid to a city¡¯s law enforcement and guard when offered a contract. They also at times were recruited with standing armies, although the imperial armies would only recruit the best and most powerful of Adventurers to use as ¡®Heroic Units¡¯, as hiring undisciplined mercenaries would ruin the formation and fighting style of their armies. Adventurers often conformed to Party Mechanics, operating in elite and small groups; although outliers that organized themselves with traditional professional formation fighting indicative of Mercenaries were present just as well. Any general knew that obtaining the services of a powerful foreign mage or skilled Warrior could help turn the tides of battle, as those that were skilled in magic or Aura were often seen as tactical -and in certain rare cases- strategic resources.


    In a private sector, they were recruited and offered contracts to serve or perform a service or duty by a private citizen or nobility. This allowed, say, an Alchemist to obtain a rushed order of a specific plant species they need to brew a potion. With enough silver or gold depending on how rare and dangerous it would be to obtain said reagent, they could get a squad of newbies or professional rangers to head out and collect a hefty supply of ingredients that an alchemist without the means to travel to far-off -and often dangerous- locations wouldn¡¯t otherwise have been capable of obtaining.


    Cedric himself had done so plenty of times, ordering entire shopping lists of alchemical reagents from Adventurers and citing inside his contract that he needed them to be of utmost quality. The first time he¡¯d tried doing so, the livers of the dark fay he¡¯d requested were mulched inside glass jars. It required a premium cost of service, of course, but it was worthwhile for a young boy just reaching into his teens and was otherwise incapable of ranging out into the wilderness to search for reagents on his lonesome.


    This district within Paraval was known as ¡®The Military District¡¯, and wasn¡¯t just populated by Adventurers. Adventurers were usually regulated to residing within the area, both for security reasons in the city wanting to keep an eye on the population of super soldiers, but also to separate the rough-and-tough drifters from the culturally dismissive or derisive folk of Paraval itself. The military folk of the Military District were far more ambivalent with the Adventurers, discipline keeping them professional at worst with the foreigners despite propaganda and prejudice leaking into personal bias. It at times led to conflict, but it was a manageable conflict done within an area that risked little civilian casualties. Officers were trained to de-escalate situations between both parties, and Adventurers were briefed that the Empire didn¡¯t often rule in the favor of non-humans when it came time to punish the parties involved in the disturbance of peace.


    There was another reason that the Adventurers were kept in the district. The Military District was home to a wide variety of garrisons and was kept to the most northern section of Paraval, which was also the most fortified and defended position of the city. This was due to the commonality of raiders and enemies from the distant north; from frost goblins, to barbarians, giants, jotun, ettins, werebeasts, and rogue necromancers. Paraval had weathered sieges for centuries and was built into a geologically advantageous position of high ground. The southern and eastern half of the city was built into the edges of a cliff, with the lower slum districts being located at the bottom.


    To attack those high-density living situations, often referred to as the ¡®Weeping District¡¯ for the howling winds that crashed against the cliff edge, an invading army would need to round the Northern and Western wall and swing further south. Then they¡¯d need to clear the remaining cliff edge, then head back north to attack the southern walls that protected the dilapidated and less economically supported portions of the city. Even then, there wouldn¡¯t be anything much to be gained from attacking the slums, as it was exceptionally easy to block the freight elevators and winding narrow foot paths that climbed up the cliff faces leading into Paraval proper.


    Adventurers located within the district would be exceptionally willing to defend the Guild and their current sleeping arrangements in the case of a siege scenario, and in this way Paraval kept a garrison of powerful mercenaries that just needed the promise of some form of reward to assist in the defense of the city in a state of emergency. The City Lord and the Empire couldn¡¯t force the Adventurers to fight, but situation and circumstance could often force even the pacifist among them to lash out.


    Cedric made his way through this district, passing by formations of on-duty guards that passed by lounging and relaxing soldiers that were off duty. At times one could see Adventurers and Paraval natives interacting, although a keen eye would notice that these interactions were almost always with gnomish, dwarven, and human adventurers. Elvish, demi-human, beast-kin, or otherwise divergent sapient species were generally ignored or avoided by the off-duty soldiers, far more willing to engage in conversation with allied species.


    Dwarves and Gnomes were viewed as equals by many within The Empire, usually within regions that housed those races natively. Natives of those regions had grown up and had innate cultural relations with those races and were familiar with the fact that they were little different than themselves. Populations that were foreign to the dwarves and gnomes saw them as inferior, which usually consisted of the southern states as it was only in the northern mountains, along the Rachtan Ridges, and the Highland Foothills that one encountered their populations. Paraval had a large population of gnomes and dwarves who worked the forges and created the ideas that inspired the recent technological advancements into some form of renaissance.


    The technologies that came from Paraval were advanced, however, the fame and renown that was brought with these advancements were little despite how great they were advancing the Empire¡¯s economy and power. Technology and its advancements were seen as gimmicks and tricks when compared to the power and convenience that magic professed, with the rest of the Empire seeing the clockwork factories that produced their clothes, textiles, industry standard shipping containers, swords, armor, and so much more as ¡®mere novelties¡¯. The floating airships that sailed the skies and the powerful magi-tech cannon arms were less seen as an engineer and tinker¡¯s labor, and more as the enchanter and artificer¡¯s construction. Their effectiveness was applied to magic, not the technologies, ideas, and automated labor that leveraged magic to not need constant maintenance and observation from a mage to function.


    Cedric soon arrived not to his chosen living situation, but instead to his primary destination, one that he¡¯d refrained from telling the Knight Captain; although he had little doubt that the man surmised his goals. He took a deep breath, smoothing out his coat, before bowing forward and opening the thick and heavy reinforced pine doors that barred the Adventurer¡¯s Guild.


    The doors opened to a wild house of activity, his eyes going wide with the sights he saw off rip.


    A gnomish man, or teen rather, was hanging on the flailing body of an irate elf, the two stumbling through the crowds of roaring and laughing men and women of several different races and species. A wood-kin ent slowly lumbered along, a tray of wood fused to its long branch-like hands supporting a dozen stacked drinks that were maneuvered to skillfully dodge the stumbling and gyrating motions of the packed house. A table filled with bulky orcish or brutal-looking humans roared and cheered as their fellows engaged in card games, slamming their tables with thick mugs filled with sloshing alcohol that had them buzzed and slurring.


    Cedric glanced over to where a band of merry fae-looking men were playing flutes and lutes, the joyous sound of a steady beat from a drum being played by a goblin and dwarf duo dancing along the floor with laughter and shouts of ire and outrage echoing through the music¡¯s buzz. A satyr¡¯s hooves clapped and clopped on the wooden stage of the band of bards, a calming melody of magic swimming through the air; keeping tensions low and things peaceful. Cedric felt the magic easily, the weak enchantment failing to breach the fortress and citadels of mental defenses he had woven into his mind.


    Staff and waiters served dishes of rich stew, hearty meats, and delicious rich meals fit for a hearty adventure. All the while at the edge of this ferment of activity and revelry, serious parties of adventures murmured in dark corners, spreading out maps and charts, inspecting pages of worn and cut contracts nailed or stabbed to walls and tables by many patrons. Then to the far back where the noises of a kitchen¡¯s activities sounded out, an adjacent selection of booths were lined up on the far wall filled with clerks conversing with party leaders as they engaged in negotiations and debriefings of various contracts. Others cheered as they left those lines, hefting a thick bag of clinking coins that was tossed onto a table to reveal the contents of gold and silver, eagerly inspected by the party at large.


    Cedric stumbled and made his way through the organized chaos, more familiar with balls of waltzing couples and dancing motions than the vibrant energy that populated this guild hall. He soon made his way through the crowds, mumbling apologies out of reflex as he bumped into every odd patron, and eventually stood in line and waited patiently for his turn to talk to a clerk.


    Cedric soon arrived at the front of his line and smiled at the dwarfish man who inspected him with narrowed eyes over gleaming spectacles.


    ¡°Don¡¯t quite recognize ye¡¯, laddie. You¡¯ve got the Paraval colorin¡¯, but yer¡¯ features foreign as could be.¡± The dwarf grinned and rapped the counter of his box. ¡°Name and registration, then we can get to what ya¡¯ need.¡±


    ¡°Cedric Alkahest.¡± The dwarf froze, eyes snapping up to stare at Cedric¡¯s amused gray eyes. ¡°No registration, I¡¯m afraid. Although, I¡¯d like that to change.¡± He smiled.


    The clerk swallowed visibly, ¡°Registering, aye?¡± He wrung his hands, reigning in his nerves as he fell back onto his training. ¡°As a member of da¡¯ nobility, yer¡¯ barred from the protections of the Adventurer¡¯s Guild and will be limited in accepting requests and contracts confined to yer¡¯ country of entitlement.¡± He ducked down and pulled out a file, then fiddled with it, soon pulling out a selection of papers. ¡°I have er¡¯ some papers yu¡¯ll be needin¡¯ ta sign, then you¡¯ll be verified with da¡¯ truth stone and we can get ya¡¯ registered.¡±


    Cedric nodded, taking up the papers and briefly scanning over them. He bid his leave to the dwarf and exited the line, heading over to the busy tavern area. He found a secluded and recently abandoned table, still somewhat filthy from food and spilled drink. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand, banishing and removing the filth before setting himself up at the table, placing his trunk within the feet of the table. He spread out his forms and documents, eyes roving over them within short order, dissecting legal information and binding wordage


    He started work on filling out his information, rummaging around inside his jacket to reveal a fountain pen with a golden tip, before touching it to paper and citing his full name: Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest. He then filled in the circle of being a ¡®Mage¡¯ with the optional Party Roles section. Then he was prompted to write a brief description of his abilities.


    Cedric wrote that he was a talented and skilled alchemist, an adept enchanter of both mind and matter, and a proficient illusionist. He further stated that his skills within warding and abjuration were his current focus in study and stated an ¡®average¡¯ level of capability in removing, assaulting, or creating such defenses. For his offensive capabilities, he declared that he focused mainly on three types of magic; acidic transmutation and the manipulation of said acidic compounds, cursed fires that were tied to an extreme level of control in his pyromancy and was also skilled in the usage of lightning as a long-range offensive element. He neglected to mention a few other details of his magical proficiencies and abilities, like his fascination with learning any and all magic capable of making life more convenient; like his hair cleaning magic. Most mages would find it a hilarious and vain waste of time to learn a spell to specifically clean one¡¯s hair. Cedric found it quite practical, as hygiene was always important in his mind.


    After that section, Cedric moved onto a long bit of legalese with complex wording that omitted the Adventurer''s Guild from incurring repercussions from his actions, before eventually ending with a consent form that stated he would willingly undergo a verification process that required a short admittance to questions answered under a truth orb.


    The Questions were listed on the document and were basic things like if he¡¯d ever committed a crime worthy of the death sentence, if he was wanted in any province, if he had a bounty, and one¡¯s intent in becoming an Adventurer.


    Cedric signed the document with his signature, a fancy slap-dash of a cursive band consisting of a stylized A overlapping with a C.  He went to get up from his chair, only to glance up and see a woman standing at his side. He raised an eyebrow at the human woman who stood next to his seat, a hand in her pocket and a soft infirm, but kind smile on her face. She looked nervous, or rather, anxious looking at the paper he¡¯d just finished filling out.


    ¡°You¡¯re signing up too?¡± She asked, curiosity and nerves evident in her voice. He glanced down and noticed that she held a stack of papers identical to the ones he¡¯d just finished filling out.


    Cedric smiled, ¡°I am indeed.¡± He admitted, leaning back into his seat¡¯s backrest. ¡°Nervous?¡± He poked with a teasing smile.


    The woman smiled bitterly, ¡°Yeah. I, just, it¡¯s a chance for a better life.¡± She whispered, glancing around the guild hall, seeing the joyful atmosphere of the diverse group of monster hunters and explorers. ¡°Don¡¯t quite want to screw it up.¡± She sighed.


    Cedric chuckled weakly, ¡°I understand that.¡± He said truthfully.


    She perked up at that, hesitation taking over her demeanor. ¡°Why are you¡­¡± She started but realized that it could come off as rude.


    The young man shook his head, ¡°Freedom of adventure, exploration, a challenge, the experience; all of it and more.¡± He said with a wry grin, ¡°What¡¯s your¡¯s, if I might ask?¡±


    She sighed, ¡°Money.¡± She admitted softly, ¡°My sister and I, we¡¯re looking for work. I know a few spells, and I learn fast! If I can just get enough money together, maybe I could¡­¡± She let out another bitter sigh. ¡°It¡¯s a fool''s dream.¡± She muttered, gazing down at her documents.


    The dower woman was startled by an amused chuckle, ¡°The fool represents a new beginning, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner¡¯s luck, improvisation, and believing in the universe.¡± Cedric recited from memory. ¡°Perhaps all you need make, is a leap of faith.¡± He gave her an encouraging smile.


    She smiled, the words buoying her determination. ¡°Thank you.¡± She bowed, ¡°I, erm, my name is Alice. Alice Casamer.¡±


    ¡°Cedric.¡± He held a hand out and she took it firmly. They shook, before Alice¡¯s name was called.


    From the throngs of adventurers another girl waved her over to a clear and claimed table.


    ¡°Go with courage.¡± Cedric intoned a common saying within the empire.


    Alice smiled and waved, leaving Cedric to his doings. He stood and headed to the lines once more, soon appearing before the Dwarf once again who briefly scanned his documents. He chuffed at the description of his abilities, both disbelieving, but also tentatively restraining his doubt. Who knew what the Great Noble houses fed their kids?


    ¡°Hmm, looks like everythin¡¯s in order.¡± The clerk mumbled, ¡°I¡¯ll head n¡¯ back and grab a proctor. Stay around da¡¯ tavern and they¡¯ll pick ya¡¯ up and take ye¡¯ ta da¡¯ backrooms, ja?¡±


    Cedric nodded, ¡°Understood.¡± He said, once again returning to his cleared table, his spot saved by the large trunk he¡¯d placed by the table. He sat and waited, a wench coming to his table to take an order, where he placed one for a mug of mead. Mead was rarely served within social functions within southern nobility, more reserved for the northern regions of the Empire.


    He found himself halfway through his drink when someone cleared their throat, drawing his attention. He glanced up, his eyes widening as he found himself staring at an elf.


    Beyond her pointy long ears with a scattering of golden rings hanging from them, the woman¡¯s face was a mess of scars. Her right eye was likely gone, hidden away by a length of cloth pulled over her forehead and hiding away the right side of her face. From that length of cloth three streams of cruel scars extended down from her face, carving along her cheek, skipping over plush if cracked lips, and a single scar extended all the way down along the side of her throat. Her left cheek wasn¡¯t free from damage either, as she sported similar, if less damaging scars there as well.


    Her skin was a light gray, as if desaturated from color which paired nicely with her white stringy hair that fell from a black cloaked hood, strung over the bandages that hid her right eye from view. A sole silvery-white iris stared down at him with interest. Her nose held a piercing of gold hanging above her lips, and her dress was plain, if functional with bandoliers and mail covering her form. Blades hung from her sides and chest, attached to her leathers, and it was clear that this gray elf was an experienced survivalist.


    ¡°Would you happen to be my proctor?¡± Cedric asked, an eyebrow raised.


    The woman¡¯s eye narrowed, ¡°Not even a bit of scorn¡­¡± She whispered.


    ¡°Say again?¡± Cedric asked as he stood, the din of the tavern quite loud and her words lost in the noise.


    ¡°...Nothing.¡± She spoke more clearly, but it was obvious that her voice was a soft one naturally, forcing Cedric to listen closely lest he not hear her. ¡°Come.¡± She stated next, turning and slipping through the throngs of rowdy adventurers.


    Cedric stood and followed the enigmatic woman, following her cloak¡¯s tail as he pushed and squeezed his way through the crowded tavern, soon finding the woman holding a door open leading to the back of the adventurer¡¯s guild.


    Cedric entered and the door closed behind him, the young noble not reacting to the woman brushing past him as he inspected the room itself. It was a simple arrangement with a heavy wooden desk supporting a large crystalline orb on its center. Two seats were placed between the orb on adjacent sides of the table, to which the elvish woman took the farthest.


    He pulled out his own and settled in, inspecting the Truth Orb with interested academic eyes. It wasn¡¯t his first time inspecting one of these devices, and he was actually exceptionally skilled in creating them; it left him aware of some of their faults, with this one being quite of a significant quality, although he noted that it was set at a very general level of ¡®truth¡¯.


    The ones that Cedric made were usually sold at various auctions, purchased by those needing a means of ripping into the minds of troublesome individuals and to pry secrets out of their mind-flesh. They were less truth orbs and more interrogation spheres, although he¡¯d heard that some called them Nightmare Orbs as they used the fears and mental weaknesses of the victim to...weaken the mind.


    He sat down and sighed, staring intently as the woman¡¯s bandage covered fingers reached out and stroked along the orb, the device lighting up with arcane energies.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be quick.¡± She muttered, ¡°Have you ever been charged with a crime within the Orestien Empire?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Cedric stated easily. The orb held no reaction.


    She nodded, ¡°Due to your claim of being a member of high nobility, I must ask for proof of identity. Are you Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, scion of the Ducal House of The Alkahest?¡±


    ¡°I am he.¡± Cedric chuckled.


    The elf nodded, ¡°What are your intentions in joining the Adventurer¡¯s Guild?¡±


    ¡°A bit of a loaded question.¡± He said with mock amusement, before getting serious and answering honestly.


    ¡°Adventure, experience, a bit of wealth and greed.¡± He listed, ¡°Getting to know the world, obtaining alchemical reagents on my lonesome, slaying monsters, a dash of fame; maybe some love?¡± He grinned, expecting a reaction from the other woman, but sighed when he saw her frozen face of stoic disinterest, ¡°Plenty of reasons to risk one¡¯s life if they find it has reason.¡± He ended with a shrug.


    The elf¡¯s face was stoic, her sole eye staring at him blankly, before she nodded. ¡°Thank you for your time.¡± She reached down to a drawer inside the desk and pulled it open, retrieving a copper tag. She slid it over to him, ¡°You can return to the reception desk and finish your registration. We will be watching your adventure with interest.¡±


    Cedric took the copper tag, inspecting it in the soft natural light bleeding through the window. He grinned and nodded, tucking the tag away into one of his long coat¡¯s pockets. ¡°Many thanks.¡± He bowed his head and left the room, ignoring the inquisitive stare following his back.


    His posture slouched once he¡¯d escaped the elf¡¯s gaze, rubbing a hand along his neck and trying to relieve some tension inside his body. He wasn¡¯t truly nervous about the questions or weak interrogation, but rather it was the elf herself that gave him the chills. Like she was staring at some strange exotic animal and wanted to know why it wasn¡¯t acting like the rest of its kin.


    Cedric had adapted well to the life of a noble, for the most part. In his past life, he was a somewhat socially inactive and reclusive man, an introvert to put simply. To be reborn as a noble and to be expected to be a silver-tongued devil was unrealistic to such a man who still had that core personality. Thankfully, the noble classes had a wonderful thing that Cedric leaned on heavily, something that allowed him to get through social interactions without coming off as rude or socially incapable.


    Etiquette.


    A strict set of mannerisms, words, and the fast-thinking actions that allowed one to politely depart from a conversation and engage within one while not saying anything truly meaningful. His speech had been tainted by his lessons, and he often found himself speaking in a very ¡®posh¡¯ manner. He didn¡¯t truly mind that he spoke this way, but his etiquette was truly his only defense against the sharp and barbed tongues of other nobility.


    However, despite his semi-proficiency within etiquette, Cedric had holes inside his noble persona that he played when interacting with basically everyone.


    Cedric didn¡¯t have many of the noble classes¡¯ biases, opinions, or perspectives. It came from being an American from another world, one who¡¯s read a hundred different fantasy stories, and thus had his own personal perspectives and biases towards the manyfold races, peoples, and cultures within this world. A man who had his own thoughts before he was even born. A man who could rationalize and make opinions and conjectures, one who could moralize actions and decisions on his lonesome. One who was an outsider to this world and thus existed within it without much of any influence on his own opinions regarding things like racism, class disputes, slavery, politics, and so much more.


    A noble would never speak or talk kindly with a woman of a lower class, unless they were plotting something deceitful like indebting them into slavery and kindly purchasing their contract. A noble would never willingly walk into an Adventurer¡¯s Guild, let alone become an adventurer unless they were a fallen nobility exiled from their country. An Orestien noble would never joke and smile around an elf and not show some sign of disdain, vile lust, or other hostile response to their mere presence.


    ¡®I wonder if she thinks I¡¯m some kind of masterful plant or spy? Or maybe I¡¯m just a foolish sheltered noble who¡¯s never experienced the outside world?¡¯ The latter was true, in utmost honesty. Cedric was sheltered, and he saw becoming an Adventurer was a way that he could break that.


    He rolled his eyes and entered the lines once again, soon reaching his favorite dwarven clerk and passing him the metal tag he¡¯d received.


    ¡°Good on ya¡¯, lad.¡± The dwarf gave him a smile, ¡°I¡¯ll get ya¡¯ processed in a jiffy. In da¡¯ meantime, why don¡¯t ya¡¯ look around at da¡¯ board over yonder?¡± He jerked his bearded chin over to the request board. ¡°Don¡¯t be lookin¡¯ at any high-rankin¡¯ quests, ya¡¯ here? Just in da¡¯ copper, ye?¡±


    Cedric nodded and took back his copper plate. The Adventurer¡¯s Guild functioned on a meritocracy-based system with members climbing in ranks of plates, with the higher valued plates being of higher ranks. Those with those higher ranks could obtain more difficult or specialty requests, as the Guild was careful in promoting and allowing certain groups to take requests, having files and reports on a party or individual¡¯s capabilities.


    If the Quest Master, the clerk assigned to the management of receiving and accepting adventurer questing requests, thought an adventurer party that was of an acceptable rank for a quest wasn¡¯t capable of venturing on a certain quest; then he could veto their choice of request.


    Said veto request would go to the Guild Master and their Adjutant where they would check the Quest Master¡¯s power and if they were abusing it, as the Quest Master would need to cite reasons why he would veto the quest from that party; like if they weren¡¯t equipped for the job, or they lacked a ranged unit capable of downing say, a wyvern.


    Cedric was the lowest rank within the Adventurer¡¯s Guild, Copper. He took the dwarven clerk¡¯s advice and walked over to the request board and started perusing the various quests pasted or nailed into the cork. Most were out of his rank, and those that were Copper rank were somewhat foul in nature, however, Cedric wasn¡¯t a germaphobe or someone afraid of getting his hands dirty. He wouldn¡¯t be an alchemist if that was the case, as that job involved some of the foulest deeds imaginable.


    With one last glance over the rest of the board, Cedric took the Department of City Maintenance¡¯s monthly request of cleaning the sewers of any mana-mutated rats or other creatures. The quest recommended a party of at least five, but Cedric was confident in his abilities in taking this quest alone. The creatures within the sewers were somewhat deadly; giant rats, rabid and heavily mutated cats, an overpopulation of oozes and slimes that consumed and fed on the city¡¯s wastes, along with poisonous and deadly fungi and mosses that grew on the heated water pipes.


    Cedric also took the Department of City Maintenance¡¯s quest for repair and maintenance on the sewers, something that he was confident in doing. He¡¯d done some investigation into the technological level of this world, and the plumbing and water systems of this world were just primitive versions of his own with the cheaty addition of runes allowing easy heating and pressure. He was confident in his ability in performing some plumbing maintenance, cleaning of the sessile organisms that grew on them, repairing damaged piping, and maybe doing some water purity and safety tests.


    The request itself was rather vague, largely just talking about removing sessile organisms from the pipes themselves; although Cedric saw it as a public service to employ his full capabilities in testing the exact Ph, alkalinity, and purity levels of the water.


    ¡®It''s been a long time since I had an actual goal to use my magic for¡­¡¯ Cedric thought with a grin. Knowing magic meant that Cedric effectively had a truck full of power tools, industrial machines, and a fabrication bench in the form of transmutation at all times. Every bit of work he took using those tools, thanks to his modifications to his psyche, was exceptionally entertaining and fulfilling. Mastering, improving, and developing new tools was a joy that never got old. However, research and experimentation could only go so far, before one wanted to actually use those skills and tools for something.


    Cedric had done a few projects in his past, his wand his crowning achievement, a few potions he¡¯d brewed that cured illnesses he¡¯d discovered in towns or cities his family had estates within, the time he built a railgun and shot it at a mountain; removing a significant amount of that mountain and hastily dissembling said railgun so-as-to not get in trouble.


    ¡®Fun times.¡¯ He thought dreamily.


    Regardless, Cedric had the tools and education to perform a bit of extra maintenance on the city¡¯s sewer systems. The pay was garbage, but it was something to get him started. He had a few weeks to kill before the Academy opened anyway, so grinding his Adventurer Rank was something that would effectively slay said time.


    Once more, he joined the lines of adventurers, before greeting the dwarven clerk. He pushed forward his two quests with a grin.


    The dwarf smiled, one that was frozen as he gazed down at the two quests. His eyes darted up to Cedric, inspecting him. ¡°Looks like ah¡¯ noble.¡± He muttered. His eyes narrowed, ¡°Talks like a noble.¡±


    Cedric laughed, ¡°Then it must be a noble.¡± He joined in.


    ¡°Nah, what kinda¡¯ noble'' would wanna do maintenance work on da¡¯ sewers?¡± The dwarf poked with joking suspicion.


    ¡°The one who¡¯s actually good at alchemy.¡± Cedric stated blandly, ¡°Trust me when I say that I¡¯ve smelled and worked with worse things than feces and wastewater.¡±


    The dwarf had to swallow his stomach back down at that, ¡°Yeh¡¯, not touchin¡¯ that topic with a ten-foot pole.¡± The dwarf muttered. He hummed, ¡°You¡¯ve been trained in close quarter combat?¡± He asked.


    Cedric frowned, ¡°My combat experience has been limited to dueling with enchanted armors and golems that I¡¯ve created.¡± He admitted, ¡°But, in truth, adding more people to a party with me would simply reduce what I could reasonably cast; at least, not without harming them.¡±


    ¡°Good point.¡± The dwarf mused. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll trust ya¡¯ not ta¡¯ die in dem¡¯ dark tunnels. Be embarrassin¡¯ for a scion of a ducal house ta¡¯ die down der¡¯.¡± The dwarf became tense as his mouth ran off without his mind. There were some things that one simply didn¡¯t say around scions, and ¡®embarrassing ones house¡¯ came to the forefront of the mind.


    Only to be bewildered as Cedric laughed. ¡°Right?¡± He chuckled.


    The dwarf pushed past the mortification and stamped both quests to be approved. He slid them to Cedric and the young man took them, inspecting the verification stamp. He nodded to the dwarf and left the lines, heading to his table where his trunk and mead rested. He took them up, chugging back the rest of his mead, whipped his mouth, before leaving the Adventurer¡¯s Guild.


    He needed to find The Warrens, get his room set up with adequate wards, before heading out on his quests.


    ¡®I feel like I¡¯m finally living¡­¡¯ Cedric thought lightly, enjoying the winds and chill, the movement and sway of people. He navigated the Military District, coming to its edges where very few patrols migrated. Here adventurer populations were intense. Cedric spotted the tall five story Bavarian-looking building, one with an ornate glowing enchanted sign named ¡®The Warrens¡¯. He went to enter the building, only to step back as a beast woman and a human stumbled out of the doors, loosely dressed and drunk.


    Much like elves, the Southern States had to deal with raids of Beastkin Tribes, anthropomorphic humanoids with varying levels of animalistic features. Some Beastkin were effectively animals that just learned how to talk and walk upright like humanity, while some looked like humans with subtle traits of their animal species; like a secondary pair of ears on their heads, melding with their hair, or a tail, some form of texture on their skin, strange eyes and so on.


    He was three when he first met a Beast as they were called within the Empire, and ironically enough, his first thought was a Polehammer 50K meme of ¡®Purge the Unclean!¡¯. Hilarious to him, but undeniably racist inside this world. He¡¯d admit that due to being from Earth and a part of the nerdy culture that heavily sexualized the Beast-Kin, he was objectively a racist within this world. Every Beast-Kin was a husbando or waifu that some nerdy weeb would love to simp for, and it brought him endless amusement and inside jokes.


    He sidestepped the stumbling couple, before entering The Warrens. Inside he walked over to the receptionist, the human woman not paying attention before he rang the bell on the desk. She jolted and quickly apologized, ¡°Sorry, I was distracted. What can I help you with today, sir?¡±


    Cedric smiled, ¡°I have a reservation for a room under the name of Cedric Ala-Khan.¡±


    The woman nodded, paging through a booklet, only to pause in shock. ¡°Aha, yes¡­¡± She whispered, ¡°You¡¯ve rented the penthouse for the following year.¡±


    It was as expensive as it sounded. The Warrens was the high-class location that catered to Adventurers, filled with delicious catering services, service women and men, cleaning staff, a wide variety of amenities like an on-site medical center and Healer, and basically the ideal representation of luxury for any would-be adventurer weary of the road.


    It was expensive even to those that were in the Silver Rank, and the Penthouse would be a place that was more reserved for Gold Ranks. To rent it out for the following year was outright insane.


    It cost Cedric 7 gold a day and multiplied by 364; he spent 2,548 gold pieces to rent the penthouse for that length of time.


    That was all of his own money, as Cedric himself was exceptionally rich. Like, stupidly rich. He didn¡¯t just brew potions and set them on a shelf to forget about them. No, he signed contracts with auction houses and merchant groups wherever he visited various cities and towns to sell his potions, enchanted artifacts, and other products.


    He wasn¡¯t exactly talented at managing a business; with his constant travels to various regions across the Empire in search of more alchemical reagents and his family¡¯s scattered libraries, his sales drifted away from bulk sales to high quality premium goods that were sold inside restricted auction houses. Very rarely he¡¯d create high-value bulk goods and sell them to a powerful and influential merchant, all to create connections.


    Cedric had a whole line of personally developed bedroom enhancers that generated a disgusting amount of wealth when sold inside said auctions. From alchemically produced gemstones, similarly produced rare metals that were transfigured into deadly armaments or hides and silks made into fantastical and modern styles of clothing, or powerful defensive artifacts, to artistic works of decadence. His market and target demographic was as broad as he was creatively willing to push it, mainly aimed towards filthy rich nobles with more money than sense.


    His accounts, combined, totaled roughly 1,209 Mythril. For reference, a farmer made roughly five silver a year, a loaf of bread costing between eight to four copper pieces. A silver was a hundred coppers, a gold was fifty silvers, a mythril was five platinum, and a platinum was twenty-five gold. Thus, his accounts held, in gold, roughly 151,125 gold pieces.


    That was merely his liquid wealth.


    His close family was ignorant of his achievements, as he sold everything through anonymous channels and pseudo names. Although, he assumed his Grandfather was aware of his profiteering. His grandfather, after all, was getting the reports of his progress within his crafts, penned by yours truly, and how few resources he was spending didn¡¯t align with the amount he was producing.


    He wasn¡¯t exactly dishonest or overly vague when writing those reports, but more¡­Concise? Less a letter that was bragging he achieved tis or tat, and more a scientific document with a hypothesis, listed variables, expected outcomes, cited sources from various texts, his process, and an ultimate conclusion and product analysis. Like he was a scientist reporting his advancements or product reports to his boss.


    His expenditure of House resources was very minimalistic, as whenever he needed money he just sold some flamboyant piece of semi-useful garbage he¡¯d created in a few hours. Boom, an influx of a baronies'' yearly taxes dropped right into his accounts. The only resource he truly used was his house¡¯s name, leveraged to establish or find connections to merchants and people who could do what he needed them to. Then he declared his intent to work not under his house¡¯s name, citing that he wanted to prove himself, yada, yada, average Scion looking for personal recognition; and bam, instant access to the most restricted of markets while maintaining general levels of anonymity.


    It was laughably easy to make money as a proficient enchanter or alchemist, and with a bit of skill in reading the market or identifying his demographics he made absolute bank. He studied the current fashion trends of the knightly lords and their desire to have the ¡®coolest¡¯ armor. Or the noble ladies and sorceresses who were just as fashion minded as their mundane counter-parts. From fancy witch hats to stockings and garter belts, to chains and conditioning collars, to whips and lashes, dresses and robes; Cedric had made plenty of high-selling articles of clothing for any potential noble niche that he could reasonably identify and target.


    His skills in the traditional arts like tailoring, smithing, and so on were non-existent, but with a mixture of some artistic skill in creating a design for whatever he was making, and then using his fine control over the transfiguration of matter material; he could ¡®machine¡¯ or ¡®weave¡¯ anything he so desired so-long as he had a solid mental image and the materials to create what he needed. Effectively a human machining workshop, except even more versatile.


    His work process was effectively a few hours to days spent drawing sketches and detailed artworks of whatever he so desired, from a suit of armor to a wicked blade, or an outfit fit for a goddess; then he obtained all the necessary resources he needed to make the product.


    Communications and shipping between suppliers took anywhere from a week to a month, and then he needed to quality inspect and send back anything not up to his standards. He¡¯d obtain arachne spider silk, treated minotaur leather, wyvern hide, snow fox fur, castoroides furs, any mystical ingredient or essence he needed to weave his enchantments, the alchemical reagents he¡¯d brew into the chemical treatments he¡¯d apply to the materials, the meta-materials like mythril, high-steel, pure gold, orichalcum, adamantium, and their alchemical treatments.


    Then he¡¯d meditate and memorize the piece of art he¡¯d previously drawn, engage the transfiguration rituals to shape the collective materials into what he pictured inside his mind. The process was rather tedious, as he¡¯d obtain a ¡®rough product¡¯ in the first transfiguration. He¡¯d then need to reactivate said transfiguration ritual several times, refining details to utterly unrealistic degrees that no hand could ever replicate. Then he enchanted the final product, weaving mystical energies into binding formulas that were mystically attached to the idea of the artifact and the concepts of the essences he was imbuing into it; then came infusing his magic into the materials of the artifact, and the final coup-de-gras of binding the essences that would power and give heart to the artifact.


    That was the process for his more powerful and valuable products, but shortcuts were the key to making shiploads of gold and platinum. Less detailed artworks, less refined transfigurations, less quality materials, fewer alchemical treatments, simpler enchantments; on and on the shortcuts came and went, reducing the complexity of the task and the time it took for him to perform it. Enchanting was a rare profession, and even at his reduced levels of effort to save on time and resources, Cedric still performed at the league of masters. His most time-consuming products were truly invaluable and were the foundations to his brand¡¯s name within the mouths of the high-nobility within the empire.


    Cedric was wealthy and spending two and a half thousand gold to stay within a fancy resort was nothing off his back. He was at a level of wealth that he truly didn¡¯t know what to even do with his money, save hire accountants who invested a certain percentage of his wealth into various assets, trying to generate money with the sheer weight of it. He wasn¡¯t selling all his products, after all, and while not hoarding his potions and enchanted items, many of his creations were made for personal use, or to practice a certain concept within the art. It meant that his ¡®bank account¡¯ was severely reduced than what it could be, as Cedric wasn¡¯t a company devoted towards profit margins and quarterly quotas; rather he was a freelancer who took breaks and had creative hiatus, dramatically reducing output, but inversely increasing rarity and creating a new market for his branded items due to their simple rarity.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your key, sir.¡± The woman at the desk meekly handed him his key to his room. He took it and inspected the number, a sole 10 engraved on the key. He nodded and headed for the antique elevator that stood within the center of the hall. The elevator was driven largely by magical programming and was lifted not by winches, but rather by rails built into the elevator shaft that had toothed gears. He called the elevator, and its iron gate folded away, allowing him to enter and then press to the highest floor.


    It was a smooth ride to the top floor, and it was here that he was greeted by a short hallway leading down towards the sole room on the floor. He walked over to room ten and opened the door, entering with a grin.


    The floor plan was remarkably open, alchemically tinted one-way windows allowing one to peer down onto the central road that winds its way along the edges of the Northern Walls. A massive bed with its own canopy and curtains was placed at the center of the room, with a fine porcelain bathtub laid out right next to it. The bathtub was large enough to fit around five people comfortably, and around seven if they squeezed. Across the large room was the bathroom with folding wooden windows open to reveal a large shower and another bathtub, along with a toilet and a counter with attached sinks. Cedric walked over to the closet first, located near the large bathtub. He opened it and found a few towels inside, to which he moved to the side to allow room for his trunk. Setting it there, Cedric walked over to what he recognized as a temperature gauge.


    The temperature gauge was just a magical version of a thermostat, to which he set to a moderate heat of sixty-eight degrees if converted into Fahrenheit. He briefly debated on whether he wanted to rest for the day, or if he wanted to head out and get some chores done. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to get everything set up for his long-term stay within the city rather than taking the rest of the day to lounge around.


    He started to brainstorm what he needed to do and get done.


    From his pocket, he first pulled out his two quests. These quests weren¡¯t in any way priority right now and he¡¯d get them done within the next day or so, as right now, Cedric wanted to maximize his current living space and get comfortable and set up. He¡¯d be living within this room for the next year or so, and so he got started with brainstorming what he wanted to have inside the room.


    ¡®A desk and art station would best fit right there, then some fur rugs to cozy up the place. A few spectral lights and some decorations, along with the warding schemes and power source¡­¡¯ Thoughts and ideas filtered rapidly through Cedric¡¯s mind. The first thing that he wanted to do was get his defenses set up. Cedric was a High-Noble and assassinations were always a topic of mind for any self-respecting member of the upper-echelons of society. To protect himself from both assassination and theft he¡¯d need to deploy warding fields throughout his room.


    Cracking his neck and drawing his wand, Cedric got to work. He first pulled out his trunk, opening it to retrieve several important reagents. A fist sized cut diamond, several bags of various powdered reagents, a few pieces of blood chalk, some oils and incense to ward off demons and spirits, and on he went. With his reagents and materials prepared, Cedric got to work installing the diamond wardstone, the central power and administration base of the ward scheme he was creating. He set it under the bed, fixing it on a quickly transfigured base. His wand scored through the air while he laid under the bed, a bright magelight assisting him as he scarred glyphs and runes onto the various faceted faces of the gemstone. He then touched the tip of his wand to the gemstone, a small wound opening on his palm when he did so. Blood from that small wound wrapped around the length of his wand, before touching the gemstone and causing it to glow red.


    Now bound to the wardstone, Cedric set up several modifications to the permission levels he could grant it, forming the foundations for the various counter-defenses he¡¯d set up.


    ¡®If Administrator is awake, active, and not under the influence of third party cognitive impairing effects; activate Guest Mode. If the Administrator is asleep, unconscious, or under the influence of third party cognitive impairing effects, activate Defensive Mode. If Ward Scheme is under active assault, alert administrator and activate Counter-Offensive Strategies.¡¯ Cedric inscribed onto the wardstone the skeleton of ¡®if and when¡¯ statements that would soon be tied to more comprehensive and expansive protocols and observational intelligence.


    He worked for the following few hours, finishing the skeleton and then getting roughly a quarter of the way through sealing his room to any outside influence that could harm him. The influence of the divines and gods of this world were ever difficult to ward against and were the largest reason he still considered himself barely an adept. He was forced to twist and modify defenses against infernal entities and the few defenses he¡¯d found in reference to the Eldritch to suit those needs, as botched and makeshift as they were.


    As he struggled to get a certain ward schema to click with the following connective systems that would govern its functions, he took a sigh and a brief breather. ¡®I¡¯ll come back to this with fresh eyes¡­¡¯ He decided, standing up and walking over to his bed. He sat down, summoning a glass and pitcher of water to his hands and pouring himself a short drink. He gazed out at the city, the sun still up but setting soon.


    ¡®Some shopping wouldn¡¯t be remiss at this time.¡¯ He sighed, gazing down at his discarded long coat that he¡¯d strewn across the floor when it kept getting in his way.


    He¡¯d need to leverage his mercantile network to get into contact with organizations or individuals who could procure what he desired. Large amounts of materials that were easy to transmute and work with, enchanting materials like essences, alchemical reagents, a suitable lab and the custom equipment he¡¯d need to remake; he had much to do¡­


    ¡®Best get to it.¡¯ Cedric sighed, picking up his coat and tossing it on. He turned and left his penthouse, a click of the door echoing out as he locked it.

 Chapter Two: Von Paraval

    Chapter Two: Von Paraval


    It was late. The moon shone from above, crescent as it was, it still cast a paltry amount of light onto the city below. The streetlights were strong, but rarely placed. Cedric made his way through the streets during this time, tightly arresting his coat to his body while his mind was elsewhere.


    He¡¯d gone through with putting out a few contacts and feelers, getting into conversation with a few big transportation organizations and merchant groups that could move or obtain anything he asked of them. For a price of course, but that was par for the course. With those connections he could leverage his financial weight to obtain anything he so desired within the city, trusting that the men he¡¯d charged would be capable of finding those who had what he sought.


    There were concerns of being overcharged or cited incorrect values for what he wanted to purchase, which with a bit of contractual magic was done away with. His middlemen would get a fair share of the price, so long as they delivered.


    He sighed and pulled out a timepiece, grumbling that it was past eight and he was still out and about. He¡¯d taken the circuitous way through his business, stopping along various contacts to enter shops and strike deals regarding secondary objectives. This included getting accurate prices for certain goods within the area, striking up conversation with various trades and workmen to get their feel and temperament, along with stopping by the noble district to pop into the higher end shops to gauge their quality and prices.


    Poor quality and high prices were what he came away with, filled with plenty of ¡®novelty¡¯, but it was good to know that his ¡®competition¡¯ within the area wouldn¡¯t be anywhere near as fierce as he¡¯d thought it¡¯d be. He was sure he couldn¡¯t see the full display of what these merchants were capable of fostering, but he doubted that they would be capable of rivaling his crafts.


    Cedric took a deep breath as he came to the street that The Warrens rested, his feet ached from the three or so hours he¡¯d been out and about. He¡¯d taken few carriages, as Cedric didn¡¯t exactly enjoy being ferried to every location he desired. It caused too many eyes to turn, and it prevented him from talking with the average man without being outed immediately as a member of the nobility. Some suspected, but his actions in blending in were seen as natural and well-practiced instead of the artificially adapted and well-studied foreigner he was. It made many to see him as the son of some baron within the countryside recently finding his way to the capital.


    Barons held a unique social status, being seen as both a member of the commonwealth, and a member of the nobility. High Nobility often shunned or ignored the barons, seeing them as upstarts and up-jumped peasants. However, they held the important duty of being the line of communication between the common man and the higher echelons of society; their voices rang with the desires of the people and their lands, and it wasn¡¯t often for a baron to expect to be treated by the common man as anything else than one¡¯s boss or superior. Respect and cordiality were obvious, but supplication and subservience weren¡¯t as desired by men and women who were often raised to the title out of some deed, service, or perceived value.


    The title wasn¡¯t often hereditary either, meaning one¡¯s children couldn¡¯t be expected to be spoiled brats either; needing to earn their own merits if they desired to rise to a position equal to their parents.


    Cedric shook his mind of those thoughts as he arrived at the lobby of The Warrens. Immediately he noticed a man out of place sitting inside the lobby. Formal black servant¡¯s ware, an older gentleman nursing a cup of tea. His black hair was speckled white, and the moment he caught sight of Cedric his eyes brightened. He set his cup down and walked over with haste.


    ¡°Scion Alkahest!¡± The man greeted with a wide smile, one that Cedric was surprised to find was genuine.


    Cedric raised an eyebrow, ¡°Can I help you, sir?¡±


    The servant bowed his head, a hand crossing his chest. ¡°Scion Alkahest, my liege has invited you to dine with him.¡± He chuckled, ¡°It is a bit late, and dinner will have passed, but I am sure that we can find another activity; please, come. We shan''t keep Lord Paraval waiting!¡± The man was jovial as he beckoned Cedric along.


    The young scion couldn¡¯t help a sigh leave his lips. His feet hurt, his knees were clicking, his head was hurting. Right now, all he wanted was to fill a bathtub with warm waters and fall inside. It was a long day of traveling and meetings and paperwork.


    ¡°A long day, Scion Alkahest?¡± The servant asked inquisitively.


    Cedric nodded in agreement to the question, ¡°Please, call me Cedric. And yes, my day has been long. Settling in, getting into the swing of business; you know how it is.¡±


    The man nodded sympathetically, ¡°Indeed. I¡¯ll relay that to Lord Paraval, you must be tired from travel and the needs of the day. Perhaps you would be interested in a bath within the hot springs of the Paraval Keep?¡±


    Cedric didn¡¯t hide his interest and smiled, ¡°That would be wonderful.¡± He nodded.


    ¡°Grand!¡± The man led him outside of The Warrens, gesturing to an automobile. It was matte black with a lounging plush velvet couch for a seat with a large boxy roof covered in floral golden gilding on the edges of the box. They climbed into the vehicle, a driver at the front of the boxy automobile being waved to by the servant.


    Once they settled in and the mana-engine of the automotive started buzzing, did the older man introduce himself. ¡°Pleasure to meet you, Scion Alkahest; my name is Sir Balduran Yovonov, but you can call me Baldur; Head Servant of Lord Paraval.¡± He pulled out a cigarette, a healthy item that caused one to relax and feel a state of tranquility and control, lit it, and offered Cedric one with a gesture.


    Cedric gave a polite smile and accepted the offering, using a bit of magic to light the end of the cigarette as the servant of his grandfather did the same, but with a magic device no different than a lighter.


    ¡°Is Lord Paraval in good health?¡± Cedric asked. The good Lord Paraval was known to be one of the oldest figures within the Empire, up there with the emperor himself; there were a lot of men and women that were just as old, if not as ancient as the Empire; such was the way of experience and those who knew how to survive the ages. Lord Paraval was still virile as ever, with his mother being but one of a long string of children he¡¯d produced in his time on this world. From what he knew of the man from rumors and word of mouth, having never interacted with him, was that he was different from most nobility, especially for a Lord.


    His other grandfather, Lord Alkahest was a stoic and stone-cold figure; one who portrayed the image of utmost control, a man of strength and will with inhuman characteristics that made him feel unapproachable. This image was cultivated specifically as to project a message, one that acted as a shield within noble society, stating that the Lord of House Alkahest was strong as ever and without weakness.


    Balduran, or Baldur as he insisted on being called, chuckled with amusement, ¡°As spry as ever.¡± He shook his head while blowing smoke out of the automobile¡¯s window. ¡°My liege was beside himself with joy when he heard you were within his city, and very amused when he heard where exactly you¡¯ve been poking around.¡± The servant chuckled.


    Cedric grinned as well, ¡°Not exactly places those of my ilk poke their noses into, yes?¡± He asked rhetorically.


    Baldur nodded, ¡°Yes, yes.¡± He agreed, ¡°An outlier you are. A curiosity, and Lord Paraval does so love his curiosities; much like he does his grandchildren.¡±


    An admittance of love and care was something that no Lord would willingly state, and as ¡®Head Servant¡¯ this Balduran was effectively his mouthpiece in social visits such as these. Cedric had heard how ¡®loose¡¯ and ¡®unbecoming¡¯ Lord Paraval was within social circles, his being related to the man had earned him enemies and friends alike, although those relationships only lasted if the conversation that sparked them.


    It spoke of just how politically and martially powerful Lord Paraval was to hold such a level of free-expression. He was the former and now retired High General, acting right hand of the emperor himself in the martial conquest of the lands the Empire claimed today. The two powerful men¡¯s relationship was strong to this day, and to get on the bad side of a man with connections into the most core and powerful areas within the military and empire itself was a folly of thought itself.


    Cedric let a smile crawl on his face, feeling excited in meeting his relative. His close family, being his sisters and brothers were utter disappointments. His mother was cold, distant, and hardly invested in him emotionally. She was either a task master, a source of patronizing disappointment when he didn¡¯t just get something right away or annoyed by his mere existence. His father was much the same, although with his own flavors of unemotional stoic lordship or biting demands.


    Honestly, if he wasn¡¯t a reincarnation, Cedric would have a dozen and a half mental conditions. His inspections of his own mind using magic revealed that he was lonely, had a strong desire for touch and understanding, and that he was using his intense love of magic to escape from that reality. Understanding the issue didn¡¯t really solve it though and finding people that he could trust was¡­difficult.


    ¡°Will his Lordship be awake, or will I be spending the night?¡± Cedric asked.


    The servant smiled, ¡°His Lordship will likely be joining you within the hot springs, afterwards, it depends entirely on his Lordship¡¯s desire and whims. If he wishes to rest, then we shall rest. If he desires to go on a late-night hunt with his grandson; who are we to argue?¡±


    Cedric snorted, blowing out a lung of smoke, ¡°How enthusing.¡± The servant chuckled in response.


    ¡°Such is life.¡± Baldur shrugged.


    The two made idle small talk regarding the city and his opinions on it. Before long the automobile came to a halt, Cedric glancing out of the window to find they were within a driveway of paved marble; a large mansion with a great wrought iron gate stood before him.


    The two exited the automobile, heading to the gate where two Knights bowed their heads in supplication, allowing them entrance into the grounds. Cedric¡¯s eyes were drawn to the flowers and flora within the gardens, idly recognizing several dozen species and even several bugs and fungi that were valuable within the art of Alchemy.


    His steps slowed, before he abruptly turned and walked to a small tree that was growing off the path. He hummed, hands stroking along its bark. He took a leaf from the tree, plucking his cigarette from his mouth to chew the leaf. He hemmed and hawed for a few moments, before spitting the leaf out. ¡°A potent essence of drought and despair, this tree would make.¡± He muttered, peeling off a strip of bark and inhaling its natural scent. Then his fingers charred the bark, and he smiled at the pungent smoke. ¡°Oh yes, this tree is a fearsome creature. How did you get an infant Nightmare Ent into your own gardens? I don¡¯t even see any protections around this one, how do you deal with the nightmares it emits?¡±


    Baldur was watching Cedric with interest and bemusement, only to flinch at the name of the creature he was inspecting and the following questions. ¡°I, erm, well¡­¡± He stared at the small gray tree with odd eyes. It looked no different than the other trees along the path, but now that he stared at it for a moment longer; ¡°I do believe I will be having words with the gardeners.¡± The servant¡¯s eyes narrowed, a dangerous air of a powerful Knight surrounding him.


    Cedric raised an eyebrow, smoking his cigarette as he glanced at the tree again. ¡°I¡¯d not cut the tree down, it''s an exceptionally valuable alchemy reagent for a multitude of poisons and draughts. Rare and hard to find, as their kind are usually located deep within primeval forests, harvesting the despair of any creature that enters their grasp.¡± He hummed, ¡°If only I had a property, I¡¯d take this tree off your hands.¡± He mused.


    Baldur raised an eyebrow as Cedric, ¡°Would you be studying to become an Alchemist, Scion Alkahest?¡±


    Cedric rolled his eyes, ¡°I guess you can say that. I¡¯m a student in many crafts, eternally learning.¡± To insinuate that he was an Apprentice Alchemist was laughable in his mind, and somewhat insulting in all honesty. However, that was entirely his fault as he didn¡¯t exactly advertise he was behind the current fad brand of ¡®Parallax Productions¡¯.


    ¡°Many crafts, you say?¡± Baldur asked, an eyebrow raised.


    Cedric nodded, ¡°Alchemy and Enchanting -both arts of the school of Enchantment- are my main focuses. My current focus in my studies would be warding and abjuration.¡± He turned away from the tree and continued towards the main doors of the foray. The servant followed him in lock step.


    ¡°My, a broad range of study to be focused within.¡± Baldur remarked.


    Cedric rolled his eyes once more, ¡°I¡¯ve been learning since I was three and could read, my first books weren¡¯t exalting tales of the Empire, but were rather books of magic and mystic theory. A childhood sacrificed, in all honesty.¡±


    Baldur frowned, ¡°Was it worth it?¡± He asked.


    Cedric chuckled, ¡°Wasn¡¯t much to be offered. Were you familiar with my mother?¡±


    Baldur hummed, ¡°Lady Selwyn? She was¡­¡± He grimaced, ¡°Reclusive within the household. Ambitious, to an extent; she always had a certain drive. Cold, would be a way I¡¯d describe her, much like the magic she practiced. The Lord loved her, as he does all his children, although he tends to spoil them¡­¡± Baldur flinched, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend¡­¡± Only to find that Cedric had a wide smile on his face.


    ¡°So, she was always a cold bitch.¡± Cedric chuckled.


    Baldur¡¯s eyes widened at the profanity, ¡°You do not have a good relationship with the Lady?¡± He said slowly.


    Cedric shook his head ruefully, ¡°She¡¯s my tutor, a strict one, or a dismissive one. Our interactions with one another are¡­minimal.¡± He sighed, giving a bitter smile to the servant, ¡°When I first met her, I thought her my magic tutor. Even after finding paintings and murals with her inside them, her demeanor towards my existence had me rationalizing that she couldn¡¯t be my mother.¡± He gave a derisive scoff, ¡°She doesn¡¯t deserve that title.¡± He muttered.


    Baldur¡¯s face twisted into a grave frown, ¡°His Lordship will be disappointed.¡± He sighed, only to be surprised by Cedric¡¯s hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Think nothing of it. I¡¯ve grown used to it.¡± Cedric sighed mournfully, ¡°In a way, I do hope that Lord Paraval will find me entertaining enough to keep around. Some part of me still yearns for a family¡­¡±


    Baldur¡¯s lips cracked into a smile, ¡°Young man, that is something His Lordship will be delighted in giving you.¡±


    ¡°Truly?¡± Cedric asked, curiosity in his tone.


    Baldur nodded emphatically, ¡°His Lordship has spawned many children throughout his years, and he has doted on them all.¡± He sighed, ¡°Eventually they leave his care, and go on to do great things within the Empire; or some take up simpler paths. Your mother was one of his grandest prides; he will be disappointed to learn of her treatment of his grandson.¡±


    Cedric¡¯s brow furrowed, ¡°Has his Lordship met my other siblings?¡± He asked.


    Baldur¡¯s brow furrowed, ¡°I am afraid not. His Lordship has a plethora of children, and even more grandchildren who¡¯ve had grandchildren. It is not uncommon for a grandchild or great-grandchild to never meet the Lord; especially those of a ducal house.¡± He gave a meaningful look to Cedric.


    Cedric nodded, understanding the meaning. Despite being related to Lord Paraval, he did not bear his name. The House of Paraval was of an equal standing with the ducal house of Alkahest, with his mother, one Selwyn Alkahest nee Paraval marrying into high standing. Before she was Lady Alkahest, married to the future Lord of the Great House; she was a Scion working her way through life, tangentially supported and given care by her house. It was by her own ambitions and means that she managed to gain enough acclaim and renown to her own name, that marriage into a Great House was possible.


    It was not truly a political marriage, and instead one facilitated entirely by Selwyn. Cedric was familiar enough with his mother¡¯s mindset that she likely chose House Alkahest as a means of furthering her power as a Sorceress and politically within the Empire. House Alkahest gains a woman of strong blood, powerful magic, and capable mind; while she gains the knowledge, support, and resources of a House steeped with history of Magic. A history that House Paraval lacks.


    This ¡®lack¡¯ of a political marriage meant that it was less a marriage between House Paraval and House Alkahest, and more individualistic and personal. Honestly, it¡¯d feel right for the two pieces of ice that he called parents to have an arranged marriage. But, instead, it was two high-functioning psychopaths agreeing to get married for the sake of their personal ambitions.


    With the marriage, pageantry must be upheld. He knew that the two houses were allies by blood, but that tie only went so far; it was lip service, as far as Cedric was concerned. Although, that might be neglect on the side of the Alkahest, and not the unwillingness of House Paraval.


    ¡°I see.¡± Cedric muttered, thinking deeper of this revelation.


    He¡¯d thought that his siblings would at least have met the Lord, being their Lordly Grandfather on their mother¡¯s side of the family. They were significantly older than him, after all, and if they were the clout chasing hawks that he knew his brothers to be then interaction with their grandfather, a once Great General of the Imperial Army, would potentially open doors that would otherwise be closed to them.


    ¡®Come to think of it, why did Grandfather go around my father and mother to send me to the Academy?¡¯


    Cedric was here in Paraval to the complete ignorance of his mother and father. He¡¯d obtained a letter from his Lord Grandfather explaining that he¡¯d signed him up to the Paraval Academy of Magic. Not exactly truly unique, considering that he traveled a ton around the country anyway. But Cedric usually kept his wandering within areas that were within his family¡¯s territories, moving between estates and cities under his family¡¯s domain.


    Why his grandfather¡¯s letter specifically directed him to not mention that he was headed to Paraval; Cedric was entirely clueless, but now he was beginning to have his suspicions. He was being keyed out of something, and that was annoying him greatly.


    The pair of them fell into a silence, entering the grand manor, a decadent place; although it had a rustic and comforting architecture accenting its generous decorations of beast furs, mantled heads of great beasts, and tasteful pieces of art.


    ¡°The baths are this way, Scion Alkahest.¡± Baldur bowed, beckoning him into a rustic wooden locker room. ¡°Your things will be taken care of by the maid staff.¡±


    Cedric frowned, ¡°My things will not be touched.¡± He said a bit harshly. His face softened, as did his tone, ¡°My apologies, Sir Balduran. I have things on me that I would rather not be touched. I usually do my own laundry and cleaning.¡± He sighed deeply.


    Baldur looked amused and curious, but bowed and turned to leave, but not before Cedric could stop him one more time.


    ¡°And Baldur, please, call me Cedric.¡± The servant smiled and ducked out of the room.


    Cedric undressed, keeping his items small and compact within the changing rooms. He then headed for the hot springs attached, opening the door to find an outdoor pool deck, braziers decorating the location with satisfactory mood lighting. It surrounded a pool with a dragon¡¯s mouth pouring water into its bulk, steam wafting up and into the starlit night.


    Cedric moved into the pool, groaning as his muscles and body started to relax themselves. He closed his eyes as he waded deeper into the warm waters, soon reaching the dragon¡¯s head, sitting on the ledge of the pool and resting his head against the stone. He drifted in and out of thought, eventually opening his eyes and calling on his magic. With playful half-lidded eyes and a relaxed expression, Cedric started to manipulate the waters in front of him.


    A glob of water separated from the pool and floated at eye level, and with a flex of his hand the water froze over into a sphere of perfect ice. He twirled his finger and watched as the ball of ice turned back into a sphere of liquid, then started to change and shape itself to his desires.


    He pursed his lips together and blew softly at the ball of water, the winds of his breath enchanting it and dual casting well-practiced sound-magic that he¡¯d not learned from any old dusty tome or book; but rather outright invented.


    The ball of water floated on its own, even without his input, and with a tap of his finger on the surface of the water, a deep bassy drum sounded out. He grinned and started to whistle, each bit of breath that brushed onto the ball of floating water weaving yet another concept that tied itself to the floating ball of water. He tapped his hand on the water, and like playing an invisible audio-set, he started changing the tunes, pitches, playing entirely different instruments; each tap, each strum, each pluck of the surface caused a new instrument to play.


    And like clockwork he fell into an old and familiar action of audio-tuning, mashing together sounds and instruments, distorting their sounds, or adding new ones to a complex and chaotic tune that slowly turned to harmonic mastery. It was familiar work, as in his old life he was an audio engineer, working with sound was a familiar thing to him. One that he¡¯d deigned to not taint with efforts at weaponizing something that gave him such peace, as devastating as one it might be. Instead, he¡¯d taken his talents further in this life, music being something of a personal hobby of his own separate from his all-consuming need to learn magic. It kept him balanced, in a way.


    The orb of water fluxed like it was an audio-visualized, warbling and wobbling to each strum and strike, each pluck of smooth strings, and the avalanche of sound. Cedric lulled his head to the sounds, closing his eyes and letting it play on its own as he leaned back, lowering the volume ever so slightly to rest his eyes.


    He felt the water move.


    Opening his eyes he was met with the sight of a large man, likely around six-foot five, bulky and with weathered skin that has seen much. Scars, wounds, made by neat blades and ugly magic alike decorated his form. A beard of black peppered with salted strands of white was neatly arrested to his chest by rings of mythril and adamantium. His ears too were pierced, rings of the same metals decorating them just the same. His hair was loose and long. Fair white and black hair draped down to his shoulders. He looked like a warrior. Like a Northern Barbarian, like a man named Conan, but from a different land entirely than the famous barbarian.


    Yet, unlike his appearance, he carried himself with refinement. With a gentle step and calm mien that bellied the hardened appearance of a strong warrior.


    Cedric swallowed, pushing his hand into the water and lowering the volume on the music in the same action. The audio visualizer calmed slightly, and now only the steady beats truly made any sound.


    ¡°A marvelous display of magic.¡± The man said calmly, his eyes locked onto the audio-visualizer with a keen gaze of interest and intrigue. ¡°Made from but a few breaths of air and a wave of a hand; such was its simplicity, that it was your grace and skill in creating this beautiful tune that looked like it was the true challenge in its creation.¡±


    Cedric straightened his back slightly, bowing his head, ¡°Lord Grandfather.¡± He supplicated.


    He heard a heavy sigh, ¡°Yozef¡­¡± He muttered, the name of his grandfather on his father¡¯s side ringing a bell. It was rare for anyone to call a Lord by their first name, and if anyone could do it, then it¡¯d be Lord Alkahest¡¯s equal. ¡°Be away with the trivialities of formality, son. You are among family now. Save such things for your enemies and rivals.¡±


    Cedric smiled bitterly, ¡°Hard to do when such things are one¡¯s family.¡± He muttered.


    The Lord grimaced visibly, the display of emotion unsettling to Cedric. He¡¯d built such a sturdy and strong foundation, an image of ¡®Lords¡¯ and their nature within his mind. Such a simple act, such a simple reaction; and it shattered such perceptions instantly. His grandfather sighed deeply, looking pained. ¡°When I heard from Yozef that his youngest grandson was coming to Paraval, I was surprised. When I read deeper into his letter, I was infuriated. When I calmed, I was disappointed.¡± He stated, drifting off towards a distant wall to rest himself against.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡®Two dudes, chilling in a hot-tube, five feet away because they ain¡¯t gay.¡¯ The intrusive meme popped up, still surviving even nineteen years after his death.


    ¡°Your Lord Grandfather has been keeping a keen eye on you, Cedric. He made mentions of you having great achievements in the realm of business, rich beyond even Counts and Viscounts with lands under their rule. Powerful and skilled in magic, and a drive to always keep learning.¡± He smiled softly, ¡°I truly thought you were my little girl¡¯s son. Ever intelligent, ever cunning; my little Selwyn. Then I learned of your treatment within your house.¡± His soft smile turned into a grim frown of pure disappointment. ¡°I must apologize for not raising your mother better. For feeding her ambitions so greatly that she would revoke even her own family¡­¡± He shook his head, almost in disbelief, ¡°It goes against everything I ever taught her.¡± His voice echoed said disbelief.


    Nubinor Paraval rubbed at his temples, ¡°Where did I go wrong?¡± He whispered.


    Cedric chuckled at the display, familiar with the ever so human reaction to one¡¯s spawn and their mistakes, ¡°I believe it was not the nurturer at fault, at least not entirely, but the environment all Scions grow up within. It feeds ambition, fans the flame that started from a spark of want and desire. Is it not human nature to always want for more, after all? The flame grows, until it is all that is left.¡±


    Cedric¡¯s sardonic chuckle and smile turned into a frown, disappointment and scorn lacing his expression, ¡°My mother. She¡¯d only pay attention to my achievements. My prowess. My rate of learning and understanding, in performing her tasks, in learning her words and thoughts. A tutor. A teacher. A mold. But nothing ever more.¡± The smile reappeared, dim and slight. ¡°She wasn¡¯t even good at doing that.¡± He said, voice light in amusement and smug satisfaction; like her being poor at something was some victory. ¡°I always performed better learning on my lonesome; I always feared showing her too much. Like she¡¯d try to steal my talent in the arts I found sanctuary.¡±


    Lord Paraval gained a hint of intrigue on his face, the distraught father fading as he listened, before sharpening on his last words. ¡°Parallax Productions.¡± The man muttered, Cedric not reacting to the mention of his branded product. ¡°An interesting name.¡± The man said, curiosity laced in his tone.


    Cedric smiled blandly, ¡°I¡¯m a nerd.¡± The word ¡®nerd¡¯ within the English Language didn¡¯t have a parallel to a word within the common tongue of the Empire; not holding the concepts and refinement that the word ¡®nerd¡¯ had gone through in some seventy years since its inception in the 1950¡¯s to describe a worthless or foolish person; which before he¡¯d died described the future Shitcoin, AI Geeks, and Computer Science Kings of the world. Instead of outright saying the word ¡®Nerd¡¯, Cedric used a word that was commonly used to describe people fascinated with obscure topics and esoteric magics; somewhat like how someone would describe an Arcanist or similarly devoted scholar of the Arcane Arts.


    It should be noted that this word didn¡¯t describe people who worked in the technological or mundane ¡®academic¡¯ fields of the world, even those of advanced education, as Technology was culturally seen as a novelty and primitive art that only the peasants tried to learn and understand. The Nobility paid little attention to the Colleges and Universities that the common-folk set up; only paying close enough attention to them to make sure magical knowledge and practices were fettered from any aspect of their education; or at least reduced enough to make them satisfied with always being their betters.


    ¡°Parallax is the observed displacement of an object caused by an observer¡¯s change of point of view. It¡¯s mainly used in Astronomy for calculating the distance of faraway stars using trigonometry. The name truly means ¡®Distant and Alternate Perspectives¡¯ Productions, if one wants the entire ¡®thought¡¯ behind the name.¡±


    Nubinor blinked, ¡°Distant and Alternate Perspectives; outside the box thinking.¡± The man mused.


    Cedric smiled, how fun is it to sometimes observe ¡®sayings¡¯ and figures of speech that never change, even worlds and languages away.


    ¡°I¡¯ve purchased a few of your products, in truth.¡± Nubinor stated, making Cedric blinked; not having known that and wondered what he¡¯d produced to capture the attention and wealth of Lord Paraval. ¡°Nylex, Spirit Bonding, Visions.¡± Nubinor¡¯s face sported a wide smile as he listed those names, Cedric¡¯s ears going red, as did his cheeks.


    ¡°O-oh.¡± Cedric muttered. ¡°T-those.¡±


    Bedroom enhancers.


    Nylex was a relaxant and an aphrodisiac; a very mellow aphrodisiac and one that was exceptionally easy to produce in massive batches and sold like hotcakes whenever he put them up for auction.


    Spirit Bonding was a¡­


    Cedric frowned, old, bad memories rising with the mention of that product he¡¯d long since tried to forget about. An old wound rising to tear itself open.


    It initially wasn¡¯t meant to be a bedroom enhancer and was instead his attempt at understanding the perspective of animals and creatures with lesser intelligence than humans. He wanted to know how and what they felt and thought, to experience life behind the eyes, body, and mind of a bird. He experimented with an old pet frog that he kept captive to harvest its mucus for reasons. Spirit Bonding needed a drop of blood from two entities, mix the blood into the potion, then have both entities ingest a bit of the potion. Cedric and his Old Frog, Celebrimbor, got to experience one another¡¯s senses and minds.


    Celebrimbor died soon after ingesting, as Cedric''s mind was too much for the creature to handle and comprehend. Cedric on the other hand obtained the full experience, even that of dying as a frog and the panicked induced moment of a quick if brutally confusing death.


    He¡¯d had a tick of flies arousing hunger in him for days after the fact but wasn¡¯t deterred from the ¡®disastrous¡¯ result from the first test of the potion and was instead inspired to use it on a sapient entity.


    He¡­


    Cedric kissed his teeth, reminded of past mistakes; pivotal points of his life that had molded him into the man that he was today.


    He¡¯d effectively mind-controlled a maid and used the potion on her. Cedric wasn¡¯t exactly in the best of minds, to his defense; isolated, entirely devoted towards developing potions and magic; he¡¯d already thought of the servants around him as ¡®lessers¡¯. Not because of their race, status as slaves, or anything like that, although there was a certain level of truth in the latter. But the servants that watched him were deemed as¡­enemies.


    In his mind, adapting to this new and unfamiliar life as it was; everything was new, and everything was strange or confusing.


    What the human mind doesn¡¯t understand, it fears, and many things in Cedric¡¯s life had been painted with that brush. The closest representation of oppression inside his life, and a facet that he could actively harm and rebel against were the servant staff assigned to watching him.


    Like a prisoner bashing out the security cameras inside their cell, he wiped their memories, played with their feelings, and like a puppeteer; he derived sadistic enjoyment in deriving spiraling stories of drama from them.


    He¡¯d taken one, a random maid that he found easy on the eyes, and effectively mind controlled her to willingly take and experience the drug with him; he¡¯d planned to erase her memories of the event afterwards.


    He underestimated the effects of Spirit Bond.


    Cedric soon found that on entities that were of similar levels of sapience; it functioned like the cure to loneliness. Panacea to Doomer-level ennui and numbness to a world that one feels like it doesn¡¯t understand them, doesn¡¯t want them; that they don¡¯t belong, can¡¯t belong, and will never belong.


    The level of connection Cedric had with that maid had him feel unrivaled levels of possessiveness and sexual attraction towards her, and visa-versa.


    He was around twelve when he made the first batches of Spirit Bonding.


    His family was waiting for this moment and used it to send a message to Cedric to not ¡®sully the family¡¯s blood with those of lesser worth¡¯. It was a drawn-out affair, servants easily spotting the missing link of their entourage, certain bits of physical evidence that were impossible to disclaim; a sloppy mess of Cedric floundering with his illusions and enchantments to now cover the activities of two people. A whirlwind romance of a young boy -who was a man- discovering puberty again, this time with the added influence of easily accessible drugs, mind magic, and crushing loneliness.


    An absolute recipe for disaster, and one that would¡¯ve crashed and burned even without his family¡¯s¡­intervention, if he could even call it that.


    As the servants were under orders to not engage in sexual misconduct with their charge, even with all his manipulations; magical, social, and alchemical, she resisted his advances. Because underneath his sweet words, and mental manipulations; she knew what would happen if they were caught. The survival instinct was strong, but Cedric¡¯s magic was stronger.


    Cedric had used mind magic to get around any of the maid¡¯s misgivings, not knowing what they were at the time. Mind magic never was reading the mind like it was a book, but interpreting feelings and emotions. He¡¯d interacted with many Beast-Kin minds and found them different to most human minds, having heightened senses and their brain chemistry was just wired differently. Her fear of death was interpreted incorrectly, and he banished those misgivings of their relationship; thinking he was correct and nothing bad would come of it, as he was ignorant of those orders.


    His pressing, magical manipulations, possessiveness, and taboo hunger of a closer relationship with someone in this life had his first ¡®friend¡¯ -even if alchemically generated- was somehow made worse with it being entirely his fault for taking her agency away from her.


    Then she was taken from him.


    She was hung, slowly, brutally; with him watching. The dribble of piss haunted him for the following year and got him hooked on sleeping aids until he¡¯d gotten his mind organized due to wanting mental defenses, which involved a reorganization of his mind and psyche.


    That was¡­an unpleasant process.


    He reiterates; if he wasn¡¯t a reincarnate, he¡¯d be a literal monster in human skin. He already was morally flexible and very emotionally damaged; but this was some ¡®Tragic Villain Origin Story¡¯ type shit. He hated his father after that fact for years, and then he gets tossed into solitary confinement not a few years later; not mentioning all the other little instances of shit that only built and built. By the time he got tossed into that stone prison, protecting the one thing that he loved in this new life of his; he started to absolutely loathe his father and family situation.


    The memory of that damnable drug he sold to get it out of sight had him frown deeply. He didn¡¯t even think about Visions, a cheap and easy to produce psychedelic drug.


    ¡°My wife and I used Spirit Bonding, and our stock of Nylex was well used.¡± His grandfather mentioned with a salacious grin after seeing Cedric¡¯s reaction, only to furrow his brow as the embarrassment faded from the teen¡¯s face and a deep frown and heady sense of hatred leaked from the boy¡¯s lightly flaring magic. Emotion was easy to project using both energies, Aura more so than Magic, but Nubinor was an old hand at detecting the rising rage of a Mage whose ire he¡¯d earned.


    ¡°I stopped making those; sold the stocks that I made, spread it out over the course of a few years, then tried to forget about it.¡± Cedric muttered. ¡°Spirit Bonding, not Nylex.¡± He corrected.


    Nubinor frowned, ¡°Bad blood, or something happen¡¯ in the lab¡­?¡± He posed, voice soft and probing, trying to help.


    ¡®Dear Lord, when was the last time someone did that?¡¯ He couldn¡¯t remember. That was a sad, sad thing indeed.


    ¡°I¡­I made Spirit Bonding when I was young; around eleven or so. I¡¯m good at Enchantment. The arts of the mind, that is. My family likes to watch me using servants; I like my privacy.¡± He licked his lips, ¡°It was easy to practice my arts on them, glossing their eyes, breaking their minds like a giant¡¯s fist to a castle made of sand.¡± Nubinor¡¯s eyebrows raised at the mention of the powerful and dangerous magic, and the very young age he was using the magic.


    ¡°Spirit Bonding was made for curiosity¡¯s sake. A desire to see, to experience what it was like to be a frog, horse, fly, bird, or similar. To feel what they feel, what they think, and it didn¡¯t work. There was a two-way connection that I couldn¡¯t block without ruining the experience of ¡®feedback¡¯. It caused the creatures to experience too much and caused a brain aneurysm as they tried to understand what they were biologically incapable of¡­¡± He shook his head, knowing he was just trying to distract himself with his analytical and clinical analysis of the potion and not its actual repercussions.


    Nubinor listened to Cedric speak, the young man¡¯s voice calm, although there was a tide of repressed emotions that was being slowly expressed through his warbling magic, changing the tune of the soft music that the orb of water that floated over the spring. The old man swam over to Cedric¡¯s side of the pool, growing closer and spreading his Aura in a way that softly rested his presence over the young man, reassuring him with his presence.


    Cedric felt the effect and took a fortifying breath, speaking again as he organized his thoughts. ¡°I¡¯d been abusing those powers, those abilities for years. It felt so natural to just pick and choose. I chose a girl, young, but likely in her twenties? Couldn¡¯t really tell, she was a beast-kin, tiger girl, very pretty. Wanted to feel what it felt like to be a girl, y¡¯know? Well¡­You know how it feels, the connection. Makes you feel like you¡¯ll never be alone, that you¡¯re understood by someone; completely, utterly, down to your soul.¡± There was a bitter tone in his voice as he mentioned that, like a man talking about something he couldn¡¯t have and was jealous as a result.


    Nubinor smiled softly, memories of him and his wife drinking that potion and falling onto each other in a sensual dance of passion; revitalized passion that he¡¯d felt was dimming, dying, slowly withering away as they aged and retreated into a state of apathy. How things stopped being interesting, how one another was just a boring facet to their long, long lives. How many new and exciting feelings had he experienced with those few potions this boy created? Battle and War, in his youth he once called those things his true love, straight to Roslin¡¯s face even. She¡¯d laughed and chimed that he was a muscle headed brute.


    Decades passed and arguments were heated, and those words that he once uttered as a young boy felt like they haunted his relationship; until they¡¯d partaken in the Spirit Bond. Until they felt like they found each other again.


    They¡¯d started sleeping in each other¡¯s bed again, smiling when they found one another in the halls. Holding hands, going on picnics, adventuring out and slaying monsters like they were young again. Living life, not going through the old motions of one that felt like it¡¯d been lived to death.


    Nubinor wanted more, Parallax stopped selling, new products came out and they tried those, new experiences, fun, strange, erotic, or just plain out of this world. Spirit Bond was never forgotten, the spark that reignited the fires of life in two loves that had started to wither.


    ¡°House Alkahest has rules to their servants, biased towards other species, and even classist; believing all that weren¡¯t of noble human blood to be unworthy of their blood. Those that break that rule, die; a brutal message to a child, chilling ¡®proof¡¯ that any act of love towards another race or species can only end in tragedy.¡± Nubinor¡¯s face turned solemn and sad as Cedric continued, ¡°I was twelve then.¡± Cedric¡¯s voice was cold, and unemotional. ¡°Twelve years of loneliness and apathy towards others, of feeling trapped and repressed and hunted and watched. Paranoid¡­¡± Cedric almost¡­tasted the word.


    Nubinor swallowed, feeling something was¡­off. Cedric¡¯s tone was becoming strange, the magic that he¡¯d once sensed swirling around and off the young man¡¯s form fading into the background and blending in with the ambient energies of magic.


    Was he controlling his magic so tightly that even this display of repressed emotion was being contained?


    ¡°I just wanted a friend, so I made one, took one; and it was taken from me.¡± Cedric¡¯s eyes narrowed, hard, unforgiving; hateful. ¡°It was wrong, I was wrong; I know that. I shouldn¡¯t have¡­I¡­I overstepped; intoxicated on the power I thought I¡¯d mastered.¡± He said so freely, unburdened by the admittance of a fault that he¡¯d long since rationalized and accepted.


    Yet, like medicine, the aftertaste lingered. And this was no medicine, but an opening scar that dug deep inside his psyche. ¡°My family thought they taught me a lesson.¡± He frowned with grinding teeth as a hidden undercurrent of rage swam in his eyes, ¡°They did, oh they did. Just not the one they were teaching, but one that I learned; the mind is a precious thing, and to alter it, to change it, to bend it, to alter one¡¯s destiny.¡± Cedric let out a deep breath, ¡°Is sin. Utter sin, and I am the Sinner. But I know it is sin, and so I don¡¯t do it lightly. I don¡¯t enjoy it, I can¡¯t anymore; I was burned but refused to be twice shy. Because it is too useful, too powerful of a means to justify not using it for a result.¡± His body coiled tightly; muscles tense as the tension of the statement brought to fore was as cathartic as it was a burden.


    Cedric took a deep breath, breathing in. Breathing out. Centering himself. Controlling himself.


    ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Cedric. Better than most.¡± Nubinor whispered softly, reassuring his grandson, trying to sympathize with Cedric¡¯s plight.


    ¡°Good?¡± The teen muttered, as if struck; he looked up at Nubinor, and seemed to realize something. ¡°You¡­don¡¯t understand.¡±


    The Lord of more than three-hundred years of age, cocked his head. ¡°I¡­guess I don¡¯t.¡± It was hard for the elder to admit that. ¡°I¡¯m a Knight, a Warrior.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve fought mages.¡± Cedric stated without hesitation or doubt, to which Nubinor nodded easily.


    ¡°You have killed.¡± Cedric next stated.


    Nubinor furrowed his brow and nodded again; that was obvious.


    ¡°Then, perhaps I can phrase it differently.¡± Cedric mused, ¡°I do not kill the body. I kill the mind. With a twitch of my finger, just as easily as you could turn me into a gib of liquid; I too could do the same with a hundred men¡¯s minds.¡±


    The old lord raised an eyebrow, ¡°Truly?¡± He asked with a disbelieving grin.


    ¡°You do not believe me?¡± Cedric¡¯s own mouth twisted upwards in a challenging grin.


    Nubinor chuckled, ¡°Try me.¡± He fortified his body, strengthening his spirit and flaring his Aura; prepared for any trick-


    Nubinor blinked, wondering what it was that he was doing. Why was he inside the baths, and who was¡­?


    His memories came back, and he gasped, freezing as he stared down at the teen that stared up at him with half lidded eyes; yet they looked dangerous to the old lord. Like an elf¡¯s. Uncanny, dissecting, analyzing.


    ¡°I could¡¯ve erased everything.¡± The raspy voice of his grandson murmured as the young man sunk down into the waters, his mouth vanishing underneath the surface. He turned that blood curdling gaze down to the water¡¯s reflective surface.


    Instead of his voice that spoke, it was instead the orb of musical water, his grandson¡¯s voice calmly continuing; ¡°Implanted a poison to the mind, slowly wasting it away like natural dementia. Twisted it to any desire and redefined the man you know yourself to be. A terrifying power, is it not? It scares me every day I look at people and remember that I hold the power to crack their skull open and start poking. In a blink of an eye, they could suddenly stop being and become something else. Identity death was always a great fear of mine, and to hold the power to exact that fear onto others?... It scares me.¡±


    Nubinor swallowed thickly, keeping a calm demeanor even as he felt an icy pit form within his chest. He felt like he was dancing with something anyone loathed to do; even for someone as powerful as him. There were plenty of dangerous creatures in this world. Dragons, Liches, Zealots of Dark Gods, Ancient Elven Warriors and their Magi, or the deadly Dragon Slayers of the Dwarven Holds. He¡¯d fought plenty of people and monsters, slain many, but there were always those that made him pause, that made him feel real wary fear.


    There were few things as terrifying as a mentally unstable, or rather an emotional Mage, especially so for one as powerful as his grandson had just shown himself to be. Nubinor¡¯s Aura, a soft presence that had pressed onto his grandson, had been infiltrated; subverted and secretly injected with ambient releases of magic that leaked into the environment around him. His defenses were meaningless with the clever and insidious insertion and injection of magic that had blended into the ambient energies, invisible, yet entirely controlled and directed.


    The old Lord suddenly realized this magic had permeated the entire environment, water, and even started to leak into his skin and muscles; his blood, the air that he breathed had been saturated by the magic!


    A level of control that Lord Nubinor Paraval hadn¡¯t heard of in his long life, which only made it even more terrifying as the young man before him did so subconsciously. An accidental feat of magic released by the spread of his own emotions, kept in control over what Nubinor could only fathom to be relentless training, and then capitalized on by the subconscious mind that guided the magic with concept and perceived thought.


    Mages called this kind of casting Wild Magic, but how Cedric wielded it was unthinkably terrifying and alien to the concept of that means of casting; so much so that Nubinor was hesitant to even call it so.


    Mages were always collected people; strong of mind, steadfast, iron willed, and smug in their control of their own mind and the intellect that guided it. To show emotion, to lose control, to be controlled by one¡¯s emotion; it was either the mark of a bad mage, or the breaking point of a good one.


    When mages lost their shit, everything around them tended to do so as well.


    Nubinor watched as Cedric swam deeper into the pool; not paying the old lord any attention as the young man had lost himself inside his own mind. Lord Paraval watched as his grandson dove into the depths of the spring, vanishing into the waters.


    He tensed; instincts honed screaming at him that something was unfathomably wrong.


    Nubinor blinked, then blinked again. He swatted at his face, horror decorating his expression as he saw his hand shift and distort, textures and colors swimming like the liquid slime that he flew threw and the fire of burning ice that he breathed.


    Nubinor wasn¡¯t prepared for the psychedelic experience of Cedric¡¯s means of ¡®centering¡¯ himself. The Lord nearly lost his dinner and vomited into the pool as the world shifted into a thousand-thousand different colors; colors that the human eye wasn¡¯t even able to see, and he had no reference, no realm of concept for. The swirling colors organized themselves into shapes and textures that spat in the face of common physiques; bending itself into a non-Euclidean structure that added a fourth dimension. Like a drawing coming to life, Nubinor swam and thrashed inside this prison of the mind, this hellscape of sensations; they were too intense!


    And in the same micro-instant they were nonexistent.


    On.


    And then Off.


    ¡®Have you tried turning it on and off?¡¯ A voice in a strange foreign accent asked.


    It echoed inside Nubinor¡¯s mind as he floated in a blackened void devoid of any sensation or perception, his screaming voice lost in the darkness; so quiet that he couldn¡¯t even hear himself think.


    A vast and sudden silence. A conversation, whispers and songs. A weeping trumpet, a fathomless creature with many eyes, slumbering, slumbering, dreaming of him? Of everything?


    Nubinor clenched his teeth, fear, terror, horror in his bones screaming at him to flee; to escape!


    The eyes widened to wakefulness.


    Nubinor screamed, but he didn¡¯t exist anymore.


    Then they closed.


    The Lord gasped, his heart restarting as he clinically died for several seconds; Aura roared from his soul, sundering the infection of magic that had infiltrated his bones and brain, breaking free of the ensnarement.


    Nubinor came back from the slowly dissipating unreality to find Cedric floating in the water, back down and face up; the young man¡¯s eyes lost in a vision that Nubinor knew that he¡¯d only glimpsed.


    The orb of water beat methodically; it was its song. The maddening trumpets, Nubinor realized with a deep shiver down his spine. Nubinor took a fortifying breath, and focused on his grandson, feeling the young man¡¯s state with his Aura and limited, but experienced depth of knowledge regarding magic.


    The teen was lost in his mind. Nubinor could feel the magic within his skull was roiling with such a strength and force that he was utterly aghast at how Cedric was keeping such magic in control; for a single wrong move could spell brain-death in an instant.


    His grandson had just had a cathartic breakdown right in front of him, and Nubinor was in awe at how well he hid it, how easily it came and went. Like an ebbing tide, quiet and still, calm and sedated. Then a city ending wave and the calm coming crash. Even more so was that Nubinor was impressed in how well Cedric had controlled it. The illusion that he¡¯d just experienced; that was no instinctive and random casting. That was a well-practiced self-meditation, trying to reign himself in and put himself back onto his equilibrium.


    He found it deeply disturbing how he put himself back onto his equilibrium, those realms, those creatures, that experience. He¡¯d never felt anything like it, and even now his nerves shook from memories of recalling those instances.


    Nubinor kept his Aura shroud to its greatest strength and waded over to where Cedric floated, scooping the young man up and taking him to the shore of the pool. He retrieved a towel and wrapped them both up and took the teen over to a nearby relaxing swing chair.


    It was there that the old lord waited, and eventually Cedric broke from his trance. They sat in silence.


    Then Cedric started to talk again. He never choked up, never paused or hesitated. He just¡­spoke. He poured his heart out without a stutter to his words, outright stating that he needed someone to just¡­know. That it was unhealthy to keep it all bottled up.


    He spoke of his experiences in his House, his loneliness, his traumas, his fears of the outside world and the desire to face them. He spoke of the hatred that he had for his father, the contempt and disdain he held for his mother; the pragmatic understanding he had of Lord Alkahest and his respect, and fear of the terrifying patriarch of his family.


    He spoke of the apathy he held for his absent sisters and competitive brothers, and the systems of Scion recognition that had so spurned him of Nobility. His grudging filial responsibility he felt he held for House Alkahest in respects to the education and resources that they allowed him, and when he tried to convince himself of renouncing his attachments to the House; the materialistic bond manifested itself as a weight that kept him chained to a name he never wanted or wished for.


    Nubinor listened to it all with a great stony frown on his face, the night bleeding deep as time passed, the swing creaking with every odd repetition. ¡°House Alkahest has done you no favors, and while I understand your feelings with them providing you an education, name, wealth, and more; from what you¡¯ve told me¡­¡± Nubinor grimaced.


    While Cedric seemed to focus on two great acts that he found slighted him the most; the murder of an unnamed slave that the young man mind controlled and drugged into loving him, and the confinement into the House¡¯s Dungeons after a claim of ignorance towards his grandfather¡¯s interest into the young man that valued his privacy; those were just the crowning tip of the colossal iceberg.


    His abuse at the hands of his brothers, the neglect of his mother and father, the fact that most of his social interactions came from social balls and the servants that were charged to watch and report on his every action. His grandson spoke of his experience with loneliness, which explained why being confined into solitude by his father affected him so greatly, likely working up on a real fear of his, to be left alone for years and not mere days.


    ¡°But¡­they taught me magic.¡± Cedric argued weakly, the young man leaning forward and running a hand through his hair. ¡°I¡­I love magic. It¡¯s the one thing that was a light in my life; and while it burned me, while it cut me deep. I only have myself to blame for that fact.¡± The young man¡¯s face twisted in deep emotional pain, ¡°I just hate when my family rubs salt into those wounds, or when they act to restrain, limit, or manage my work.¡±


    Nubinor¡¯s brow furrowed, seeing deep into a problem that even Cedric himself seemed blind to. The young man was utterly obsessed with learning and practicing magic. No, he seemed very aware of that fact; but rather, he seemed to find that as a good thing. Like it was the one thing -and likely was- that he lived his life for. With nothing else within his life, sheltered as he was as a scion, the young man claimed magic as his one ¡®true love¡¯; reminding Nubinor of his youth when he once thought combat, battle, and war was all he wanted.


    Even with that unique perspective that was greatly similar to Cedric¡¯s own devotion towards magic, Nubinor remained doubtful that he truly understood the passion this young man proclaimed. Cedric, shameful as it was, reminded Nubinor of a slave. How ironic was it, that this young man who was born into the highest of echelons, saw his titles, future responsibilities, his very name, and the family he came from as chains more insidious and binding than the magics that the Empire used to brand slaves.


    Untrusting, paranoid of betrayal from a family that showed him no love, with nothing save his own wits, mind, and power to cling to in a world that he likely felt most alone within.


    What a dark and pitiful existence, one that could¡¯ve been avoided by simply extending a hand of friendship to a young boy, teen, and now young man.


    The older man chuckled softly, ¡°You are a very fixated person. Devoted, I¡¯d say.¡±


    Cedric chuckled, ¡°If there were a God of Magic, I¡¯d be their pontiff and most fervent of zealots.¡±


    Nubinor laughed, ¡°A religious man, are you, Cedric?¡±


    Cedric shook his head, ¡°No, no; a heretic, more like. I¡¯ve read some larger and more general picture text regarding the Gods, and I have some¡­heretical spells and arts that I often use to protect myself from their scrying and unique blessings.¡±


    Nubinor hummed, ¡°A good precaution to have. Have you heard of the Dark Gods?¡±


    Cedric frowned, ¡°I have. Never by name or scripture, but general osmosis through several texts, and some rare mentions. Stricken from most books; meant to limit access and knowledge, and thus prevent worship I assume.¡±


    Old Lord Paraval gave a hum of confirmation, ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never truly met or greatly interacted with the faith though.¡± Cedric mused, ¡°My family is separate from any faith entirely.¡±


    Nubinor gained a cheeky grin, ¡°Would you mind an old priest¡¯s faithful words?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re religious?¡± Cedric asked with surprise and intrigue, ¡°Few noble families are, what with the state separating from church.¡± He grimaced, ¡°Lessons of the Seventh Fall.¡±


    Nubinor laughed, ¡°A historian as well. Truly, you are an erudite man, Cedric. But it is true that I do not openly practice my faith, or truly interact with any church or institution; I was born into the Seventh Empire, after all.¡±


    Cedric¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Truly? The Seventh Empire fell¡­three hundred or so years ago?¡±


    ¡°Three hundred and ten. I was but a boy when it started to decline, and then fractured when I became a teen. Ancients will tell tales of how they¡¯ve watched Human Empires rise and fall like the sun¡¯s dawn and dusk. I¡¯m nothing truly special.¡± The old man shrugged.


    Cedric gave a considering hum, ¡°I¡¯ve always wondered why humans on Orevale constantly structure themselves into an Empire; it¡¯s been proven to fall near constantly with still preserved records of the First Fall laying around; although I guess any Empire would eventually and inevitably collapse in the time periods that most have stood.¡± Cedric mused, ¡°I¡¯d say that an Empire could last anywhere from a hundred, to five hundred years; any longer would require specialized forces -like multiple loyal Emperors- to bind the Empire together through sheer might and willpower.¡±


    Nubinor chuckled, ¡°The fourth had a system like what you speak of, but -ironically enough- Adultery was what ended that Empire; it broke the trust between the Empress and the Emperor, as the Empress was laying with the emperor¡¯s brother. The three of them were a trifecta of magical and martial might; unbeatable but fell to infighting and a dissolution of trust.¡±


    ¡°What a mess.¡± Cedric shook his head, ¡°Humans, even as old and powerful as they become, will continue to be human; I guess.¡± He mused. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯d not have it any other way.¡± He shrugged.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Nubinor quired.


    ¡°Would you want a Gnome on the throne?¡± Cedric asked sarcastically.


    Nubinor barked out laughing, picturing the image with growing hilarity.


    ¡°Still, what God or Goddess do you Worship, Lord Paraval -er, grandfather?¡± Cedric asked.


    Nubinor calmed, the soft grin on his face fading as he started to lecture, ¡°There are many Gods across many cultures. However, with the advent of the Fall of the Seventh Empire, religious orders have been isolated from the ruling class; although concessions need still be made to keep their members militant against the forces they rival.¡± He spoke in reference to the Infernal forces of Hell. ¡°To perpetuate Imperial Culture across the Empire, the Emperor needed a religious icon that the Empire¡¯s Culture could grow around. It was, however, agreed that allowing free-worship of all faiths -or at least those that do not break Imperial Law- was beneficial to the Imperial Seat of Power, as introducing competition into the central faith would indirectly decentralize and polarize militant sects of certain gods; preventing a God from calling all their faithful to wage a bloody crusade against the very same Empire that unified them.¡±


    The Al-Asha Yoshem Crusade was a bloody time, a civil War that pitted the Blood Servants of Yoshem against the Priesthood of Al-Asha the Blazing Light; the resulting feud broke the Empire as faithful servants within all classes turned their blades on one another in an instant.


    It was, ironically, the Priesthood of Al-Asha that threw the gauntlet, as Yoshem taught moderation and control over murderous and wrathful intention; a useful tenant to have within a militarized force that once dominated the continent.


    ¡°The Imperial Faith is that of Iso, God of Inspiration.¡± Cedric muttered.


    ¡°Correct. Iso was a Dwarven and Gnomish God brought to the Empire in its very youth; the missionaries coming from the old Drakforn City Hold.¡±


    ¡°Which is now a part of the Empire.¡± Cedric commented.


    ¡°Yes. The emperor is a man that sees the Gnomish and Dwarven populations of the world as little different than Humanity; although like our earlier joke, there are differences and discrimination. Humanity wouldn¡¯t allow a gnome or dwarf to rule them.¡±


    ¡°Yet the Dwarves and Gnomes do?¡± Cedric asked.


    ¡°In truth, all Gnomish and Dwarven cities and holdings under the Imperial Banner are more like Vassal states; they rule themselves with their own internal laws. They bow to humanity, the emperor, and the Empire for several reasons. The dwarves pay a certain tribute and taxes to the Empire, but they make back disgusting amounts of wealth through trade with the greater whole of the Empire. They enjoy luxuries and commodities that are brought through every inch of the world, and in this way, we dominate them economically as their cities dug deep into the Earth are limited in the variety of resources they can harvest. Culturally, we¡¯ve adopted Iso, the God of Inspiration as our Imperial Faith, with scripture, religious icons, colleges, institutions, and chapels being built wherever Imperial influence spreads. This has done great wonders in our relationship with Clans that follow similar faiths.¡±


    Cedric stroked his chin, ¡°Iso wasn¡¯t chosen randomly.¡± He stated. ¡°The technological development of the Empire; it¡¯s been planned by the emperor?¡±


    Nubinor grinned, ¡°Very perceptive, Cedric. You recognize the power of the technologies that the Empire is developing?¡±


    Cedric rolled his eyes, ¡°Of course. I¡¯m not blind to the advancements that the common folk have made; I¡¯m a merchant after all, and Parallax Productions has made some magitech and artifice.¡±


    ¡°Most mages and sorcerers are blind.¡± Nubinor mused. ¡°A rare few have seen the benefits and have been utterly enthralled; there seems to be very little middle ground between it. Either a mage is utterly dismissive, or entirely wrapped up in the potential of the advancing technologies being churned out by the colleges and institutions.¡± Nubinor shook his head, ¡°Regardless, the Imperial Faith of Iso is designed for the common folk and industrial expansion of the Empire, producing goods and products at a rate and sustained quality never seen before. However, as can be imagined, the introduction of the Imperial Faith has been slow going in many regions. Which is good in its own right for preserving culture groups.¡±


    Cedric hummed as he tossed that around in his head. ¡°Use the faith of Iso to soak up the peasantry and those without identity, tying them to the Imperial Faith and thus the Empire, while preserving cultural identity of one¡¯s own territory as cultures and faiths feel like they¡¯re under attack.¡± Cedric mused, ¡°It has room to backfire, but competition in a free market is the best way to see growth and innovation. How ironic.¡± He chuckled. Cedric turned his eyes to a proud looking Nubinor, ¡°What faith does House Paraval hold?¡± He asked again.


    ¡°We keep to Yorm and Wyka; the faith is more prominent in select areas and culturally preserved locations within the city, and of course the countryside.¡± Nubinor stated.


    ¡°Remind me of the faiths; I¡¯ve heard the names, but well, I¡¯m somewhat foreign to the city.¡± Cedric said apologetically.


    Nubinor smiled indulgently, ¡°Not a problem. Yorm, God of Skies and Snow; Heavenly Giant, his grace biting like the chills of frost inside one¡¯s bones. Wyka, Hag of The Forest, brambled hair, robe of thorn; gnarled staff and biting curse on winter¡¯s frozen breath.¡±


    ¡°Hardship and perseverance.¡± Cedric muttered to Nubinor¡¯s encouraging nod.


    ¡°Indeed. Old Gods, Yorm and Wyka are, yet we keep their traditions well.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± Cedric murmured, looking out towards the calm pool of water, steaming still with heat. The two men relaxed on the swing, comfortable in the ensuing silence.


    ¡°Cedric.¡± Nubinor said softly.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always welcome in my home, son. Always.¡±


    ¡°...Why?¡±


    ¡°...Why does anyone love their grandchildren?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I.¡±


    And so, they sat, both men utterly comfortable as the late night¡¯s winds chilled them, magic and Aura protecting them from the chill.


    Balduran came late during the night to check up on them, to find Cedric using magic, showing Nubinor Paraval images of distant stars and planets. The servant left with a smile, the image of the star struck expression on the old Lord¡¯s face as he gazed at distant worlds and stars never leaving his mind as he did so.

 Chapter Three: Roslin Paraval nee Yogdal

    Chapter Three: Roslin Von Paraval nee Yogdal


    Cedric woke up to the cooing of birds and the harsh light of the noon sun. He yawned deeply, reaching around to feel around in his lab; looking for a strong bottle of a foul-smelling potion to help wake him up. Instead, he felt something hard and warm.


    He shook himself awake and blinked hard to clear his eyes out, the grogginess fading as he found himself waking to an empty pool; he was sitting and laying back against a softly rocking swing. He heard a rumble and glanced over to find a huge well-muscled man lying next to him, rumbling away as he snored softly.


    Memories of last night came flooding back, and Cedric found a smile come to his face unwillingly.


    Family.


    The smile turned bitter; how enviable he was of his mother to have a father like this. He shook that jealous thought away and softly stepped out from the swinging seat, glancing over to his grandfather and wondering if he should wake the man. He rubbed his head, stomach rumbling just as well.


    He didn¡¯t know his way around the mansion, and his guide was slumbering. Troublesome.


    Steps drew his attention away from his brewing thoughts, and a solution appeared.


    Balduran smiled and waved as he rounded the corner, in his hands a steaming cup of tea that he softly brought to his lips to enjoy. Cedric wasn¡¯t much of a tea or coffee person, which he found ironic considering his profession; although in his past life he crushed a ton of Energy Drinks, which kept its trend in this world just the same. Although, he was sure to claim that at least the potions and elixirs he produced were significantly healthier than the sugar and caffeine filled garbage called Energy Drinks.


    He still missed the taste of Monster though. Something to think about for later.


    Balduran gestured for Cedric to follow him, and to keep quiet. Cedric nodded and followed the butler, soon being led to the changing rooms.


    ¡°Lunch is soon, young master. Lady Roslin was rather cross with her husband for missing out on breakfast, although she was quite surprised and overjoyed to hear the reason for such absence.¡± Balduran stated with a soft smile as he enjoyed his tea.


    Cedric raised an eyebrow, ¡°My coming wasn¡¯t mentioned to Lady Roslin?¡± He questioned, recognizing the name of his grandmother. Not from any real mention, but general osmosis, and being required to study the names and heraldry of all the important nobility within the Empire.


    Baldur shook his head, ¡°No, sadly not. Lord Paraval obtained a letter from Lord Alkahest, and the contents were for his eyes only. He neglected to mention the details to Lady Roslin, although that could be because she was out-and-about in the wilderness for the past few weeks; on and off, at least.¡±


    Cedric raised an eyebrow, his unasked question going answered promptly by Baldur. ¡°Lady Roslin is a Shaman, as we understand it. Her bloodline has fae ancestry, and she has undergone rituals and mystic practices to bring out that ancestry to a more prominent degree than many find acceptable within the Empire. I do caution you to be tolerant of your grandmother¡¯s linage. Lady Roslin is only a decade younger than the Lord himself, predating the Empire and its culture of human supremacy; many Empires in the past were built on the back of hybrid races. Even full-blooded elves.¡±


    Cedric nodded, not needing the commentary as he¡¯d studied history himself, but he understood it needed to be said by Baldur as to protect himself from his grandmother¡¯s wrath if he acted unwisely regarding her heritage.


    ¡°A Shaman?¡± Cedric murmured to himself as found himself focusing on that aspect, utterly ignoring his grandmother¡¯s ancestry save for the fact that it was magically enhanced in potency via rituals and ¡®mystic practices¡¯.


    Shamans were, as most traditional Mages understood them, primitive magic casters.


    There was some truth in that, but how that truth was interpreted differed from person to person, shaman to shaman. Some shamans were limited in manipulating very ¡®basic¡¯ aspects of magic, like the ¡®traditional elements¡¯ of nature, Fire, Lighting, Earth, Light, Dark. General elemental aspected abilities and connections towards those aspects and natures.


    Shamans were also lumped in with what Cedric would call ¡®Druids¡¯; however, a word that could conjure the concept of a ¡®Druid¡¯ didn¡¯t exist within common. Words that did usually had strong Fae roots, with ties towards elvish communities that understood such magical practices far better than any human faction that he knew of, at least from his scant research into the topic. He couldn¡¯t exactly go out and hunt for human enclaves or hedge witches that could provide primary source information on the topic and relationship of Shamans and Druids within human cultures, separate from the more predominant representation within Elven and Fae cultures.


    Most of Cedric¡¯s knowledge of Shamans came from text investigating the foundational roots of their magics; often called the most basic and reduced form of magic known to common thought; er, well, common thought at least among mages. Wild Magic, instinctual and often emotionally charged, such magic was the basis of most magics that Shamans used, that all magic was built off the foundation off, save for more magics that Cedric would call ¡®external magic¡¯, like ritualism, spiritualism, and alchemy. Cedric himself was somewhat of a proficient user of Wild Magic, and yesterday was one of his most powerful non-intentional expressions of that magic.


    In his practice, he purposefully used illusion magic to coax his emotional state into near apocalyptic levels of wrath, rage, and hatred; just to experience and understand more about Wild Magic. These experiments helped him develop his subconscious mind to become familiar with Wild Magic, and to use it in instances where he needed magic to happen. While it was theoretically dangerous to others around him if he were to become volatile emotionally -something that he only now recognized to happen to his Grandfather- in a scenario where his life was threatened and he didn¡¯t have the time to structure a powerful enough spell, or he just needed something to happen and couldn¡¯t spare the focus towards casting the correct spell; then Wild Magic would step in.


    Cedric had honed this magic to a great degree, thinking it as the foundation of effectively all forms of magical practices; not just Shamanism. If he were to compare Wild Magic to something more physical and understandable, then it would be Cedric teaching his body muscle memory, training his eye-hand coordination, and being able to just instinctively do something if he wanted it enough.


    Like catching something thrown suddenly, in which the body moves before thought can catch up; because the body and subconscious mind is reacting before it can process and control that movement.


    Cedric¡¯s Wild Magic was unique in his findings, not conforming to elemental expressions of magic. Instead, it took after his proficiency and familiarity with a more subtle form of magic, Enchantment and the Illusionary arts. Extreme bouts of emotion that Cedric experienced, artificial or otherwise, had him retreat into his own mind to confront the emotion; to try and control it.


    He often failed, as Cedric had rules; boundaries that he kept to while working within his mind. Flagrantly violating these boundaries would mean potentially altering himself to a degree that he found¡­untenable. A little death of the identity, as it was. He was familiar with how they felt, to kill someone, yet not of the soul or body, but of the mind. He¡¯d killed himself plenty of times, shaping his mind away from what he once was; into something that he found¡­agreeable.


    Away with the negative, accentuating the positive as it were. Although now that he was wiser and more knowledgeable of the magic he¡¯d used flippantly in the past, Cedric could recognize that he went too far in his ¡®journey of self-improvement¡¯. Gone was the man from Earth, and anything that could even be recognized as him. Gone was Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, Scion of the Great Ducal House of The Alkahest. Gone even was the strange reincarnation of both, and instead the meandering studies and reckless practices of the illusionary arts had shaped both into something¡­different.


    He¡¯d long since experienced identity death, and now knew how to recognize what identity death was, and as the current identity that functioned within his body¡¯s mind and soul; he didn¡¯t exactly want to die like his older selves did. Wild Magic was thus left to be wild, as doing otherwise would mean relinquishing ownership of the emotions that inspired it. If one feels rage, yet holds the tools to not just temper it, to control it; but to redefine, reshape, direct, quench, alter, amplify, and so much more¡­


    Then at what point does Cedric stop being a man, and instead becomes a human computer; able to be programmed and puppeteered by the logical higher intelligence of his mind? Cedric found this fate to be untenable, and while he allowed certain freedoms in his alteration of the mind to stay as they were -for they were ultimately him-, creating further alterations would change him irrevocably.


    Cedric¡¯s Wild Magic, while still wild in nature, enslaved to his emotions, was well trained. Real emotional outbursts such as the one he¡¯d had yesterday, well, they weren¡¯t even a rarity as they were outright anomalies. It was his subconscious that had been trained to recognize this level of emotion as something that needed to be defended against, injecting his mana into the natural currents of the air, infusing itself into the surroundings with utmost subtly, altering the perceptions, senses, and very perception of reality. Cedric had no real name for this ¡®technique¡¯, for it truly wasn¡¯t a technique; just an expression of his magic, trained and conditioned as it was, leaking itself into reality and acting as it was programmed to.


    Cedric frowned as he worried about his grandfather¡¯s mental state.


    To gain control of his mental state, Cedric used many different methods of meditation; uniquely created to manage his magic, mind, mental state, and emotions. A sort of ¡®Operating System Reset¡¯ that his rational sense of mind found necessary to implement, using the ambient Wild Magic to do so.


    His alchemical efforts had him in contact with a plethora of often¡­Psychoactive ingredients and products. He sold as such on the market, but Cedric had grown to become something of a fiend for the products that he produced as shameful as that was to admit. ¡®The Cook doesn¡¯t use their own supply¡¯, as the saying goes, or at least, that¡¯s what he roughly remembered it to be. Breaking Good was a good television show and was a large inspiration for him to start working with Alchemy; that and Skyrime.


    Cedric used psychedelic potions and products to get high, and those ¡®trips¡¯ were what he used to train his subconscious mind.


    Which, of course, was inspired directly by HP. Lovecraft.


    His munchkin-ass also got into the mindset of ¡®training his body to be resistant to poisons¡¯, and so he started researching methods of increasing poison resistance; hoping to replicate tolerance training that assassins in fiction often did.


    He, of course, didn¡¯t jump right into poisoning himself; but instead started to research magical means of healing, with potions being the most potent outside of high-level Divine magics. Then came the anatomical research, involving the purchase of several dozen slaves: criminals, all of them. The morality of such an action caused internal friction among his mind at the time, however, a minor removal of squeamishness towards the vivisections -painless through painkillers- started a collapsing downfall of his morality towards such topics; and even got him interested in necromancy, before his logical mind started barking the real risks towards practicing that forgotten and forbidden art.


    Cedric could already hear the dozen voices in his head whispering the ¡®morality¡¯ of necromancy, and how it could be used as a force of ¡®good¡¯.


    No. Just¡­no.


    That shit was a Dark Art, stained black and red; outlawed by divine forces all over the world, and not just because of casual ¡®ew gross¡¯ and ¡®obviously evil magic¡¯ sentiments. There likely were such things spread over certain cultures within the Empire, but anyone who spent an ounce of effort investigating the magic immediately realized that stuff was Evil.


    Disregarding such notions, Cedric doubled down on his anatomical and medicine learning sessions, using similar enchantments to his mind to gain the motivation and commitment to achieve what was effectively ¡®hack doctor¡¯ level medical skill.


    Cedric would never claim himself a proficient doctor, he was only nineteen and his time practicing medicine was amoral and the utter antithesis towards what actual healers and doctors performed; but what he learned from memorized books reminiscent of a more advanced and accurate medieval medicinal journal, and his vivisections and experiments, it all had him experienced in a form of medicinal practice.


    It wasn¡¯t the only time he¡¯d used this method of learning, as once he started, he didn¡¯t stop. Convicts and criminals who sold themselves into slavery found themselves smuggled into his laboratories through proxy dealers, stuffed into shipments of alchemical supplies inside cramped boxes.


    Once they arrived, they never left.


    Mind magic, investigations into the soul, the functions of Aura and Magic on the body; so many things to test and learn, yet never enough time.


    He used the information obtained from his vivisections and experiments on several dozen slave groups, eventually gaining enough confidence to subscribe to a dosage plan; and it all started to spiral out of control from there.


    His poisons, once he¡¯d achieved a desired level of resistance, were replaced with intense psychoactive psychedelics and delusive potions or ingredients. His mastery of his mind left him able to easily recover from any permanent damage or change done by the potions, but the memories; they weren¡¯t forgotten. He didn¡¯t want to forget them, because he found the lingering traumas from these literally magical psychoactive products to be utterly enthralling.


    If ¡®magic mushrooms¡¯ were something that existed within the mundane world of Earth, then what would a trip look like with actually magical mushrooms? Put simply, it was out of this world.


    Considering that his Wild Magic took great president after his Subconscious Mind and that he used magical psychedelic effects to train and refine his subconscious to be ever more aware of its surroundings; then considering how Cedric¡¯s Wild Magic was directly ¡®controlled¡¯ by his subconscious mind, and one could see the obvious loop of where this was going.


    To be affected by his Wild Magic, one would be introduced to his subconscious thought-processes which functioned within the DMT realm of reality. If someone was exposed, Cedric would expect them to go bat-shit insane from the eldritch inspiration dabbed into his mind with the brain-rot of a twenty-first century individual stapling a rough structure into the ¡®dream¡¯ his Wild Magic represented.


    Cedric was interested in how his grandfather would handle his Wild Magic, as he knew he was affected by it. Was he okay? Would he have lasting effects from the magic? What were the-


    A snap brought Cedric out of his thoughts.


    Balduran stood by his side with an amused expression, Cedric noticing that he was dressed and had been going through his morning routine while he¡¯d thought in tangents. He gave an apologetic smile, ¡°Apologies, Baldur. I was lost in thought.¡±


    Baldur chortled, ¡°No problem, Scion Cedric.¡± He pulled from out a pocket watch from his jacket pocket and smiled, ¡°Would you happen to be hungry, Cedric? The madam should be eating first lunch right now.¡±


    Not ever reacting to the notion of a ¡®first¡¯ lunch, Cedric raised his brow in consideration and gave the man a firm nod. ¡°I¡¯d love to meet my grandmother.¡± He decided. Lord Alkahest did not have his significant other any longer, murdered many years prior to his birth.


    Balduran bowed and beckoned him to follow him. Dressed within his usual attire, Cedric followed through the halls of this old manner with an inspecting gaze. He paused in his stride a few times to gaze upon artworks and pieces of finery that caught his attention; from ancient pieces of pieced together pottery detailed with glazed artworks, to paintings of his Lord Nubinor Paraval and his many children.


    He paused along one painting that held his grandmother within frame, the woman looked young; far younger than both of his lordly grandfathers. The painting held his grandfather within, looking perhaps a bit younger than he was today, and a subtle application of magic dated the painting being produced within the decade.


    Inspecting his grandmother¡¯s features, he noted the sylvan aspects of the fae and elven-kind. It depended on what ethnic group of elves that one sprang from, but some elves were truthfully little different than long-lived humans, while other elves held far more in common with the implacable and whimsical fae. Tensions between humanity and elven kind have been perpetuated by many factors, from human greed and lust to elvish whim and fae-magic might.


    Cedric did not have the same features or bloodline of his grandmother, as Balduran had explained, the woman had gone through various rituals and magical rites to deepen her connection to her already thin bloodline. Perhaps a long-lost ancestor of his had lain with one such fae-blooded individual, but while Cedric could potentially experiment on his blood and revitalize the same effects that his grandmother did; there was little point in doing so.


    He wasn¡¯t vain enough man to go through such banal lengths of altering his bloodline for the ageless looks, nor did he want to exactly leave behind his humanity for something that wasn¡¯t much better, and arguably worse in some ways. The reasons his grandmother might have for doing such procedures were her own, with Cedric not judging.


    Too much.


    If he was going to preform such a bloodline remedial procedure, he¡¯d likely target creatures of a more esoteric nature. Aquatic creatures in line with the eldritch forces of the world, perhaps. The sea did ever-so call to him, and within the magical world did he wonder just how marvelous of a place that alien world was when it already was like another world back on mundane Earth.


    He wasn¡¯t advanced enough in his studies to try his hand at advanced-level flesh-shaping, nor was he prepared and experienced enough to develop a personalized bloodline for himself and his future children -if he ever had any- but he was merely nineteen and had a grounding idea of how to accomplish such things. When he was in his thirties, forties, fifties, and sixties, where would he be then? How advanced would he be in the realms of magic then? He¡¯d studied magic since he was three, sixteen years he¡¯d devoted towards his practice, and thus held the same capabilities as a stellar genius of magic twice his age.


    His alterations to his mind meant he would not stop, could never stop.


    ¡®Truly such an uninspired ritual.¡¯ Cedric thought as he moved along, soon arriving through elegant halls to an outdoor garden.


    Through detailed stonework paths he arrived at an outdoor awning, and seated there was the same woman that was pictured within the paintings.


    Lady Roslin Paraval nee Yogdal.


    The most immediate features one would notice would first be her piercing green eyes, the glowing -yes glowing and illuminated- eyes covered the entire organ, although where the normally white sclera resided a darker and less illuminated green was present. Her hair was split in the middle, one side a brilliant flowing silver-white, the other a more mundane dark nut brown. Her wavy hair flowed down her face; cut off at her shoulders. Twin long pointed ears pierced through her locks, pierced by various intricate piercings just below the tip, and a ring at what could be considered an ¡®ear lobe¡¯.


    Her dress was rather scandalous by the social conventions of the current era, although drawing on his knowledge of the seventh empire, this dress and ¡®lack¡¯ of modesty barring a generous cleavage paired with metallic chain beads linking to a collar of wired-metal around her neck would be considered the height of fashion. The more Victorian and subdued trends leading towards suits, dresses, and so clashed with the more ¡®classic era¡¯ fashion of dress that she sported.


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    An odd fashion of clothing considering it was so cold within Paraval, although for all he knew she hardly felt it due to her bloodline. The white hair was quite indicative of a frost-elf, although it seemed her bloodline was a mongrel line, as her eyes were that of a jungle or woodland elf from the Great Eshal forests. The split hairline with dual colors was an obvious allusion to her mongrel bloodline, bearing it with a unique pride that only those educated on fae customs would ever find of important note.


    Roslin Paraval may be the wife of one of the most powerful men within the Empire, but she was, in the eyes of other elven societies -or what passes for society in their eyes- of mongrel blood and was a lesser because of that. It was of little wonder that the empires of man throughout their history picked up a wealth of citizens with elven blood in their veins, not just half-humans, but the elven ethnic groups were in fact ethnostates as well.


    The woman seemed to be something of a wild-child, at least in his eyes; the piercings were a fashion atypical of Imperial society and belonged to more tribal customs. It was done moderately, merely to her ears and nose, although if his eyes proved keen then he could possibly see indentations of bar piercings through her thin dress. The gauche stories that his grandfather had saucily told him were undoubtedly true; this woman was indeed a ¡®dragon beneath the sheets¡¯ as he¡¯d been told merely by first appearances.


    Of course, knowledge of her salacious activities held in the ¡®privacy¡¯ of her husband¡¯s home held little weight in his judgement of the woman. He was more so invested in sending his most subtle of pokes at her magical presence, humming in both consideration and a bit of confusion when he felt no reprisal from his scanning gestures. He was sneaky, yes, but he felt no such magical prodding or divination being elicited to his person. Whenever he was in high-society he was always washed with such prods and unsubtle gestures of tracking charms, divinations, with some even having the gall to wipe his saliva from his goblet and later use it in information gathering rituals!


    He¡¯d obviously developed counter-measures in diverting such peaks into falsified readings or just failures in the magics. Some were too powerful to be stopped, so they needed to be tricked, others were too subtle to be tricked, so they needed to be sputter and fail.


    From his investigative probe he surmised that the woman held a considerable weight of soul and metaphysical presence. Most magical practitioners observed one another based on how much energies and magics they could shove within their puny flesh-sack. Cedric could store fifty-times as much magical energies within a piss-poor gemstone carved and faceted with runes and enchantments of magical storage, drawing on it just as easily as he could his internal reserves.


    Expanding them was important, as increasing one¡¯s flesh-sack¡¯s tolerance to magical phenomena was how one resisted getting cursed, or their spine being teleported out of their body. However, it wasn¡¯t an accurate measure of power, and instead Cedric developed a different metric, and one that was more reliable.


    The Metaphysical Scale, as he called it, ¡®weighed¡¯ the observable presence one¡¯s spirit and soul held on the superimposed astral realm. It was like a visualization of gravity, except the masses in this case were an individual soul and how much of the space they passively affected by their mere presence. None he¡¯d observed, from his mother to his grandfather, could hide this presence; even he hadn¡¯t found a way to obscure his ¡®mass¡¯ and ¡®gravity¡¯ within ¡®space¡¯.


    The Metaphysical Scale was important as while one could have a lake¡¯s worth of magic, the ¡®gravity¡¯ one¡¯s spirit had was the active force lifting the ¡®water¡¯ or ¡®magic¡¯ out of the lake and directing it to their will. The mind and brain were the computer programing the magic, shaping it to one¡¯s vision. One¡¯s mental strength and willpower governed the simple ¡®grit your teeth and push¡¯ mentality it took to crunch out intensely detailed visualizations of magical phenomena a hundred times in a row without deviation. However, the spirit was the muscle, the winch and pulley, the engine and torque, the force and gravity, that allowed magic to move.


    Saturating one¡¯s body with magic through meditation allowed one¡¯s flesh to store magic. It was a faulty -and surprisingly mainstream- belief that one¡¯s soul was the ¡®bowl¡¯ that magic was stored within, but his observations and theories noted that the soul was inviolate -except in the cases of Black Magic like Necromancy- and neutral magics could not permeate into the soul, thus invalidating the belief that the soul was the container for magic. Magic could be ordered and gathered through meditations, ¡®calling out¡¯ to ambient energies to suffuse one¡¯s flesh with magic, forming what was called ¡®the first drop¡¯.


    Cedric had engraved in his bones through invasive surgery using a crude golem configuration -he was still figuring out golem craft honestly, it was complex stuff- runic configurations that optimized the storage of magic within his marrow. As magic was stored within his marrow, carefully and procedurally expanding the amount of magic stored within the organ, the blood produced by his marrow was high in magic. As his blood circulated throughout his body, his entire body was saturated in magic, allowing his body¡¯s functions to passively, if slowly, expand his innate magical reserves.


    The painite gem on his unnamed wand could store roughly seven times the amount of magic he could within his body, making such energies redundant; but redundancy was always a good thing to have. He normally had jewelry and gemstones but deigned not to wear them as they were ¡®gauche¡¯ within Paraval¡¯s culture, although it was normal to see merchants with multiple rings on each finger and golden grilled teeth within Yal-Hest.


    Cedric wasn¡¯t really expecting to need a hundred times more magical energy than he could reasonably use; with his wand he¡¯d need to cast dozens of his most powerful spells back-to-back to drain them of their stores. It just wasn¡¯t practical to run around with a thousand gallons of fuel for his car when he was only going to use like, three at most in a serious fight. Perhaps if a siege or demon invasion happened, he¡¯d want a hundred gallons, but at that point he was doing something wrong in life.


    Big magical reserves were more ¡®reserved¡¯ for people like War Mages who used massive spells to devastate entire armies but were obviously high-value targets and those spells to a while to set up as it were. Cedric was prepared and capable within the realm of combat, if inexperienced, but if he was in the position to be fighting entire armies then something had gone horribly wrong.


    Arriving before Roslin, Cedric bowed neatly to the woman and gave his respects with an arm crossed over his chest. ¡°Scion Alkahest gives his respects to the Lady Paraval.¡± He intoned, keeping his eyes to his feet as he waited for permission to look up.


    The silence was broken by repeated clicking of the plates, Cedric letting out a mental sigh as he kept himself bowed and staring blankly at his feet. This continued for a minute, the clinking stopped, and he waited another minute.


    ¡°Are you going to sit?¡± The woman asked, with Cedric taking that as permission. Straightening he gave a firm and stiff nod and rounded the table to sit across from her. He ordered himself nicely at the table, keeping his hands in view and sleeves roughly open.


    Balduran came around to his side and left an open plate before him, a rich salad, a plate of cheese and bread, cuts of salted meats, and a bowl of assorted fruits. A light lunch, fitting for ¡®first lunch¡¯.


    He used the two-pronged fork to neatly pierce together some cheese and the local equivalent to a grape, chewing thoughtfully, ¡°You have great food at your table, Lady Paraval.¡± He commented neutrally.


    He heard a suffering sigh, ¡°Has that brat Yoz been filling your head with this nonsense, boy?¡± The woman¡¯s face twisted with disdain at his father¡¯s name, ¡°I come back from my weekly hunts and find my husband and grandson passed out within the men¡¯s bath house; not aware my grandson was even visiting the city! And it seems he¡¯s a groveling fool just like the rest of the so-called ¡®high society¡¯.¡±


    Cedric blinked, smiled genuinely and chuckled, ¡°Etiquette classes were somewhat enjoyable for me. I tend to use them when in doubt to not give offense.¡±


    ¡°Enjoyable?¡± The woman stared expressively, slightly gobsmacked by that statement, ¡°Etiquette?¡± She shook her head like she¡¯d heard him say the sky was purple.


    It wasn¡¯t, it was blue. Sometimes there were meteorological events that dyed it purple though.


    ¡°There weren¡¯t a lot of people to speak to in my youth, and learning how to deal with the ass-licking snobs at the balls was an endeavor worth putting effort into.¡± Cedric¡¯s eyes drifted with brief memories.


    The woman cocked her head, ¡°Is that why your voice is so growly? To scare the little girls away from the unapproachable mage?¡± She asked with a bit of light teasing direct to his attire; many cultures had their own attire for wizards, wisemen, and mages. His clothing fit Paraval¡¯s more modern culture for those individuals to a T.


    Cedric blinked. ¡°Ah, no, a lab accident. I inhaled some fumes, fixed the immediate damage to my lungs, but forgot to treat the damage to my vocal cords. Never bothered fixing it.¡± He grinned, ¡°Why, is my voice soothing to you?¡± He played up a bit of a Southern American accent into the common tongue, the accent drawling nicely with the homogenous language and his mangled deep cords had it hit octaves his natural voice otherwise couldn¡¯t.


    There were cases of individuals whose vocal cords were damaged due to things like regurgitating stomach acid, a medical condition that damaged them into having perpetually deep bassy tones. Cedric was an audio engineer as a part-time hobby, mixing songs and playing around with software, and while he lacked the musical wit and talent for singing lyrics off rip, give him some written lyrics and he could likely belt out a nice song.


    He gave a deep laugh as the woman surprisingly gave him a bashful glance.


    ¡°You have a voice deeper than even my husband¡¯s.¡± She fanned herself with a paper fan, ¡°And what is this about a lab accident? You¡¯re an Alchemist?¡± She asked with a raised eyebrow, imperious and matronly.


    Cedric chuckled, ¡°I was a boy. Well, I guess that means little to you; I am still a boy to you, and likely will forever be even when I have a beard to my knees.¡± He chortled.


    She slapped her fan against the table playfully, ¡°Are you calling me old, grandson?¡± She threatened.


    ¡°Why never! I¡¯m sure you¡¯re still a fox-lion in the sheets, grandma.¡± He gave her a wag of his eyebrows, ¡°The old Jotun sure gave me plenty of details for me to be confident of that.¡±


    The woman growled and glared towards the manner, ¡°Well that ¡®old Jotun¡¯ will surely become a Frost Giant sleeping alone in the halls.¡±


    Tossing a roll of meat and cheese into his mouth, Cedric chuckled and continued teasing her, ¡°Need some more psychedelics? Bedroom aids?¡± He wagged his eyebrows.


    The woman furrowed her brow, ¡°You have the capital to purchase those goods?¡± She uttered, confused, and frowned matronly, ¡°You should save your money for more important things, Cedric.¡± Although as she said so she bit her lip and teetered, ¡°Although I wouldn¡¯t mind taking some of your stock off your hands¡­¡± She said with an ever so slightly sultry smirk.


    Cedric realized that she didn¡¯t know he was the producer of Parallax Production¡¯s product line, and grinned. From his coat pocket he pulled out a rectangular box of hardened tempered glass, inside white tablets rested. Cracking the boxes plastic lid open, he tapped out a few tabs into his hand. From his boot pocket he pulled out a rectangular thin bar, and with a flick it reveled itself to be a blade.


    Crushing the pills into a fine powder using a flick of telekinesis, Cedric cut the powder on his knife and inhaled a line. Shaking his head and with wide eyes, he hooted, ¡°Damn, that always kicks.¡± He rolled his shoulder and felt himself become more aware of his body. The highly concentrated healing tablet he¡¯d snorted was designed to heal and repair the most difficult and minor of wounds. Brain damage, dead brain cells, restoration of cartilage, old wounds, micro-tears, along with a bit of a kick to one¡¯s energy levels and a dose of xanthine and alchemically produced amphetamines, with this drug having what he called alkalamphetamine. A personal invention of the salts that amphetamines were based on.


    It also might be laced with something like cocaine, if not a stimulant. Magical cocaine that came from neuistrania phentomalice, a plant that held a deadly neuro-toxin that when ingested killed within three minutes; often leaving an individual with dead nerves if they survived. The specific chemical chains were extracted and refined into a more dilute version that when paired with the healing properties of futalmagan espora, a fungal agent that had high levels of natural neural bio-chemical restorative properties acted together to cull-and-repair bad neural growth.


    Cedric was on these pills, taken daily, to reduce the strain of the enchantments on his mind. His mind, his entire brain, was active at nearly all times; even when he was asleep, he had dream-charms specifically engineered to give him dreams about experimenting with magic. He did some of his best work half-dead from sleep deprivation and finished his best work after sleeping like the dead and high-off his gourd having snorted an entire container of the stuff.


    Hesitantly taking the offered blade, his grandmother watched as he crushed up the second pill and she mimicked him in lining it on the edge of the blade. Raising it to her nose pierced by a ring of gold, she inhaled quickly and turned her head, coughing immediately as she dropped the blade with a clatter on the table. Shaking herself as she recovered, the drug hit quickly, a tingle felt within the head, then expanding through the bloodstream and throughout the entire nervous system.


    Cracking another, Cedric laced his gums with the powder. The effects of the drug were rather immediate and profound, in that it held active health benefits to those who consumed it, as regardless of who one was, everyone had some form of nerve damage, no matter how minute. Cedric had some of the criminal slaves he¡¯d captured report that he remembered what his mother¡¯s face looked like, having only seen her last when he was a boy of three years old. The man¡¯s crying and profuse thanks had Cedric¡¯s paltry sense of mercy decide to give the man a quick death.


    The effect of the drug would need time to work to that extent, but from the energetic look his grandmother was giving the entire yard, he knew she was experiencing the full effects of the short-term experience. When Cedric needed focus, he got focused. Amphetamines were made for people with attentive disorders, however, Mages and those who used magic were neurologically divergent as a baseline. These were designed to help his biology keep up with his abuse of it.


    ¡°What are those?¡± His grandmother asked, seemingly intensely interested in him as her focus shifted to him. It was honestly a bit unnerving to have his grandmother¡¯s beautiful and slightly uncanny features stare at him unblinkingly and with such intensity.


    ¡°Alkalamphetamine Duoestro, short-hand product name; Mind Pills.¡± He shook his container.


    ¡°Alkal¡­¡± She furrowed her brow, and cocked her head with intense interest, ¡°Are you in contact with Parallax Productions? Do you know how to contact them? Nubinor and I have been dying to get our hands on more Spirit Bond vials, even if we¡¯re likely to be outbid by those damned Tachibana or the Xong.¡± There was true need in her voice, although not quite desperation.


    It always amused Cedric how many diverse cultures there were within the Orestien Empire. Not exactly a one-to-one replication of the cultures that he thought of when they were summoned, the Orestien Empire was truly expansive as a continent expansive Empire. Some families and houses that were now powerful and rich nobility within the Eighth Empire, were once slaves, foreigners, and foreign mercenaries or prisoners of previous Empires.


    The nature of the Empires, whether they were rising or falling, was to convert everyone within it into the Imperial Creed. This failed spectacularly, as everyone was proud of some form of culture or history, save wherever the capital was established. The capital through generations would create ¡®Imperials¡¯, but when the Empire fell and a new one would rise, the capitals would shift, new cultures would be created and ¡®Imperials¡¯ would become a part of the ¡®Old Empire¡¯.


    Continue this process eight-times, fit in foreign invasion and cultural assimilation of foreign races and not just foreign human ethnic groups, and things quickly became a mess. The Xong and Tachibana were powerful houses that were both merchant ¡®clans¡¯, residing on powerful positions to govern trade-waters, as the storm-winds dividing the Shattered Sky Continent that the Xong and Tachibana hailed from with were too powerful and dangerous for the experimental Sky Ships to dance within.


    They were powerful as the Vermillion Empire that ruled the Shattered Sky Continent had great limitations on foreign trade, with the Xong and Tachibana being deft hands at subverting those limitations.


    The two clans were looked down upon as being extremely foreign, with even Dwarves and Gnomes looked upon more fondly and familiarly than the ¡®foreign agents.¡¯ However, they were the ones who brought silk, teas, magic stones -that they called Spirit Stones- and all manner of foreign goods to the western shores of the Orevale Continent.


    ¡°Hmm. Would I happen to know a profoundly talented alchemist, one who is an extreme enigma to even the most powerful of houses, desperate to know their identity in attempt to obtain their most priceless and unique of goods?¡± He chortled and raised his arms, ¡°You¡¯re looking at him.¡± He chuckled.


    His grandmother blinked, then gapped, ¡°Your Parallax Productions?¡± Roslin stared uncomprehendingly, then a spark of shameless guile appeared in her eyes, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have any more Spirit Bond would you, grandson?¡± She asked with the batting of her eyelashes.


    His lip twitched. ¡°That¡­¡± He sighed, scratching his neck.


    ¡°What would happen if you forced a man to drink Spirit Bond, and you drank it yourself? A random man you found idly attractive.¡±


    His grandmother blinked and frowned immediately. ¡°We¡¯d become friends at the very least. If he wasn¡¯t scum, then we¡¯d become friends; even if I¡¯m too loyal to Nubinor to ever consider adultery and that was all we¡¯d ever remain, depending on the character of the man, he¡¯d either obsesses over what he could not have, or accept that fact and enjoy a friendship.¡± The ¡®Mind Pills¡¯ were working as she immediately answered with deep and insightful thoughts.


    Cedric nodded, ¡°I brewed that potion when I was eleven, teetering on into puberty. I was not aware of House Alkahest¡¯s laws regarding affection towards servants, and I was a ruthless individual who cared little about how I wielded Mind Magics.¡± Cedric sighed, ¡°Lonely, I chose a girl; we bonded, I crushed her mind, we had copious amounts of sex, and then she was killed; hung before me.¡± He swirled a glass of water, casting a clearer mind on the trauma.


    Roslin flinched, reaching out to comfort her grandson, for she immediately sympathized with the thought. She loved Nubinor; but time was a cruel mistress. Yet, even as their passion was but embers, she¡¯d have razed the nation if her love was ripped from her. Now? Now that those embers were roaring, their spirits bonded, their very souls bound together?


    It was painful to consider.


    She saw her grandson apathetically swirl his glass of water, and the soulless, blank eyes had her shiver. He nodded to himself, ¡°I learned a valuable, if painful lesson brewing that potion.¡± He smiled, although it had no warmth, just bitterness and pain. ¡°I was wrong to fear the potion. Just as I am wrong to fear magic.¡± He mused, ¡°Just the user; that is all who is to blame, and all is who to fear.¡±


    He gazed up and seemed to be surprised to find his hand laced within her own and stared at her strangely as the compassion and care in those eyes seemed odd and unfamiliar.


    Painful paranoia leapt into his throat, and a horribly candid question filtered through his mouth, ¡°Why is Lord Patriarch Alkahest and his Heir so¡­¡± He grimaced his mind catching up with his mouth. ¡®Why are you two so different,¡¯ Was the unasked question.


    Yet, he¡¯d already spoken too much, as Roslin grimaced and rubbed her grandson¡¯s hand with her thumb. ¡°Yozef and Yoz¡­the Alkahest line¡­they¡¯re a brutal people. The Yal-Hest is a harsh desert, and it requires a culture of strong, immovable leaders to guide its people. Yozef was once a tribal leader, surrendering to the emperor and my husband¡¯s armies during the conquest, being folded into, and quickly rising to a position of power within the emperor¡¯s retinue. His concerns are entirely for his people, the power and stability of his house, and then to his personal power-base.¡± Roslin sighed, gazing at the intensely interested young man. ¡°Sometimes he gets that order confused.¡± She muttered bitterly.


    ¡°As the still-acting Royal Magister to the Emperor, Yozef requires presence and a visage of indomitability without weakness, which means he must show no weakness, and his house is indeed such a thing. His house must flourish without his action, left in the hands of his heir apparent, Yoz and his wife Selwyn.¡± Pain filtered into Roslin¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Selwyn was my star.¡± She admitted, ¡°She was my apprentice and my little girl who was always curious, always wanting to learn. Nubinor and I yearned to cultivate that, her ambition, for such a thing could only help serve her in life. She grew up too fast, leaving for the Old Academy when she turned seventeen, and never looked back. She appeared for formal events, and each time I saw her, what started as a level of suitable and proper distance became abject alienation.¡± Roslin sighed, resting her forehead on her head, ¡°This is likely due to how House Paraval raises its children.¡± She whispered.


    Cedric perked up, ¡°Oh?¡± He leaned forward with interest.


    Roslin sighed, ¡°Nubinor and I came from very humble beginnings. We do not treat our children as nobles; we treat them as our children. I taught my daughter magic, but I refused to spend our wealth to access rare resources and materials. In hindsight I see that Selwyn desired so much of the world. She wanted access to the most obscure and forbidden of texts and threw fits or silent protests when she was denied. She wanted the finest gowns, the finest rings and gemstones. The most powerful of wands, the greatest of teachers. She wanted us to push her career along through the Old Academy, use our influence and acclaim to grasp what she was not ready for.¡± Roslin grimaced, ¡°She even used servant staff to hide a young woman¡¯s death while in school.¡±


    Cedric didn¡¯t react to that; he¡¯d murdered for less than what he assumed was jealous envy or some petty dispute. What she was describing of his mother¡¯s youth fit perfectly into the mental model of the woman he had; spoiled, prideful, patronizing, inflated sense of self-worth, always critical, an all around toxic human being who yearned and was never satisfied.


    ¡°You tortured her.¡± Cedric muttered as he leaned his head on one hand, listening in. His muttering caused Roslin to jolt in surprise.


    ¡°What?!¡± She exclaimed.


    He held a hand up for peace and explained, ¡°There is a myth¡­¡± Cedric started, ¡°A kingly man once stole fruit and sustenance of the gods, and during their visit to his humble kingdom, he sacrificed his own kine; cooked as meal to test their mind. This man was known as Tantalus, which translates as, ¡®to tantalize¡¯.¡± It didn¡¯t, but did act as a root for the word in English. ¡°The gods punished Tantalus, sending him to an eternal torment. Within a pool of water that always receded before he could drink, while above him fruit hung just above; but the branches would slink from reach when he tried to eat.¡±


    Roslin¡¯s eyes decorated with realization.


    ¡°Selwyn, my mother; she wanted. She wanted and kept wanting. As a noble born, she was promised many things; yet was not raised in the way of the noble born. She was treated with love, kindness, and was showered with gifts; yet as she glutted, as she took, she grew confused when she could no longer continue to take. I¡¯m going on a limb here to say you practice less-than legal and probably dangerous forms of magic?¡±


    Roslin nodded, pain clouding her expression.


    ¡°And you taught her these magics, but warned her, and barred her from learning the real stuff. The dangerous stuff.¡±


    Once again, his grandmother nodded, wetness gathering in her eyes as she dabbed them with a cloth.


    ¡°And in your mind, you never punished her, never struck her or corrected her in this way of thinking; but in her perspective, withholding what you owed her as your daughter was punishment; for you taunted her. You teased her with the tantalizing fruit of all your success, wealth, knowledge, and power. You treated a Scion as a child, and it spurned her pride.¡±


    No words spilled from Roslin¡¯s mouth as she tried to keep her composure.


    Cedric stood silently, separating from the tight grip she held his hand within, and came to her side. He hugged his grandmother, burrowing his head into the crook of her neck. A sob left her mouth, Roslin babbling that ¡®she¡¯d failed¡¯ with apologies and cries, of mumbled acceptance and shouldering of blame; countered in turn by Cedric¡¯s forgiveness, his assuaging nature as he brushed away the perceived failure.


    The emotions ran hot, and a period of comfort and vulnerability was shared between a grandson and his grandmother.


    ¡°It is ironic.¡± He whispered as he sat on the ground by his grandmother¡¯s side, her fingers picking through his hair as she leaned back within her chair. ¡°All that you gave her, all that you offered; it is what I wanted. Yet, I feel in some way, I became my mother.¡± He chuckled bitterly, ¡°For if there is one trait we share together,¡± He rasped, ¡°Is our avarice and greed.¡±


    ¡°Greed.¡± His grandmother spat, ¡°Is it truly that which led to my daughter becoming such a twisted creature? Controlled and led along by greed.¡±


    ¡°Tis human nature.¡± Cedric mused, ¡°The adulation, the power, the perceived freedom that tyranny begets. Think of the one who has it all; would you claim to call the emperor a man obsessed with such?¡± He asked.


    The woman hissed and shook her head, ¡°No. The emperor, he is beyond such things. He is driven. Driven to create an age.¡±


    ¡°The road to the hells is oft laid with stones carved in best of intention.¡± Cedric quoted poetically, having consumed many more ¡®Mind Pills¡¯ during this emotional moment. ¡°How many emperors and great persons claimed destiny would lead them to such heavenly heights? How many failed? How many succeeded? History is often the greatest teacher, but in such cases as the emperor, I can only encourage him to try and fail; for only then shall he learn how to prevail.¡± Cedric turned his gaze back to look at his grandmother, ¡°What do you think motivates him, is why I ask that. Motive is not often talked about or considered when spoken about the result. It tends to sully the grand image such individuals paint themselves as within the annals of history.¡±


    Roslin thought for a long while, Cedric playing calming music with his magic as he waited. Her attention split between relaxing and enjoying the music and the extended lunch, and thinking about what Cedric asked.


    ¡°He is not concerned with legacy.¡± Roslin stated, ¡°His children are not wastes, but neither are they being groomed as successor. The foundations of the Empire are their destinies.¡±


    ¡°That speaks well of the man.¡± Cedric noted.


    ¡°He is not a warlord; I just don¡¯t know his vision. He is working, building towards something. I just can¡¯t fathom what.¡± Roslin admitted defeat. ¡°Wodin Rothsland; he was a young knight from a ducal house of the seventh empire. From knight, to captain, to warlord, to petty king, to diplomat, to king maker, to emperor. The titles just¡­fell upon him. He accepted them, but it was never something he took lightly; or even seemed to consciously seek.¡±


    Cedric hummed at that information, ¡°The individuals who are most keen to lead are those not worth following. Those who rise to the occasion, fall into the role, or are thrust into times of strife and leadership ¨C those that pick up the banner and run- are most deserving of it burdens. Reality sadly dictates the opposite, for all it takes for great evil to grow is for the good man to do nothing; and as good men refuse the call to leadership, rot grows. When the systems of governance and the gears we spin our society upon are controlled by those with more ambition than sense, the empire becomes not a system of service to those it houses, but a furnace that consumes its people¡¯s lives to fuel its function.¡±


    Roslin swallowed, the words practically prophetic.


    ¡°When dogma clashes, and the golden fields rot, so do the brothers face the fathers, the fathers their sisters, and the mothers their daughters. The chains that we tie around our necks and eyes, the faith that blinds, leads men and mortal into heaven¡¯s welcome arms.¡±


    ¡°The Seventh¡­¡± Roslin murmured in remembrance.


    ¡°First it is one¡¯s neighbor, then it is the farmer, then it is the butcher; yet it is not you, so you do nothing.¡± Cedric rambled, eyes clouded with remembrance, ¡°Then they come for you, and only then do you remember the cries of all those before you. You beg, you scream; yet none come to save you, for all have been taken.¡±


    ¡°Lessons of the Sixth.¡± Roslin whispered.


    ¡°Lessons to be repeated.¡± Cedric murmured, ¡°History repeats, men refuse to learn, and so the gear keeps spinning. We, my mother, myself; all of us are products of this cycle. The endless rat-race we are placed within, of prestige and intrigue, subterfuge and lies; all for the prize of power. Young was I when I questioned; what gear do I spin? What gear do I turn and churn and whose blood do I feed the guttering furnace?¡±


    ¡°It was the best we had.¡± Roslin defended with no heat.


    ¡°The best we have.¡± Cedric agreed. ¡°The strong man at the top cows the snakes that turn and churn his gears; a keen ear listening to a clockwork system that clicks and ticks discordantly. The stronger men who defend the machine look outwards; rattling blade and saber at all who take issue with the stack of smoke rising from the furnace. The young men are taught and educated. ¡®Wield a blade at those who are foreign,¡¯ they say, striking a boy¡¯s form when they see weakness. ¡®Learn the arcane to guide us,¡¯ they say, testing the boy¡¯s worth with each word spoken. ¡®Lie to the masses and earn us gold,¡¯ they say, ripping the gold from the boy¡¯s heart as they dance like puppets ¡®pon string.¡±


    Cedric sighed, conjuring such a thing from magic, letting it dance and bounce to the movement of his fingers. ¡°A boy now teen, growing into a man. The youth claims they are young, and so the boy sings. Tis a song of freedom, of innocence, love, wanderlust, and adventure; ¡®surely there is more beyond the churning of gears¡¯, the boy loudly proclaims. The men scoff, claiming madness and softness. The women roll their eyes, patting the boy harshly. The youth laugh with uncertain mockery. The boy knows his dream is folly, yet with the wisdom of a fool, sings his song cockily.¡±


    ¡°Such things are designed for a reason.¡± Roslin comments softly.


    ¡°Aye. This world is dangerous, and it is the fires and warmth of the furnace, the rattling sabers, and the mystic mages who keep us safe from it. The youth knows none of this; inexperienced and na?ve, the youth believes himself invincible.¡± Cedric shrugged uncaringly, ¡°Perhaps he dies, yet fool¡¯s wisdom does so claim, on death¡¯s door, there was no other way.¡±


    Cedric clenched his fist, and the puppet vanished.


    He cocked his head back, looking at his grandmother upside down.


    He coughed; eyes cloudy with his overdose of Alkalamphetamine Duoestro. ¡°Wanna get high?¡±


    Roslin stared at her grandson, and several yet-to-processed facts suddenly clicked. From an entire conversation about treason and the nature of their state, an emotional breakdown after the realization of how she¡¯d failed her daughter -and likely many more of her children- the revelation that her grandson was the brilliant alchemist and enchanter behind Parallax Productions¡­


    Nubinor possibly knew already, but he wasn¡¯t as educated on magical matters to understand the nuanced ramifications of what Cedric was doing at his age. He was on a level that master enchanters and alchemists threw their hands up and stated some cabal of legendary enchanters and alchemists were selling their products on the market.


    Feeling exhausted in some manner, Roslin coaxed her hands through her grandson¡¯s hair and gave a deep exhalation. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Trunk has most of my stuff, but¡­¡± He rifled through his clothing and grinned, pulling out his ¡®emergency¡¯ supply. It was a simple folded piece of what looked like paper. Unfolding it, he carefully separated it into perfect squares, then passed over a piece smaller than the pinky¡¯s fingernail.


    Taking the small piece of paper with amusement, she raised an eyebrow as Cedric placed the paper slip on his tongue. She copied him and leaned back in amusement.


    Then thing¡­ started¡­getting¡­


    Strange¡­.

 Chapter Four: The Foundation of Futures

    Chapter Four: The Foundation of Futures


    Roslin Paraval nee Yogdal, noble lady of the ancient ducal house of Paraval, wife of Lord Nubinor Paraval, High General of the Orestien Empire, laid on her chest nearly as naked as the day as she was born. The only thing preserving her modesty was a slight towel covering her rear as she laid out on a comfortable and plush chair that her grandson had constructed with alchemy.


    Sitting by her within the plush gardens of the Paraval Estate was her grandson who within his hand held an odd transfigured device that buzzed a needle into her bare skin. ¡°You sure you want the concepts of winter added to the tattoo?¡± The young man asked with a bit of caution in his voice, ¡°Hmm, I guess it¡¯s balanced out by the vernal solar equinox added there; a transition of dead growth into new growth.¡± He mused.


    The slightly dazed voice of his grandmother gave a slurred affirmative. Nearly asleep as her grandson had proven himself as the proprietor of Parallax Productions nearly immediately; having used the ingredients present in the estate¡¯s garden to brew or grind crude -if effective- alchemical products.


    Cedric puffed on a rolled up joint stuck between his lips, drawing inspiration from the dull after-tail of the acid trip. In his past life, Cedric had a lot of tattoos, sleeves, back and chest, and so on and so forth. Something that he¡¯d always regretted was not applying the correct meaning to his tattoos, and instead just getting the artwork that he thought looked the ¡®best¡¯. An immature means of doing body art in his more mature perspective. Tattoos to him should tell something about the person they were drawn upon; a story, a belief, a symbol of attachment, commitment, and if he was in his more practical mindset; holding magical purpose.


    He¡¯d learned how to tattoo in his old life and had brought the skill to this life on his various test-subjects; preliminary experiments for runic body modifications like what he¡¯d done to his bones. As he was now, Cedric didn¡¯t have any tattoos. This was both because they were seen as tribal and ¡®savage¡¯ to have, and as a noble scion if he sported any tattoos publicly, he could expect an immediate visit to his father¡¯s office to have them removed.


    Painfully.


    It didn¡¯t stop him from practicing the art as a means of refining his knowledge on runes, glyphs, and inscriptionalism; but sadly, he¡¯d need to wait until he was more independent to draw his own tattoos.


    It started out as a conversation about ritualism, as that was the magic that his grandmother was most practiced in. Cedric took from his experience studying symbolism and the baser elements of ritualism from his studies and practice in tattooing, which led to him revealing his skill in the craft, and conjuring illusions of what an illustrated tattoo might look like drew Roslin¡¯s attention and interest.


    They workshopped for an hour, quickly finding elements of the seasons, notions of her heritage and bloodline, paired with a runic saga attached to the overarching design of a wilting tree the arch of her back, surrounded by complex geometric glyphs and inscriptionalism that tied within the runic saga he¡¯d spun detailing a crudely translated story of perseverance, ruthlessness, and soft spring winds leading to greener growth.


    Spread out on the bed, Roslin gave soft sigh as she felt Cedric dabbing away at the artwork, disinfecting the last of his marks and tapping on her shoulder to signal he was done. She groaned at his touch, ¡°I just want to lay here forever¡­¡± She begged, drawing an amused laugh as her grandson laid back by her tattoo bed in the grass; lazily staring at the afternoon sky.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be attending the Old Academy?¡± Roslin asked softly as she drifted in and out of consciousness, the warm sun beating on her back and the soft winds cooling her sore skin nicely.


    ¡°Paraval Academy of Magic.¡± Cedric noted.


    ¡°Humph.¡± The woman scoffed, ¡°That old place was around long before I was a girl and many centuries before Nubinor¡¯s star rose.¡±


    Cedric raised an eyebrow, ¡°Is that why you call it the Old Academy?¡± He asked.


    Roslin gave an affirming hum, ¡°It never had or needed another name, until an Imperial clerk arrived and requested such as it was confusing documentation.¡± Roslin sighed and rose from her comfortable bed. She glanced at her grandson who averted his gaze and gave his hair a soft stroke, striding to her discarded clothing to change. As she did so, she inspected the vines and leaves of blackened ink around her legs, thighs, abdomen, and chest. Her grandson was professional as he worked, although she suspected he obtained a few peaks. Tentatively pressing her soul into the light lines of glyphs and runes etched into her skin, Roslin smiled as she felt a connection.


    With a conscious thought, she controlled the winds to blow a gust of freezing cold air at her lounging grandson, causing the young man to shiver and sit up. He glared over at her, grumbling to himself as he stood. ¡°I work my ass off and the first thin you do is abuse my gift.¡± He muttered grouchily as he shivered, waving his hand and warming the air around him as he shook off the chill.


    ¡°You Hests are so sensitive.¡± Roslin giggled, ¡°I remember when Old Yozef came here and couldn¡¯t wait to leave because of the cold.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re wearing so little in this weather. It¡¯s not cold exactly, but neither is it the weather to be wearing that. You¡¯ll get the chills.¡± He scolded falsely patronizingly with a joking tone.


    Laughing shortly, Roslin sighed as she flexed her newfound connection to elements she usually only held within ritual circles. A fascinating concept, to bind a ritual to one¡¯s own skin through etchings of ink. She felt a headache rise as she tried to understand the ramifications of her grandson¡¯s apparent talents and abilities. His was a generational star, a genius that should be cultivated to replace his grandfather as the next Royal Magister. However, Roslin knew that the life of politics and intrigue weren¡¯t fit for the young man, at least as he was now.


    From what she¡¯d gathered from the young man in their scant few hours together, Roslin knew that Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest was a damaged individual; a young man who was hurting because of the harsh treatment of his family. He never knew the comfort and love of neither a mother nor a father, raised instead by distant maids, and was burned horrendously by magics learned recklessly. His apparent attainment within the various magical arts certainly hadn¡¯t come at no cost, and what he¡¯d sacrificed for them had created a young man who was -as base as it seemed to proclaim- lonely.


    Roslin bit her lip as the questions of what to do with her grandson started to find answers. Cedric was certainly devoted towards magic as he repeatedly proclaimed it his ¡®one true love¡¯, ironically reminding her of her own husband with his own declaration of the like regarding battle and war. The young man had easily integrated himself into conversation with herself, and if Nubinor¡¯s presence within the bath house was an indicator, he and Cedric had a similar nascent bond.


    As her grandson, Roslin wanted to love the young man; however, she¡¯d lived long enough to know that blood did not make family. Family were those that one loved because they were family. She¡¯d been burned many times by her own blood.


    ¡®Many times, indeed.¡¯ She thought bitterly, thinking of the boy¡¯s mother.


    Some Houses gatekept being included within the family until they could prove themselves as an individual of worth and talent. In the competitive games that the Houses played, what their spawn could bring to the greater collective was often the most important detail. Cedric brought this in spades with what he could bring to any faction, family, or organization he was attached to; the problem came with how one wanted to do such a thing.


    Roslin and Nubinor were retired; at least as retired as they could become. Nubinor¡¯s heir was their first son, the current High General of the Orestien Empire. Their son already held the prestige and power that Nubinor once held making the games of increasing their house¡¯s power meaningless, if not dangerous as they¡¯d start to crush other houses under a bloated weight.


    By making constant power plays and spreading their influence in any which way it could grow would inevitably attract two things: rot, and enemies both. Rot in that the spread of one¡¯s powerbase meant in invited weaknesses and corruption native to organizations that grew too large to accurately manage. Enemies, as it was the law of the world that to grow and sustain oneself, life must consume life. Resources were envied and sought after, opportunities were hoarded, and those that held a wealth of both were plotted against.


    With Roslin and Nubinor both being effectively retired, movements from them would be seen as odd and atypical; acting as old hounds rocking the settled boat that was being inherited by their children.


    Roslin looked at Cedric and saw a wonderfully talented young man, intelligent, wise, with a kindness and social approachability that he defended with a stoic mask of empty platitude. He was a person of intense interest that Roslin found herself unsure of what to make of the man, for she certainly didn¡¯t want to harm the boy, as in the short few moments they¡¯d interacted with one another she¡¯d truly grown to like him and his character. However, for while he was her grandson, he wasn¡¯t hers to care for.


    Cedric was a scion of House Alkahest, not House Paraval, after all.


    Their relationship with House Alkahest, even with her daughter married into the house, wasn¡¯t great. They were allies on paper, and their remote separation from one another geographically meant there was little else they could do save draw on one another¡¯s face to pull together the paper-thin guise of being a united faction. The giants of House Alkahest and House Paraval being in bed with one another were enough to warrant hesitation in enemies seeking to hamstring either party in fear of being cast in the shadow of the other.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    However, even with this united front, there was little leeway within their actual relationship to put their full backing behind Cedric. It wouldn¡¯t strengthen an ally, but a potential enemy. The titles a House called one another by shifted just as easily as the seasons changed. The calm and wise boy she knew today, several decades later, could become a cruel and bitter enemy to her house depending on how the winds of the world blew.


    Roslin would need to be blind to not guess that Cedric wasn¡¯t a powerful sorcerer. If he was behind Parallax Productions, then he was already a masterful alchemist and enchanter than houses would bleed their vaults dry to service and solicit. That was the most public form of renown that Cedric could claim, however throughout their conversation he¡¯d revealed a seemingly endless amount of talents.


    A keen intelligence, willingness to discuss politics, the ability to shed masks and talk freely and casually without the banal notions of propriety. Then there were his magical talents; fine telekinetic abilities speaking of intense control over his magic, mana shaping in his creation of the mana-construct puppet and its fine wires he¡¯d played with briefly. Lastly, there were the soft tunes of music, an orchestral work summoned with an expression of will. If Cedric displayed that talent publicly, his name would be on the lips of every maiden within the nation, a powerful mage with a talent for music. It spoke of refinement, skill, talent, and the capability to waste one¡¯s time for such a luxurious form of skillful magic; such a display would enthrall many a house into attaching themselves to the enigmatic mage alone.


    Alone, piece by piece, each expression of Cedric¡¯s talents was impressive. They¡¯d be the talk of numerous sects of society, and together it¡¯d be nonsensical and beg on the edge of what was possible. He would be tested, but Cedric would prove the naysayers incorrect; and his star would shine the brightest within the night sky. Such attention was negative, as it¡¯d attract the jealous many and the fearful few who would seek to stomp out a resplendent talent before it could soar to the peak of its potential.


    The subject of Cedric was a difficult topic to consider; how did she want to order House Paraval around him? What actions did she want to take with him? Did she throw her support behind him, come what may? Or did she remove herself quietly and act as a patron from the shadows? What benefits could she extract from the young man? Could she tie him to her House, removing the threat of him becoming an enemy if risking the wrath of the Alkahest?


    Chewing on her lip as she considered the topic, Roslin found herself considering an old method of attaching people to Houses. Still used today such was its effectiveness.


    Marriage.


    She thought of cousins within the family, and immediately picked out names and faces of her little girls. As she ran through a mental list of names, it hurt her to consider playing with their lives like this. However, needs must, and Cedric was the silvered stag that any house would beggar itself for.


    There were issues with this nascent plan. Cedric didn¡¯t seem like the type of man to be led around by his lower head. Many men were like that, but she was old enough to know that not all men were fools who could be controlled so basely. Cedric fit the mold of those types of men; impossibly driven, focused, and never having the time for distraction or dalliance to their goals, ambitions, or projects.


    However, other means of tying the man to her house were too weak. Too ineffectual, especially considering the influence the Lord Alkahest wielded.


    ¡°Grandmother.¡± Cedric called, breaking her out of her thoughts, ¡°Something on your mind?¡± He asked.


    Roslin locked eyes with her grandson, the young man cocking his head at her sudden silence and the dying mood of the garden.


    Roslin smiled, ¡°Are you excited for the Academy?¡± She asked in way of answer.


    Cedric blinked and frowned, ¡°I guess. A bit of a ways out still.¡± He mused, ¡°I¡¯m interested in browsing the libraries and inspecting the labs.¡± He eventually decided.


    A very neutral answer and one that she capitalized on, ¡°Not thinking of making friends within the school?¡± She commented.


    And saw the carved frown that drew on his face, ¡°I do not expect myself to be available for social functions.¡± He answered evasively.


    ¡°Oh?¡± She pressed.


    Cedric sighed and drew from his collared coat a tab of metal that she was familiar with. Roslin blinked in a bit of shock. ¡°You signed up as an Adventurer?¡± She muttered. She grew curious and concerned, ¡°Why?¡±


    Cedric shrugged, ¡°The best way to know the world is to experience it. The Adventurer¡¯s Guild offers the possibility of Adventure, and there¡¯s the draw. Besides that, reagents, practical combat experience, testing of spells, some manner of renown if my name travels far -always a possibility- and on the benefits go.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, Cedric. The profession has more casualties than any within the world. Tell me you¡¯re at least prepared? Did you bring a Household Guard?¡±


    The young man frowned, ¡°No, I came alone.¡±


    Alarm ran through her, ¡°Do you even have a party?!¡± The lack of answer was enough of one, ¡°Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest! Are you rushing to your grave, boy?!¡± The runic tattoo acted with her emotions, a chilling wind racing through the environment.


    ¡°I¡¯m more than capable enough in a combat situation; especially for the Copper Rank.¡±


    ¡°And what happens when you aren¡¯t capable enough?!¡± She shouted.


    ¡°Then I flee.¡± Cedric calmly refuted, although a light smile rose on his face as he stood up and walked towards her.


    ¡°What about when you can¡¯t!? What then?¡± A gust of wind slowed his advance, but his long stride carried him to her.


    Cedric shrugged, ¡°My magics have failed me, and thus I deserved to die.¡± He hugged her and she froze, ¡°Thanks for caring.¡± He whispered into her ear, his breath smokey and herbal. They held that for a long while, before he separated. The emptiness in Cedric¡¯s eyes unnerved her, the easy acceptance, and the lack of fear. There was just regret and wistfulness, the gaze of men a hundred times his age prepared to die.


    ¡°Fool boy.¡± She whispered into his chest. ¡°Running off to die in some forgotten crack of the world.¡±


    Cedric chuckled, ¡°Better there than with poison in my stomach, a dagger in the back, or living a life not worth living.¡±


    ¡°And what is a life not worth living to you?¡±


    Cedric thought for a long moment, ¡°One of stagnation.¡± He sighed and drew himself up, dusting himself off as he finished off his joint. Drawing from his sleeve Roslin¡¯s eyes tracked a wand that brimmed with power. A scorching blast of cursed flame leapt from the tip to erase the rolled drug. Exhaling a lung of smoke, Cedric bowed to her, ¡°May your paths be true. I¡¯ve dallied a bit too long, and I have business to attend. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Roslin. G¡¯day.¡±


    Roslin opened her mouth in an attempt to have him stay; to offer him a room, but no words left her mouth, and she sighed.


    Watching him leave, Roslin shivered at the still ambient presence of the cursed flame; its fumes lingering thickly in the air, choking up the previously tranquil garden. ¡®No wonder he is confident in his combat capabilities if he is that causal in conjuring curse fires.¡¯ Roslin mused. The flames were some of the most powerful within the world, potential rivals to the ever-legendary hellfires and dragonflames, although cursed fire was significantly more obscure. Its most notable drawback was its tendency to spread, being uncontrollable by its practitioners.


    Taking a breath, she vacated the gardens and found Balduran waiting by the entrance. ¡°Scion Cedric has left the premise, Lady Roslin.¡±


    Nodding, Roslin sighed, ¡°My husband?¡±


    ¡°He¡­¡± Balduran frowned, ¡°He is within his study.¡± He bowed.


    Frowning at the ominous tone, Roslin nodded to Balduran and went to find her husband. Walking through familiar halls, she knocked on the doors to his study and entered without prompting. Within her husband sat, leaned back with a cup of tea by his side, staring up at the ceiling.


    ¡°Nubinor?¡± Roslin asked, her call finally drawing his attention. Blinking, the Old Lord stared at Roslin for a long second, blinking slowly.


    ¡°Apologies.¡± Nubinor rubbed his temple and sighed, ¡°I¡¯ve been having visions and hallucinations since I woke up. The Unseelie told me that I¡¯ll be fine, just that I¡¯m experiencing symptoms of individuals who escape from powerful illusions.¡±


    Raising an eyebrow, Roslin frowned, ¡°He is that practiced with illusions; to effect even you?¡±


    Nubinor sighed, ¡°Let me tell you of our meeting.¡±


    The two started to brief one another on their respective encounters with the enigmatic young man, their grandson being more of a puzzle than initially thought.


    ¡°His prowess is even greater than I believed.¡± Roslin mused softly as she sat across from her husband. ¡°What heights will he ascend to?¡± She wondered.


    ¡°You have plans?¡± Nubinor questioned softly, a frown and furrowed brow present on his expression.


    ¡°One.¡± Roslin admitted. ¡°Marriage.¡±


    Nubinor clicked his tongue. ¡°Too many variables. We can¡¯t draw up a contract; Yozef wouldn¡¯t allow it. He¡¯d try for more, bleed us for all we¡¯re worth.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be worth it.¡± Roslin noted.


    ¡°It would.¡± Nubinor mused, ¡°But he¡¯d pick up on that and refuse outright.¡±


    Roslin sighed, ¡°He¡¯s attending the Old Academy. There is time there for us to try our gambit.¡±


    ¡°The question is who.¡± Nubinor muttered with a following frown, ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡±


    Roslin gave him a helpless shrug, ¡°The Alkahest have alienated their most promising talent. Yoz and Selwyn¡¯s children have been disappointing for both of them. The girls are talented Aura Knights, and the boys less so, but the Alkahest are a Sorcerous House. Selwyn likely only thinks of her son¡¯s talent in the most surface level aspects; kept ignorant by the boy¡¯s paranoia. The only individual within the family who is aware of his depths would likely be Yozef; but he has his own reasons for keeping such hidden.¡± Roslin stated.


    ¡°Yoz is practically managing he House, and Yozef only periodically interferes to keep on appearances as being both the Royal Magister, and the Patriarch of the Alkahest.¡± Nubinor mused, ¡°He¡¯s likely protecting the boy by sending him here. Selwyn won¡¯t come back, Yoz may be the acting patriarch but he¡¯s officially just a Scion, while Yozef will act to oppose our schemes for the boy.¡± Nubinor summarized.


    ¡°It¡¯s a mess. But one we can take advantage of.¡± Roslin said whimsically.


    A short silence fell.


    ¡°I propose Aislinn.¡± Roslin stated eventually.


    Nubinor coughed, ¡°Astrada will have my head.¡± Nubinor uttered with shock, ¡°Whoring off his daughter; the man will kill me! Or worse, take my manhood!¡±


    ¡°The High General¡¯s daughter is unpromised; he needs to decide eventually.¡± Roslin countered, ¡°A match between the High General¡¯s daughter, a young woman of notable magical talent, and the youngest Alkahest; it will be a reinforcement of our alliance within the younger generation. Furthermore, the girl is attached to Astrada¡¯s reputation, something that will prevent Yozef from interfering. So long as Cedric keeps his abilities and reputation as the owner of Parallax Products under wraps, it¡¯ll look as if we¡¯re merely committing to the perceived alliance between us and the Alkahest; not gaining a future potential Royal Magister.¡±


    Nubinor looked annoyed, before he sighed and sagged, ¡°Now how do we seal the deal?¡± He asked.


    Roslin grimaced, ¡°This is where things tend to get messy.¡± She whispered, truly feeling dirty for these plans. They loved their granddaughter; the girl was brilliant, and she loved her grandparents. However, now they were going to have to test that relationship, and potentially ruin it. ¡°Was she planning on attending the academy this year?¡± She asked.


    Nubinor thought for a moment, and shook his head negatively, ¡°She¡¯s seventeen; soon to be eighteen. She¡¯s likely to attend next year.¡±


    Roslin tapped her finger against the desk, thinking deeply. ¡°Draft a letter to Astrada. Tell him that we¡¯ve found a match for his girl and explain to him some of the details. She should attend this year; no time to waste.¡±


    Drawing out his stash of pens and paper, Nubinor raised an eyebrow, ¡°Some?¡± He questioned.


    ¡°Leave out Cedric¡¯s baggage; just claim that he¡¯s impressed us, and tie in that he¡¯s the sole proprietor of Parallax Productions. Add in details of his magic and claim that he¡¯s attending the Old Academy this year.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll want more than that.¡± Nubinor warned.


    ¡°We can¡¯t write this in stone. Yozef will block it. He¡¯ll want a Yal-Hest wife, or at least one with their family interests at heart. Frame it as stymying Yozef, tying his youngest and most talented spawn to our house. It¡¯ll make the old magister grind his teeth to dust.¡±


    ¡°That works.¡± Nubinor started writing, his wife offered more insight as he did so.


    ¡°Now, what about Linn?¡± Nubinor questioned, a grimace riding on his face. ¡°It won¡¯t be a contract, thus the only way for her to bind Cedric with our house would be to get with child and carry it to term.¡± Both didn¡¯t like that thought, let alone what they thought Astrada would think. Nor the fact that the entire plan hinged on the girl both being willing to become a honeypot for the young man and carry a child to term.


    Considering that Cedric was a proficient Alchemist, that meant it was practically impossible to hide that she was pregnant; meaning she¡¯d need to have him emotionally invested. Which entirely hinged on her ability to seduce the young man, which on paper didn¡¯t seem difficult. Cedric had opened up to them nearly entirely during his short stay, merely the slightest sign of humanity and conversation had him a bleeding heart. Completely understandable considering his traumas and how he grew up, and something that could work to their advantage.


    Roslin too remembered the hazy conversations that had led to her new tattoos. A marvelous work of inspiration, and perhaps a bit rushed, but the young man was a consummate artisan. Their conversation in the arts of ritualism had shown her a side of the man that reminded her greatly of her husband, just in a more erudite vein. Cedric was the devoted savant, the passionate artist, the obsessed arcanist; all of them brewed within the young man¡¯s mind and his loneliness made him desperate for an equal. Someone to talk to with similar interests.


    ¡°When the girl is sent here, we¡¯ll instruct her. Cedric is an erudite, he values magic and academic achievement; Linn is a brilliant girl, although Cedric¡¯s achievements overshadow her own attainments in ward craft. Knowing how to approach the young man with topics of such would be getting one¡¯s foot in the door at the very least.¡± Roslin mused.


    Nubinor frowned, ¡°Cedric is a perceptive man.¡± He warned, ¡°He will notice emotional manipulation; he is a master of the mind, after all. He is not guarded because he is desperate, but he is sharp. Perhaps we should not entirely brief Linn, and try things slowly first?¡± He offered, ¡°We have plenty of time within the Academy. Have them meet, have them become friends, then we can start hinting to the girl our objective. Familiarizing herself with the young man will have her possibly more acceptable to our plan.¡±


    Roslin smiled and leaned over the table, their lips meeting as she grinned, ¡°You have your moments.¡± She whispered. ¡°Enough of this talk. What is this I hear about you telling our grandson of our nightly activities?¡±


    Nubinor paled, ¡°Now wait a moment¡­¡±


    Roslin smiled wickedly.

 Chapter Five: Self-Styled Raid Boss

    Chapter Five: The Self-Styled Raid Boss


    ¡®I wonder what they think of me? What plans are they hatching?¡¯ Cedric so wondered as he left the Paraval Estate, finding himself on the road in the late mid-day. He walked along the streets, giving a suffering sigh and wondering where he could chart a carriage. He truly didn¡¯t look forward to walking all the way back to the Warrens.


    Cedric was not ignorant of the power-plays of the nobility, and neither was he ignorant that his grandparents on his mother¡¯s side were any different. He¡¯d revealed much of his hand for little gain in some perspective, but in some fashion, he¡¯d mentally prepared himself for that eventuality.


    His tie to the Paraval¡¯s by blood meant that he was their grandson. A talent related by blood was already someone at least somewhat associated with their power and line, even if he carried not their name. The protections that he had from his name as an Alkahest too were powerful deterrent to any direct action against him, as his grandfather would not let a slight to his lineage and legacy go easily. Revealing his talents and connections to Parallax Productions was always going to be a move he was going to make eventually, as he¡¯d be selling in these markets now, and eventually information networks would catch up to that fact.


    Those information networks would quickly make note that Parallax products first originated within Yal-Hest. Then an abrupt shift to Paraval soon after the Academy started, people will draw connections, and soon the Academy and those invested in Enchanting and Alchemy will be under scrutiny.


    Having connections, good ones with his grandparents, was an amazing boost to his personal powerbase. He wasn¡¯t exactly the type to build cabals and cults and the like, but he did have influence within markets and drew information from many individual¡¯s minds leading to some proficiency within the great game. It wasn¡¯t entirely purposeful to be so open to his grandparents, but Cedric thought himself an accurate judge of character.


    His grandfather, Nubinor Paraval, was a warrior. He would forever be warrior, although now he was a statesman and retired general. He had his interests invested in his family line and house, with Cedric posing not quite a threat, but more of an opportunity to the family. Cedric was a master of the mind. He was capable of controlling himself with a flex of willpower, and while he shied away from doing so out of well-learned lessons; he was more than capable of crushing his ego, his pride, and any bias he had to look at problems and decisions objectively.


    By portraying weakness to his grandparents, he presented opportunity instead of threat. He was not emotionally weak, but he was open to friendships and social connection as he was in real need of healing. It was just the nature of the world, and any world for that matter, to look for the benefits that an individual could give to the whole. Picking up his own weight and lifting the collective forward into a better age was what these factions wanted, and the more human family of House Paraval -at least from what he¡¯d seen from the patriarch and matriarch- were more palatable than the House of the Alkahest.


    Not that in any way the House of Paraval was better than the Alkahest, at least in a moral standpoint. Both held active slave-markets. Both held fingers in pies as black as coal, moving illicit goods, ordering deaths, and playing the game as all good players do; ruthlessly.


    All Scions were within a nebulous gray-space, and it became his imperative to look at what he could do to strengthen his House¡¯s name. For as much as Cedric hated playing these games, he needed to at least for appearance¡¯s sake. In this case, forming a stronger bond with the estranged House Paraval in no-thanks to his father and mother¡¯s efforts, he could at least put up a thinly walled argument that he was playing the game of politics by ingratiating himself into their cohorts. None could argue against him as they were publicly allies to his family.


    It was difficult playing a game when one didn¡¯t care for winning, and that not winning often meant death. To Cedric, the goal of the game was survival; for so long as one survived, then more opportunities to grow and learn would appear on the horizon line. It was a marathon, not a sprint, and while some houses and families used this marathon to plan and plot decade long schemes for secrets, blackmail, assassination, and more; Cedric had only lived nearly two decades and was more focused on self-betterment, for he personally cared little -if anything- about the fate of House Alkahest.


    Sadly, his self-betterment meant he enjoyed protection from the House, and thus needed to at least act like he was benefiting it in some way or form.


    Ultimately, he was a rather shitty player of the game, but he came out of the Paraval Estate with interesting possibilities. While he may have revealed weaknesses and offered his hand of cards for review, showing his talents and capabilities, such was not a threat, but an invitation. He hoped to see more investment and interest from the Paravals, especially in terms of political protection. By playing on the alliance between his two houses, Cedric became a very difficult to approach individual.


    He''d need to make such information known, but attending a ball and talking about good civilization with his grandmother, then laughing in the drinks with his grandfather would immediately indicate himself as a living bridge between House Alkahest and House Paraval. If that geniality and affection came from a genuine place; then he was already working on solving his mental problems.


    There were flaws with this, however, as by being effectively the sole bridge between the two families; he became a potential weakness in that alliance. Remove or sully his name and reputation, and suddenly things would start looking suspect as his name would be attached to both families. This would perhaps only work within an environment where his talents and abilities weren¡¯t known, as by presenting his cards; he¡¯d let House Paraval he had a royal flush. There was no beating that hand; to fold was to have the hand be given to someone else. To match was to anger the other players on the table as well as lose the royal flush in that match.


    House Paraval would be foolish to let him slip by; thus, a relationship between himself and them was important.


    Cedric thought this would come in the form of a potential offering of tutorship or apprenticeship; maybe some introduction to Lord Paraval¡¯s friends in the Imperial Army. Things of that nature that would ingratiate him into the family, but Cedric would honestly be entirely fine with merely joining their table for dinner every once and a while. Perhaps play some music for the couple, have some fine drinks, periodically get high. To win his allegiance, Cedric truthfully just wanted people he liked to hang out with, people he could trust to have his back.


    Hailing a carriage, he stepped inside and ordered the driver to take him to the Warrens. Pulling out some spare coins from his pocket to make sure he had enough money to pay, he sighed and shook such thoughts from his mind.


    ¡®Now then. What to do, what to do.¡¯ It was midday and he refocused on his current tasks. Life went on outside of the plots and schemes of mortals and men, and so he directed his attention to his current projects.


    Studying magic, as much as it pained him to say, could come when school started up. The Paraval Academy of Magic was one that held a long and rich history, although one that he¡¯d underestimated. From his recollections, the academy was successfully sieged during the collapse of the seventh empire. What was looted, burned, or destroyed during that siege and following occupation was unknown, leading to the rebuilding of the academy and its eventual return as one of, if not the, premier magical academies on the continent.


    The Royal-Imperial College of Orestien was the capital¡¯s own rival institution. Being named a college had many believe it taught the mundane sciences, which would indeed be correct. Cedric heard many poor things about the Royal-Imperial College during balls and social events, many prospective students lamenting their fate at attending and being required to learn plebian sciences.


    The Paraval Academy was more old-school in its function than that of the Royal College, filled with self-study, competition for apprenticeships under hallowed masters and professors, paired with a meritocracy-based system of evaluation and tests. It was an environment fit for intense competition with scores of all students in their grades being posted publicly, fit for shaming or exalting the student in question depending on those scores.


    So too was the Academy fit for free experimentation, filled with plenty of spaces for practicing magic or alchemical labs and functions; Cedric was mildly excited about the Academy as its more free-form nature that only required one to preform well within tests meant he would naturally need only exceed there. Instead of dividing up his valuable time luxuriating in redundant slow-paced lessons or route memorization, he could be practicing what was important. As advanced as he was in many areas, Cedric believed he could pass most tests within the school, save areas he¡¯d never studied; however, he¡¯d be foolish to ignore paths of growth and cease attempting to learn.


    Currently his studies had taken a turn towards Warding and Abjuration magics, the two extremely broad schools of magic were filled with Wizards dedicated to their study ten times his age. He never proclaimed himself a master of any school of magic, even with his enchanting and alchemical achievements. While he may claim himself learned and potentially even an expert within the schools, mastery indicated a level of attainment that indicated one didn¡¯t have anything else to improve.


    To be a master was to have perfected the novice, intermediate, and advanced skills of a school of magic; from the most basic concepts of casting speed, timing, and aim, to the more complex like formation speed, mana conjuring rate, and the mental organization skills it took to instantaneously react to danger with creating a complex spell model and flinging it at danger.


    Cedric didn¡¯t intend to become a Battle Mage, or any sort of highly specialized combat mage. However, life ate life to live, and it was inevitable in this world ruled by the powerful and long lived that he would need to engage in combat. Knowing one would inevitably need to fight to survive within one¡¯s life created an interesting motivation for that growth. Cedric was fit, both through the usage of his potions and casual exercise. He could stand to train more physically, and truthfully, he was lagging in that aspect of attainment, but he could run quite fast and quite long if he so needed to, which was what he truly needed as a mage.


    Most of his combat training involved mental conditioning and a standardization of how he considered a spell ¡®mastered¡¯. Each spell was like a complex painting with many nuances, and each time one wanted to cast a specific spell they needed to have that exact image in mind and then paint it with their magical energies. This could be as simple as imagining a candle¡¯s flame, or it could be as difficult as memorizing a complex abstract piece of artwork and without doubt knowing each and every facet of that artwork to one¡¯s core.


    Once again, Mages were normally neurologically divergent, with Cedric himself naturally having a rather sturdy memory; at least one that was leagues better than his memory back on earth. Perhaps some genetic factor that was passed down in this ¡®version¡¯ of humanity for the tens of thousands of years they existed as a species; with the magical practitioners with long and focused memories obviously passing their traits down. His natural memory was reinforced with his own alterations and mental magic, of course, but there was still so much to magic that wasn¡¯t as intuitive as simply shouting the name of a spell and expecting it to work.


    ¡®I guess I could get started on those quests.¡¯ He¡¯d picked up a few quests from the Department of City Maintenance, and he figured that now that he was more set up within the city, he could engage in his career as an Adventurer.


    Cedric knew that he was a powerful mage. The concern that his grandmother had shown after he¡¯d revealed his vocation was something that truly touched his heart, and nearly made him cry. However, the concern wasn¡¯t something that was truthfully needed. Call it the arrogance of the youth, but Cedric was a powerful mage, especially for his age. There existed few people that he believed couldn¡¯t be beguiled by his mental and illusory magics, with such magics being his immediate counter to the ¡®mage banes¡¯ that were powerful knights.


    Normally, such magics could be resisted or nullified entirely by a Knight bringing up their Aura, however, Cedric found a chink in this armor by using Wild Magic to infuse his illusory and mental magics into the surrounding world, permeating into the body through this medium. It was a clever trick that worked by exploiting the fact that people still needed to breathe with their defenses up; and thus, took in outside air to breathe. It was a trick, effectively, and one that could be solved by a Knight or Mage altering their defenses to keep everything out.


    Even with a Mage or Knight being ignorant of simply breathing near him, the magic wasn¡¯t an ¡®instant win¡¯. On a battlefield where he wasn¡¯t standing right next to a Knight that could kill him in the time it took a mortal man to blink, it required set-up time, and for the natural elements to be relatively still. A strong wind would carry away his magical energies infused into the winds, diluting the magic, and if he used his own magic to direct those magically infused winds, it¡¯d give the game away as Aura and Magical defenses would recognize the winds as ¡®dangerous foreign magic¡¯ and keep them out.


    Illusions required a lot of thought put into them and could often be spotted through differences in an entity¡¯s perception. Cedric, having trained himself well in matching his illusions to the unique perceptions of most common races, was not perfect. A perceptive individual would immediately notice a color gradient or shaft of light being off-skew and flood their body with Aura or Magic to remove the infection. The differences in people¡¯s or creature¡¯s perception of the world made such fine and broad-scale illusions difficult to craft.


    Mind Magic was in a similar boat, although he¡¯s long since worked out ways to make it effective in combat by researching his Wild Magic. Mind Magic was a subtle and fragile thing when used in an external fashion. If he already had access to a person¡¯s body with his magic, then he¡¯d already won. However, in a combat situation where Cedric needed to defend himself, his enemy was defending themselves, and they weren¡¯t standing right next to him; the rate that he could infect the environment became inefficient. Ironically, the closer one came to him, the more danger they were in from being infected by his Wild Magic, which was intentional as his Wild Magic was meant to be a ward against Knights and Aura users.


    Cedric¡¯s fighting style weaved in confusing worldly illusions, illusions created not by subverting perception, but by creating physical illusions within the world, to distract and confuse his opponents. He would layer a battlefield with his growing achievements in wards, acting as traps and deadly obstacles, paired with constant subtle attacks on the mind or subversion attempts using illusions to beguile one¡¯s senses. This would further be joined by transmutations of the earth into pools of flesh-eating acids, hidden away by illusions, animated into constructs of the deadly liquids, with the battlefield being saturated by chaotic bombardments of cursed flame.


    ¡®Debuffing attacks, traps, AOE, environmental hazards, false health bars, invisibility, crowd control, instant death effects if one gets too close, timed instant death effects if one doesn¡¯t counter my Wild Magic, equipment nullification, pop-mob summoning, and subversion of allies.¡¯ Cedric thought with amusement. ¡®Paired with the fact that I¡¯ll run if I get too pressured, and any veteran MMO player would spit up blood at the thought of facing me.¡¯


    For yes, he¡¯d indeed shaped his combat skills around the concept of becoming the most annoying Raid Boss in existence. He wasn¡¯t quite there yet, not having the combat experience to tie in all his abilities, but he had most of the ingredients to create one hell of an infuriating fight. ¡®Oh, you thought you killed me? Psyche!¡¯


    Cedric had many such tricks and trump-cards, but tricks and trump-cards did not make a man invincible. He¡¯d developed his fighting style with survivability in mind, based on his developing powers. There did exist counters to his abilities. Cedric was something of a Sound Mage, although he didn¡¯t tend to use it in the way he sometimes thought he should. He could possibly make something like a Dub-Step Canon and use sound as a means of dealing physical damage, but if he needed wide-spread devastation, then he could just use Cursed Fire, or Acid Rain. Or he could curse an Acid Bolt and detonate it in a conflagration of corrosive cursed fire.


    However, just using Sound Magic as a fancy way to play music was a bit of a waste for what was once his profession in his last life. However, Sound Magic offered an interesting solution to a problem with his core magics. The greatest issue with Mind and Illusion magics was medium. As in, a Fireball was a Fireball because it was on fire; and getting hit by that projectile meant bad things. However, Mind and Illusion magic just¡­vibed? It didn¡¯t have a ¡®physical state¡¯ that could easily be attached to the magic, and neither could he just throw bolts of energy aspected with a condensed Mind and Illusion spell. Mind and Illusion Magic were very delicate things, and they got shredded apart by ambient magic, needing a shell or medium to transfer them to a target.


    Having discovered his Wild Magic and noticed its unique effects, Cedric wanted to find a medium that he could spread his Mind and Illusion Magic. The winds and air that he could spread the magic using Wild Magic was powerful, but it was haphazard, situational, and more of a defensive action than an offensive one. Ironically, his grandmother naturally countered his Wild Magic, as all she needed to do would be to blow a harsh wind at him to disperse his Wild Magic; then Nubinor could rush him and impale him on his fist.


    To solve this, he studied the magics of a caster that most educated individuals forgot even existed. Such were their hilariously inept methods of casting magic that Mages and Wizards alike tended to forget they even were a magical practitioner.


    Introducing, The Bard.


    Bards cast magic through tunes and harmonics, ordering the natural weave of magic through their songs and applying subjective and symbolic meanings through their tunes to then create a spell. A harsh disparaging riff would curse or harm an individual or group who it was directed towards or heard by, while a song that had the blood pumping would have Knights and Warriors alike preform far beyond their usual strengths. As much as Wizards and Mages liked to disparage Bards as magic casters, they were powerful tricksters, rogues, and -as much as it might gall his family- a real inspiration for Cedric.


    He learned bardic magic through scrolls and self-experimentation. If he¡¯d ever invited a bard in his company, the man or woman would be tortured and interrogated while Cedric was investigated for mental pollution or charm magic. Bards and Nobles did not mix with many nobles avoiding Bards like the plague because they were charismatic people that¡¯d leave them fleeced of all their gold and treasure while begging them to do it again. Cedric thus had to preform self-study, learning in a more academic means of what it meant to be a bard that reminded him greatly of his Music Theory classes.


    What he was after was the basic theories of how Bards cast magic, then applying those theories and cross-referencing how Wizards cast magic. His concluding research indicated the difference between the two seemed to lie within a realm of visualization and expression. Wizards visualized their magic, brewed deeply on all of the spell¡¯s effects and nuances. Meanwhile, a Bard was much more sporadic, feeling their music and trying to convey the emotion they felt in their music to the outside world.


    Bards naturally used Illusion and Mind magics to influence individuals, and learning how they did such only deepened his knowledge of the two schools of magic.


    The result of his studies elevated his Mind and Illusion Magic into something more. Cedric often privately joked that for however much of a Wizard he was, he was secretly a hybrid multi-classed Bardic Wizard with more Levels in Bard than he did in Wizard. With a mere summoning of willpower, Cedric could create an entire orchestra playing their hearts out, and by using the medium of sound; he could cast his magic.


    His bardic magic wasn¡¯t as effective as the insidious Wild Magic he could use that infiltrated the deepest aspects of those that breathed the winds and air. His Sound Magic acted as both a battering ram and a scalpel. Each tune and pluck of whatever song he was playing, each beat of the drum or riff of a guitar, any that heard the music playing would need to brace their mystic defenses lest they become enthralled in the music. From Ala-Khan¡¯s Restless Dance, The Red Dawn, to The Whistle of Death; facing Cedric became an endurance match of constant willpower saves for Wizards and constitution and willpower saves for Knights.


    Resisting such magic wasn¡¯t fun. Think of standing in a dust storm, naked, and having to resist hundred mile an hour winds with glass shards and sharp specks of dirt cutting into one¡¯s skin. A powerful Wizard and Knight could do that for a long while, using their spirit or aura to resist such magic. However, one also needed to make sure they didn¡¯t breathe at the wrong time and inhale some dust, while also fighting an exhausting battle. Imagine getting sucker punched in the gut while underwater, with the natural reaction being to take a breath, inhaling a lung full of water by breaking one¡¯s concentration. A break in concentration would mean one¡¯s defenses were down, and at that point one was under his thrall.


    Realistically, someone would expect such magic to require a lot of power and would only be used periodically, not for an entire fight. They would be wrong as even with just his internal reserves, Cedric could blast his most power intensive song, Polish Cow, at jet engine decibels for hours. Mind Magic and Illusion Magic was efficient and cheap; subtle, complex, and fragile, but cheap. A single cast of a fist-sized bolt of cursed fire was more costly than fifteen minutes of playing one of his songs.


    Ironically, the most effective ¡®bane¡¯ to his ¡®build¡¯ as a mage wasn¡¯t the Knights, the Warriors, the Mage Hunters, the Clerics, or Priests. It was those that he learned the basis of the magic from. The Bards. To face his Hybrid Sound-Mind Magic, a natural nullifying effect on the magic was to cancel or disrupt the extremely delicate wave-lengths that he packed the Mind Magic upon.


    Mind Magic, by its nature, was fragile. Cedric got around this by using harmonious sound as a vehicle for the packets of dangerous Mind Magic to travel upon. However, adding a discordant note into the mix would disrupt the sound and destroy the now aimless Mind Magic, incapable of resisting the chaotic nature of ambient magic. A Song was continuous, and even if periodically static, it would continue playing. A party could reasonably try to make continuous racket to disrupt the song entirely, but then he¡¯d just increase the volume to painful levels -he had a hidden tattoo on the inner canal of his ear that prevented his eardrums from rupturing- and let it drown the racket out.


    A bard though¡­they could create their own rhythm and harmony, disrupting his own. If they played their song that drowned out his own and continuously disrupted its harmony, then the packets of Mind Magic would be destroyed, rendering the song harmless.


    ¡®A worthy opponent. Our battle will be legendary!¡¯ If Cedric was one day killed during an epic Bard-Off, then he¡¯d die with the widest fucking grin on his face.


    His smile faded.


    His fighting style came with downsides.


    He was indiscriminate. Really indiscriminate. His music would affect allies as well as enemies, his cursed fire and its toxic fumes were hazards at the best of times and threats even he needed to pay half a mind towards at their worst. Acid Elementals were fucking insane, and lord forbid one of them figures out how to consolidate themselves into a Greater Ooze or Slime. He¡¯d experimented with Elemental-Slime fusions, with the Greater Acid Elemental Ooze he created being a foe that a dragon would be frustrated in killing.


    If Cedric hadn¡¯t locked down his lab and flooded it with cursed fire for a straight hour, then that thing would¡¯ve consumed half the region.


    ¡®Still can¡¯t believe the Greater Ooze Core survived.¡¯ Cedric shivered. He wasn¡¯t really one who thought himself as some mad scientist, usually confident in his common sense to think certain things weren¡¯t bad ideas; but that slime really surprised him. Acid Elementals were easy to produce, requiring ectoplasm and a solution of hydronium kept within a base of water. Spiritually, Acid Elementals were what happened to Water Elementals if they went insane, wanting to rid themselves of their ¡®substance¡¯ by ¡®giving their gifts¡¯, but were paradoxically predisposed to generating more hydronium as they were diluted into more things.


    They were suicidal entities that ripped the world apart by donating their ¡®gifts¡¯, and when they found some spiritual equilibrium and evolved into an Ooze; they became a grounded physical entity that held Ooze and Slime instincts.


    To grow.


    Once more a paradox was created, as an Acid Elemental donated its hydrogen ions to other substances, creating a chemical reaction that dissolved that substance into the hungering Ooze. The Ooze¡¯s biological processes would be overcharged by the Acid Elemental superimposed upon it, generating insanely potent volumes of acid and transmuting the ¡®digesting¡¯ elements into more acid. Growing.


    Cedric used Acidic Transmutation to populate a battleground with pools of acid, periodically enchanting them to be animated as tendrils or snakes of acid; even spiting their content at nearby energy sources. If an acid pool did consume an entity, or even just damaged one, it would likely subsume the ectoplasm of a soul and consume some of its structure before it departed. The soul was technically inviolate, but with magic, necromancy, spirits, and all kinds of mysticism surrounding it, there were layers to that ¡®truth¡¯. Thus, ectoplasm giving birth to a sapient Acid Element on the battlefield. His very tentative experiments into understanding how an Acid Elemental could become an Ooze tended to find a correlation to the Elemental¡¯s diet; with the more ectoplasm it consumed resulting in enough ¡®spirit ooze¡¯ to coalesce a Core.


    Cedric always kept a storage of cores, as he could use them to directly spawn an Acid Elemental Ooze. Not as deadly as a Greater variant which was what happened when he glutted the damned thing on a massive stash of ectoplasm he just had laying around; resulting in a near undying creature that ate somehow possessed and then disassembled the very magic restraining it.


    Cedric jolted from his thoughts as the carriage slowed.


    He exited, paid the driver, and returned to the Warrens. Riding the elevator into his suite, Cedric stripped from his clothing and laid back on the bed. Sighing deeply, Cedric walked into the bathroom and started to clean himself once again. His time in the gardens with his grandmother had him a bit filthy. Washing himself and tending to hygiene, Cedric cleaned his town-wear and stored it under his bed.


    Mussing around within his trunk, Cedric picked out a viable outfit for more intense labor and work. A water-proof jacket made in a more modern cut, tall laced black polished boots, cargo pants, a holster for his wand that fit nicely on his wrist. His wand was enchanted to return or eject from the holster into his fingers for quick wielding, for while a Mage was a capable combatant without their casting foci, they were significantly more effective with one. Especially for him, as it was the wand that allowed him control over cursed fires, and the ability to snuff them.


    Flicking open his pocket mirror, Cedric ordered his hair to how he liked it and cracked his back before heading out to peer off his balcony. From his jacket¡¯s pocket he pulled out a case of cigarettes, personally made smoke sticks that gave clarity of mind and relaxed the body with a fresh herbal scent.


    ¡®To the sewers we go.¡¯ He lit the cigarette and left the warrens, heading for the Department of City Maintenance. He arrived at the building as it was about to close, walking into the lobby where a worker was putting his coat on.


    ¡°Ah, sorry, sir. We¡¯re just about to close.¡± A young man, maybe a few years his senior said apologetically.


    Cedric sighed, ¡°My name is Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, Scion of House Alkahest.¡± He blew smoke out his nose, watching as the man¡¯s jaw dropped, then cleared his throat thickly.


    ¡°What can I help you with, Scion Alkahest?¡± The man asked demurely.


    ¡°Business.¡± He pulled from his jacket two papers and handed them to the man, who read them with visible disbelief.


    He glanced up at him, then back down, then back up.


    The routine was getting annoying, so Cedric just leveled the man with a dull glare.


    Swallowing, the employee nodded and beckoned. Silently they walked, the young man retrieving keys and leading him to the back where a gated entrance to the sewers was located. ¡°You¡¯ll want a map.¡± The employee muttered, handing Cedric a map, ¡°Do you need a light source?¡± He asked.


    Cedric shook his head, ¡°Thanks.¡± Snapping his finger a mage light appeared over his shoulder.


    ¡°Erm, good luck, Adventu- uh, Scion Alkahest.¡±


    Cedric just waved the man on and walked down into the sewers. The stink was nothing that he wasn¡¯t used to, and with a calm lift to his steps he ventured into the darkness.


    The sewer map was detailed enough that Cedric didn¡¯t get lost. He was good with maps and so he followed along several of the piping systems, coaxing a finger along them as his hand exhumed a blistering heat. The scorching fires of his hand weren¡¯t cursed, just mundane flame little different than a blow-torch being blazed on the length of the pipe.


    Digging his hand into his cargo pockets he pulled from one a green orb that he lazily threw into the sewer water, the orb glowing within the grey water and suddenly expanding rapidly. The creature roiled as it drifted down the waters, Cedric giving an authoritative whistle. The Ooze froze as commands of Mind Magic laced itself deeply into its being, orders and restrictions clear as it tumbled down the flow of the sewer; ordered to reproduce and inject its young with the same mental commands it had, spreading out through the sewers and consuming everything within.


    Cedric for his part just kept along with the pipeline, periodically stopping to pull his wand and use an engraving spell to correct or entirely redo the heating and pressure runes. He also ripped up earthwork, non-structural of course, and transfigured it into pipe patches, removing rust and adding the extra-material to that would protect the piping from future rust.


    ¡®Not all quests are grand.¡¯ Cedric mused with a light smile as he worked. It was rather meditative for him to preform this work; idly paying attention to the growing network of enslaved Oozes that he had running about. Whenever they consumed enough ectoplasm to reproduce, they did so, in this way not growing powerful enough to mutate into a Greater Ooze, even if it¡¯d take tens of thousands of rats and lesser oozes or slimes for one to reach that level.


    The quest only required him to mark down the required repairs, and the elimination quest required him to bring back physical evidence of a specific number of slain creatures. In this way he commanded the oozes to not devour Ooze cores, although for the rats he couldn¡¯t really do much about.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    He¡¯d sent the oozes in a different direction than he was heading though, so as he worked he periodically spotted a rat and would give a slow and unsettling whistle</a>. The Whistle of Death was a very simple mental compulsion that didn¡¯t target the conscious mind, but the subconscious, commanding the body to shut down its functions, experiencing immediate organ failure across the board. From heart and brain to one¡¯s liver and kidney; everything just stopped functioning. It required some base knowledge of what parts of the brain governed such things, with him targeting that part and subverting it.


    To most animals and creatures, the so-called level-zeroes, there just wasn¡¯t anything they could do about the whistle. Civilians and peasantry too were just shit out of luck, and a single whistle would be all it¡¯d take to kill any within the range of its volume. The whistle, however, was slow; subtle. It could be loud, but it took a moment for it to function. In people they¡¯d slur themselves and then drop dead, with any competent Knight or Wizard capable of immediately noticing the intrusion and removing the command. Those that survived that way experienced what he called ¡®Fear of the Grave¡¯, their body and subconscious going into flight or fight and freaking the fuck out as it almost killed itself.


    ¡®The design is very humane.¡¯ Cedric mused, truly thinking the spell of instant death to be one that was an exceedingly merciful way to die. Cedric didn¡¯t fear death; he¡¯d died a true death once before and killed himself in the mind too many times to count. He also, out of sheer curiosity, used the Whistle of Death on himself, just to know what feels like. He didn¡¯t recommend doing what his dumbass fourteen-year-old self did, but he just kept casting it until his subconscious and body stopped freaking out.


    Intellectually, he wasn¡¯t afraid of death; however, the body didn¡¯t like listening to the mind, so he had to teach it.


    Whistling a bit longer, Cedric cut off the rat tails with a blade of force magic, transmuting a leather sack from the corpses to store them within.


    Checking his map as he put in the fiftieth rat tail in his bag, Cedric mused it¡¯d take three more hours of the two he¡¯d already spent. Sniffing as he was now nose dead to the smell of the sewer, the young man continued on with his labor of completing the sewer. He took periodic smoke breaks and became a bit hungry for dinner; but decided to just push through and get this over with. He needed to do quite a few more quests until he could rank up to Bronze. Then he could become an Iron, then a Steel, then a Silver, then a Gold. After Gold he¡¯d likely get stuck as he was a noble from a separate nation, and from Gold was Mythril which all Guild Masters were ranked as. Even obtaining Gold was something of a stretch as Gold was already something of a leadership position within the organization.


    The hours passed by quickly, his carton of cigs drawing low as he worked and repaired the valves and pipes of the sewer. Yet, a quest wouldn¡¯t be one without its ¡®boss¡¯ fight.


    Staring dully at the mutant cat, taller than his knee and with wicked claws and plenty of scars covering its body, Cedric whistled; the cat slumping for a moment, only for a pulse of green flames to wash over its fur. The creature lunged within a second thought in its body, clearly working on nothing but instinct as it lashed its claws towards his throat.


    Dodging to the side and leaving an image clone behind, Cedric was invisible and entirely silent as he walked to the sewer wall and leaned there with a bored expression. The cat creature lunged at his image clone again as it turned around, holding a hand up to stymie the bleeding throat. Flicking a finger, he conjured a force wall within the illusion, giving the impression of its claws cutting through flesh and scrapping against snapping bones. He¡¯d practiced very hard to get the correct texture and feedback of what it felt like to run someone through, ideal for his tricky fighting style in convincing his foes that they¡¯d slain him.


    He played with the cat for a bit longer as the image clone of him kept whistling the same song of death; he watched in a bit of satisfaction as the cat struggled to keep its fight up while defending against the song. Aura combatants defended against this type of magic using their Aura, which functioned as an internal source of energy drawn from their body¡¯s vital energies. They could project their Aura to protect their flesh, use it as a means of attack, enhance their body with energy, and even create magical techniques with the energy.


    Using one¡¯s Aura defensively limited how it could be used offensively or supportively; like trying to split one¡¯s mind in multiple directions, it was only more difficult as Aura was like trying to control a raging river. His songs were even more infuriating towards Aura users as they were being constantly bombarded with glass, carving away into their projected Lifeforce. It ground away at their vital energies, weakening them not only in a mental aspect, but also in a game of attrition.


    If Cedric was facing someone like his grandfather, then he¡¯d need to go all out; pressuring him to make mistakes, grinding down his potent reserves with cursed flames and noxious fumes, bait him into getting into conflict with invisible oozes, and trapping him within ward-schemes that had internal cursed fires consume all the oxygen within while filling it with spiritual poison.


    Cedric was a mage who refused to fight fair. Against a man over three-hundred years old, he gave himself a thirty, maybe fifty percent chance of winning against Nubinor. If grandma popped in to fight with him, then Cedric was plain fucked. He¡¯d get found by scrying wind magics and Nubinor would be led and directed by his grandmother to rip him to shreds.


    This perceived weakness didn¡¯t bother him. He was only nineteen and could reasonably fight old monsters like his grandparents. His grandmother in a 1v1 against him would be like playing a game of cards, revealing trump cards that negated one ability or another. It¡¯d eventually come down to who had more information on the other, and how they were able to counter one another¡¯s abilities.


    Mages resisted things like his music differently than Knights; unless they held some magical device or artifact that he¡¯d need to grind down like it was Aura, then it was a battle of willpower and perception.


    The music would be like glass shards being launched at one¡¯s mind, and a mage would need to neutralize the daggers entering their mind; defeating the magic and making sure there weren¡¯t any lingering trojan horses. His mother taught him how to defend his mind in one of the most painful experiences of his life, teaching him a more brutal method than was tradition. He learned a lesson on how to attack one¡¯s mind during those lessons. Where she might drive a length of burning steel into his brain, Cedric would blow a continuous cloud of razor-sharp glass shards into one¡¯s gray matter.


    One could be defended against, the other was just evil.


    For a Mage to try and fight Cedric was an attempt to fight while trying to do advanced calculus, Where¡¯s Wally, intense artistic visualization, extreme physical exertion, all while keeping oneself sharp for illusions, tricks, and environmental hazards.


    One weakness to his music was to use the formerly mentioned defensive artifact. Using an enchanted artifact to act as a shield to the song, but the moment he overwhelmed that artifact, or destroyed it outright, then it was back to a mental hellscape or an Aura reserve. The issue with fighting Cedric using one of those artifacts was that he¡¯d easily recognize it, and immediately think of several means of finding a way around the defense: from simply overwhelming it with magic, to altering his song with an obscured attempt at disenchanting the artifact. Or he could just destroy it with acid or fire.


    Most Mages didn¡¯t have what Cedric would call a ¡®gear set¡¯. The most mages would wear within this world would be a nice robe perhaps moderately enchanted with basic defenses, a few rings, a staff, scepter, or wand, and then that was it. This was because Enchanting was hard, and it got expensive fast trying to get upgrades for eighteen equipment slots. An economical mage was one that invested within a staff, a robe, maybe a hat or some auxiliary equipment, and at that point the bank would be looking pretty dry.


    Cedric was an outlier who spent sixteen years studying magic and got good at a lot of -what were in his mind- basic foundational pieces of knowledge, which applied themselves universally in any form of magic he tried his hand at. Enchanting was one of those schools where learning and mastering the basics was the most important thing one could do, which he indeed did.


    Cedric¡¯s current outfit wasn¡¯t too heavily enchanted, and he also didn¡¯t walk around wearing his products. He always kept his wand on hand, of course, but when he was within Yal-Hest he had to play things safe. That meant no hiding tattoos under complex illusions, because his mother or father would sense them. No wearing obviously master-crafted equipment as he¡¯d be questioned about how he obtained them. He didn¡¯t even use his wand and instead used an expensive one he bought on auction; a piece of shit compared to his own, but serviceable and expected for someone like himself.


    Watching as the cat exhausted itself, its Aura weakening and then folding away, he stepped out of his invisibility as it ceased up and died from his image copy kept whistling. Inspecting the image, he saw that its jaw and throat were hanging on by tattered threads, and it had fallen into a fetal state; still whistling as it wasn¡¯t actually a biological entity. He put his fingers into its wounds and felt the stick of blood, drawing his hand out to rub the blood between his fingers.


    Satisfied with his performance in creating a believable fake, even if he wasn¡¯t putting in the correct vocal responses to getting cut up, the image copy still tried to feebly react to the oncoming onslaught of the cat. Banishing the force-construct that was giving it texture and feedback to its wounds, replicating the specific feel of organs, bones, and flesh, he moved on with his job.


    There weren¡¯t any more surprises on his end, although his network connected to his various Oozes informed him of a few Rat Kings and other nasty creatures that were subsumed and disassembled molecularly. There were now seventy-three Oozes running around, and with a tug on the chain embedded into their primitive minds, he called the roiling tides of Ooze back to him.


    As he was finishing up on the last segment of pipe, his fingers flicking themselves rapidly to carve together a few runes, a tide of mushing and squishing breached through a grate in the pipes, cores splattering onto the ground and then leaking into the waterway. He waited until all seventy-three were there and ordered them to consume one another. The process was quick, the massive mound of gunk and ooze melding into one another, forming a Greater Acid Ooze Elemental.


    The Demon King played from an audio-visualizer of gunk by his head, enforcing the edicts and binding magics placed on the significantly more powerful Ooze. Ordering it to not resist, he inserted his force magic into the creature¡¯s mass and ripped out its Core. Taming the magics around the Core, he set it into a dormant state and put it inside his pant pocket. He needed to act quickly with a Greater Ooze, as it¡¯ll start consuming and unmaking the magic placed upon it out of simple instinct. It happened last time, and he hadn¡¯t expected, then bam, feral Ooze in his lab.


    Cracking his neck, Cedric started on the long way back to the Department of City Maintenance. Arriving at the late hours of near midnight, Cedric blinked as he found the sleepy form of the same employee he¡¯d interacted with still here.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Cedric called out, waking the poor man.


    He sat up abruptly from his chair and blubbered about, ¡°Huh, ah. You¡¯re back!¡± He seemed immensely relieved at that fact. ¡°Is, uh, the job done, Sir Scion?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m going to head to the Guild and report the job complete.¡±


    The young man nodded firmly, ¡°We¡¯ll get back to you in a business day.¡± He saluted with his arm crossing his chest.


    Giving the man an amused look, he nodded and bid him thanks, leaving the place. Drawing from his jacket he drew out a leather booklet and opened it to reveal an assortment of metallic needles. Drawing them out he tapped his form, cleaning magic, scent removal magics, and more roiling over his form, his enchanted travel kit cleaning him up rather well.


    There weren¡¯t any carriages running this time of night, and he debated heading back to the Warrens and just heading in tomorrow, but decided he¡¯d get this out of the way and possibly grab a new quest. Knock some things out right now instead of needing to do them in the morning, this way he could get on new things come morning.


    Arriving at the Guild while grumbling about this city¡¯s security, having been mugged twice getting here. He didn¡¯t kill the gnome and half-elf that tried to rob him, merely whispering for them to fall asleep. Paraval had something of a crime network, and while petty criminals would exist in any city, especially one as large as Paraval was, Cedric was under the impression the crime was taken care of by the various syndicates.


    He¡¯d done his research and knew that his grandmother had her fingers in some of the less-than-legal pies growing in the city, along with a few of her children organizing or overseeing things. It was surprisingly common for children of powerful houses to get into the underworld, quickly rising thanks to their backing and resources, with the goal being to remove foreign influence on their cities, subvert Imperial laws that they disagreed with, and potentially spread to other cities and regions.


    It was one of those ¡®subtle¡¯ means of fucking with one¡¯s ancient rivals, by throwing legions of bandits, syndicate organizations, ¡®rebellions¡¯ encouraging civil unrest, and all manner of subterfuge. It was made easy by the usage of magic, whether it be mind magic, or other esoteric or subtle means of manipulation. Cedric made it a point to not kill criminals that weren¡¯t already being processed by the judiciary systems of the Empire. If they were that far deep, then they likely didn¡¯t have interested backers looking to silence or use them. However, killing a random criminal could mean killing some important informant for a foreign nobility, thus pissing them off and marking oneself as a person of interest.


    Cedric was a very morally flexible individual, having been that way since he was a boy and having to rationalize the existence of slave-markets. Then that rationalization came with potential for exploitation, and ever since he¡¯d started obtaining a means of capital, his labs have been flushed with human and non-human experiments. It was something that he was aware was objectively evil, or at least deranged, fucked up, but Cedric did not think himself as evil. He¡¯s done a lot of evil things in this life, from mind-rape to inhumane experimentation, abject torture, and so on; but it wasn¡¯t done in a way that was meant to be evil.


    Motivation mattered, and he¡¯d long since jumped through the loops of mental justification of what he considered morally repugnant, reduced to just being a ¡®regrettable and necessary action¡¯.


    Entering the Adventurer¡¯s Guild with a firm frown on his face, Cedric navigated to the correct clerk. There wasn¡¯t any line as it was so late, but Adventurers always came in at different times, forcing the Adventurer¡¯s Guild to be a twenty-four seven establishment.


    Placing his tag down and sliding the quest reports to the clerk, he waited for the following stamps that indicated his quest was for ¡®review¡¯. Cedric nodded and left for the Quest Board, and there he found a few late nighters gathering around. An oddly familiar young woman was biting her lip as she debated between two quests, and it took him a moment to remember her as the woman he¡¯d met while filling out his paperwork. They both held the customary silver-white hair that was usual within Paraval¡¯s population and ethnic background. She wore a necklace that he could feel a surprisingly powerful enchantment upon, more than that he recognized the method of its make. A willing sacrifice had gone into the construction of the amulet, and its powerful presence hid the lesser enchantments belonging to a steely belt engraved in runes and a few other bobbles on her person.


    They were a bit worn and their magic to his senses was old. Heirlooms, then.


    Her clothing was to his perspective of a modern design, which with the cultural shift of Paraval and its great influence by the God of Inspiration, Iso, meant it was of local fashion. A long leather cardigan, a slightly cropped top, a length of gray cloth queerly wrapped tightly around her neck, paired with patched leather trousers. Her naval was revealed by her cropped top, revealing a moderately toned core. Her hair was full and wild but braided into a single long braid that drooped down to her hips. Cast over her shoulder, she still had a full head of hair framing comely features that were contrasted by dark brows.


    He tried to remember a name and snapped his finger in remembrance. Alice Casamer, if he remembered correctly.


    Next to her was a shorter veiled woman with her hair in a mixture of dread knots, bindings, and knots of string. The girl hid her face behind a cloth veil and had brass neck rings lining her throat. The young woman seemed more energetic than the more closed off and reluctant Alice who was arguing with the pleas of the druidic woman.


    It was an interesting contrast, both women were obviously magic casters, but seemed to be otherwise have different vocations. At least, simply judging by their means of dress.


    Walking next to the two arguing girls, he listened in while he was searching for his own quest.


    ¡°We need to build ourselves up, Sestrel.¡± He heard Alice proclaim. ¡°We can¡¯t be running off trying to obtain the highest paying jobs.¡±


    ¡°But we won¡¯t earn enough!¡± The woman named Sestrel countered, ¡°We¡¯re both eighteen. We have less than two weeks to obtain enough money for the admission fee.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t be able to attend if we¡¯re dead!¡±


    Seeing the fight getting a bit more intense, he cut in with a smile on his face, ¡°Woah there, let¡¯s cool down, ladies.¡±


    Sestrel had a biting word on the tip of her tongue, but they both seemed to realize where they were and calmed down.


    Alice cocked her head and furrowed her brow, ¡°Do I know you?¡± She asked.


    Cedric smiled, ¡°Cedric. We met when we were applying.¡±


    Recognition appeared in Alice¡¯s eyes, and she smiled, ¡°Ah. I remember.¡± She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, ¡°How is Adventuring going?¡± She asked.


    He smiled with a relaxed mien, ¡°Not much adventuring. Just busy work. The real stuff that I¡¯m looking forward to will be when I¡¯m Iron, Steel, and Silver.¡±


    ¡°You dream high.¡± The girl named Sestrel muttered bitterly.


    ¡°Sestrel!¡± Alice shouted in rebuke while Cedric raised an eyebrow. ¡°Apologize, now.¡± She stomped up to the woman.


    Sestrel frowned bitterly, and glanced up to him with sky-blue eyes, ¡°Sorry.¡± She said noncommittally.


    Knowing full-well what it felt like to be in that situation, Cedric smiled and nodded. It sucked putting one¡¯s pride away and letting those bitter words escape; especially as one¡¯s attention or mood was elsewhere. Turning his attention back to Alice, he gave her a concerned look, ¡°Adventuring is a lot more dangerous when you have concerns other than surviving. What seems to be the problem?¡± He felt a bit of a thrill run through his heart at the question. It felt like he was about to be offered a quest! A real one, not one on a board.


    Alice sighed and seemed reluctant to answer, while Sestrel looked away. Eventually Alice caved, ¡°We¡¯re trying to attend the Paraval Academy of Magic.¡± She admitted.


    Cedric blinked, ¡°Oh. I guess we¡¯ll see each other around.¡± He was a bit disappointed. He thought they were going to need him to beat up some loan shark or something.


    The two women blinked, ¡°You¡¯re attending?¡± They both said at the same time.


    Cedric cocked his head, ¡°Yes? Oh, right. How much is attending?¡± He asked as he patted himself down.


    ¡°Three gold pieces for a year.¡± Sestrel muttered bitterly while Alice blinked owlishly as Cedric found his coin pouch inside this outfit. The ching of coins brought Sestrel¡¯s attention back to him, and both gapped as he couldn¡¯t be bothered to pick out the gold and just tossed them a platinum piece.


    He snickered at their gobsmacked expressions, ¡°Don¡¯t get mugged now. I¡¯d put that in your Guild accounts if I were you.¡± Alice held the coin like it was the elixir of life and gaped at him in shock.


    ¡°C-Cedric, we, what¡­¡± Alice babbled.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Sestrel¡¯s voice was wary and circumspect, but also resigned.


    Cedric frowned, ¡°You¡¯re really rude, you know that?¡± He muttered and rolled his eyes. ¡°I want a vanilla pumpkin spiced latte, a nice book, and a calm high.¡± He snickered at their confused expressions. ¡°Its charity.¡± He explained, ¡°Generosity. You two look like you¡¯re at least somewhat capable mages. It¡¯ll be nice to have people who aren¡¯t blood blooded snobs about the place.¡±


    ¡°Who just gives people a platinum?¡± Sestrel muttered in wonderment.


    Alice looked like she wanted to strangle Sestrel.


    Cedric rolled his eyes, ¡°Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest, Scion of the Ducal House of Alkahest. Grandson of the reigning Lord and Lady of Paraval.¡± He gave a slight bow, enjoying their gobsmacked expressions, ¡°We¡¯ll be classmates.¡± He shrugged.


    Sestrel¡¯s eyes swam with horror, while Alice looked like death had warmed over.


    ¡°W-we apologies for any offense, Scion Alk-Alkahest.¡± Alice bowed deeply with real fear in her voice, quickly joined by Sestrel that was shaking in her boots.


    ¡®This is what you get for belonging to a class of tyrannical aristocracy.¡¯ Cedric sighed.


    Fear.


    It was how the aristocracy liked to rule. Through the fear of consequences, the fear of individuals so far above oneself, that they could dictate if one lives or dies based on the cut of one¡¯s hair, or the shape of their eyes. To be in the presence of a Noble was to walk with a person that could murder you with the ungodly strength of a Knight, or the mystic tortures of magic. Within one¡¯s own territory, such murders went away with a wave of the hand, although in Paraval there was more regulation with the presence of the Academy.


    However, the presence of the Academy meant more nobles present within the city, far too used to getting their way of things. It led to incidents. Incidents that had the offending noble punished, but that was like a slap on the wrist compared to the depredations that the visiting scions inflicted upon the population. Few, if any, Houses were held with any form of love. Respect, fear, terror, and awe; the resplendent vestments of his grandfather would command armies hundreds of thousands strong.


    Men marched to the dictation of the Lords, and while the Lords were individuals that were seen as ascendent untouchables; scions were their devilish spawn. To claim that a Lord was visiting or in the presence of peasantry outside of a military or judicial context was preposterous; they lived in two separate worlds. To claim that a Scion was in the presence of the peasantry was like a natural disaster that would end with daughters and mothers sullied, fathers and sons butchered, and the stench of fear claiming blocks of a city for years.


    There wasn¡¯t any possibility of uprising or revolting. Sure, too much fear would lead to such things, and it was annoying putting them down; but all it would ever be was a distraction. There¡¯s always an equal or opposite force with real resources ready to put down the law in place of a ¡®despoiled tyrant¡¯. The peasantry didn¡¯t rule themselves, as they had no power to do so. If they picked up arms and marched to Cedric¡¯s quaint little castle, demanding less taxes, then he''d just whistle, and they¡¯d either all fall dead, or they¡¯d be forced to dance from sunrise to sunset; fully aware he was controlling their every move. The fear that would create was immense, and that was just Cedric.


    Houses had super soldier Knights, and magical Magisters who acted as spies, and criminals with information networks, fueled by rivers of gold, and buoyed by influence. They held magical means of divining enemies and finding where guerrilla networks were and were capable of untold cruelty in the face of dissent.


    Equality?


    ¡®What is that? Is it tasty, or is it just empty air?¡¯


    Something confused him, ¡°You two do realize you are signing up for Paraval¡¯s Academy of Magic, correct?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, Scion Alkahest.¡± Alice confirmed shakily.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be around dozens of Scions.¡±


    The two sisters visibly froze. It was like watching a computer think and slowly load.


    ¡°First, stand up.¡± The two girls stood woodenly. ¡°Next, loosen up. Get defiant.¡± He thought about that and blanched, remembering some fucked up conversations he¡¯d had with other Scions. ¡°Er, belay that. Some Scions like defiance and see it as a challenge. They¡¯ll will want to rape you because bragging about how they ¡®broke you¡¯ is for some reason impressive, fucking degenerates¡­¡± He pinched the bridge of his nose, ¡°But it¡¯s better than being submissive and getting walked over.¡± He finished, the two girls staring at him in horror.


    ¡°The rumors are true?¡± Alice whispered. She was likely referencing the stigma placed on non-nobles attending institutions meant for the nobility. Imperial Law dictated that all educational facilities were open to all classes of people, but they just raised the entry price to unreasonably high levels, barring most off from entering. Then there was the fact that they were outsiders who were inherently lesser than those already attending, It created an utterly toxic environment that itself warded off applicants; unless that toxic environment was so toxic it beggared belief and became mere rumor.


    ¡°Eh. Yeah. Pretty much.¡± The aristocracy were all pampered little babies taking what they wanted from people who couldn¡¯t protect it. The class system worked a bit oddly within the Orestien Empire. At the top of the peerage system there was the emperor with his powerbase being the Imperial Army, and his Magisters. Then below him there were the Archdukes, who were usually either the emperor¡¯s brother, sister, or his most capable and trusted children. There was currently only one Archduke, and that was House Lappland, who¡¯s lord was the Emperor¡¯s third son.


    Then there were the Dukes. There were seven dukes within the Orestien Empire. The Alkahest, the Paraval, the Xong, the Ferverach, the Lantvandi, the Ceormor, and the Almendro. The Alkahest, his house, ruled over the lands of the Yal-Hest, a desert environment located in the southern parts of the continent. The continent itself was effectively split in half from east to west. The west was held by the Great Eshal Forests, a continuous woodland that extended in the north with great boral giants and coastal redwoods, down into more moderate climates with temperate oaks, pines, and poplar, into the sweltering jungles to the far south. Eventually the forest ended nearly a thousand miles on, separated by bogs, swamplands, and rivers; yet was unbared and undivided by mountains.


    The sons of men and titans, the dwarves and men of Orestien existed on the eastern half the continent, with many scholars attributing the Eshal Forest to the elven god Eshala with its queer formation and lack of disruption. It was home to the populations of the elves and beast-kin, with any attempt at colonizing the forest ended poorly.


    The lands of Yal-Hest were divided within the system of peerage.


    Below the Dukes were three marquises ruling the border of the Eshal Jungles. Cedric held great respect for the Marquises of any territory, for they were the guardians of their lands; the first defense against foreign invaders. He always tended to treat the sons and daughters of marquises with more respect than he did other Scions, because what they faced, and what they were raised to face, was a truly grueling fate. Many of the Marquises were patrons of slavery, which might¡¯ve soured his opinion if he wasn¡¯t acculturated into being a slave owner, even if he only bought criminals.


    The Empires of Men, from the First to the Eighth, were built on a system of slavery. This ironically wasn¡¯t because of choice, but necessity. When facing foreign invaders near constantly, the markets of war needed to produce more than just blood. It also needed gold to put boots and food in the marching armies headed off to war; not to mention the practice dramatically increased morale for the soldiers.


    The greatest nations back on Earth were built on the backs of slave labor and blood. It was by exploiting their labor forces that their people could advance rapidly, technologically, culturally, or industrially. The fall of the Roman Empire could be attributed to many factors, but a driving force of their economy was that of slave labor and the constant expansionist and imperialistic mindset that the empire lived on. The Roman Empire fell into decadence and collapsed partly with the Byzantine carrying the flag until the prophet within Mecca gave rise to one of the most powerful empires in the world that ended the torch bearing Byzantine.


    The Empires of Man were built off slave labor because of a simple geographical facet that placed the Empires within a state of constant stalemate. They were incapable of destroying or removing or culling a continent spanning forest and its population. The Eshal was always filled with a population of foreign savages and alien states, while also being an amazing source of natural resources like timber.


    From beast-kin tribes to elven nomadic groups, and further south down in the savanna, the Orcs. The Eshal Forest was constantly generating legions of barbarians that seemed to always get the good idea of raiding the Empires of Man. Armies would be raised, thrown into the forest, and came back with slaves. Then the Empire would find that an entire province, as in the entirety of Yal-Hest or an equivalent territory, was devoid of its children.


    Full Blooded Fae-diddling elves liked eating children, apparently.


    When he first heard about it, he thought it was propaganda; there were myths like that back on Earth. But then he realized it wasn¡¯t when he heard of the Wyld Hunts. They happened about every decade, sometimes every half-decade. Elves were naturally superior to the common man, at least physically. They were just born superior, and depending on how they trained, usually always had some form of talent in Aura or Magic.


    They were also extremely culturally diverse, and some of those cultures tended to be a bit barbaric.


    When death-squads numbering in the tens of thousands slink out from their forests to come eat an entire region¡¯s worth of children; blood feuds and cries of extermination get called. Hatred breeds, and thus one gets that entire race-war thing going on. Some tribes of Beast-Kin were cannibals straight up, although at least they were honest about it and ate everyone.


    The Beast-Kin had their own quirks of taking humans as slaves, thralls, and bed-slaves; but it¡¯d be hypocritical of him, an Imperial, to decry that behavior. The Orcs too ate humans, raped humans, and the like; but they did that to each other as natural cannibals that liked eating meat. From what he¡¯d read it wasn¡¯t really in their culture or biology to care, and the warmongering warriors were ever the picture image of battle-loving maniacs. Normally eating people came with risks of disease, but Orcs were iron-stomached, while the Elves were meticulous in their preparation.


    Cedric wasn¡¯t racist towards Elves even knowing this fact. He was a little bit biased towards fucking savages that ate children, but most Elves in the nation weren¡¯t child eating monsters. Most elves in general weren¡¯t.


    At least, he hoped so¡­


    As much as Cedric tried to deny it, he was, ultimately, an Imperial. He belonged to the ¡®micro¡¯ culture of the Yal-Hest, but for however much he might be an American, he was now an acculturated High Imperial Nobility. He had been since he turned like, ten or something; eventually something just clicked, and he stopped thinking himself as an American outside of sarcastic monologs.


    It left him feeling a sort of patriotic and communalistic ire when thinking about foreign invaders. The concept of a foreigner meant that he in some way attributed the Empire as his home, and thus wanted to protect his home as was human nature. His unique perspective allowed him to see that change within him, and he found it oddly sad for some reason.


    With the Marquises handling the borders, below them were the five Earls. Some territories called them Counts, but Yal-Hest called their third-most powerful peerage Earls. The Earls were the middle-managers. Lower than a Marquis in terms of importance, yet they were the ones that tended to manage most of the goings-on of the region as the largest land-owners. They tended to have their own vassals in the form of barons. Barons that went beyond the line of duty or served gloriously under a Marquis could be raised into Viscounts, and by the duke¡¯s word could then be raised into a Marquis.


    Why skip over Earl? The answer to that was land. Marquises were those that dealt with border-controls, and new land tended to always be handed to either barons or viscounts, and if they proved capable of holding that land, were titled Marquises. That happened rarely, with viscounts and barons being the most interchangeable and expendable of nobility.


    Then there were the Knights, Sorcerers, and Imperial Clerks.


    The Empire needed a lot of bureaucratic resources and manpower to operate its functions. Directly tied to the emperor¡¯s authority and name, the Imperial legions of Magisters and bureaucrats were an army of self-important cogs that kept the machine functioning. They held a very centralized authority and directly reported to the Royal Magister, and were often trained as capable mages, courtly scribes, and spies. To obtain that vocation was luck of the draw, largely taken from orphanages around the capital, or recommendations granted to various colleges and schools around the empire.


    Sorcerers were a complex beast. If a magic user of notable might, culturally appraised by the size of their internal reserves, were to appear; then they tended to be treated as minor nobility. Sorcerers tended to act as free contractors, expected to appear at the behest of a nobility, and tended to form into independent organizations known as towers, cables, cults, or hermetic orders of scholars. The archetype of the ¡®wise man¡¯ held great cultural significance in the hearts of men. Dwarves tended to laugh at their heading of ¡®young greybeards¡¯ who haven¡¯t even lived a third of their greybeard¡¯s lives, while gnomes were too varied and insane to have a collective opinion.


    Lastly, Knights. They were Knights. The simplest of them all, a warrior of skill and intelligence, often a son or daughter of a baron or viscount, swore themselves to a house to serve them in their best interests and attempted to obtain enough accolades for titles of land, or potentially being raised into peerage. They formed the backbone of armies, the hammer and anvil, and were enforcers of various knightly codes. Many Knights tended to follow the creeds of various gods, worship and faith tending to grant blessing and holy powers, creating paladins.


    Within the Eighth Empire, Paladins were somewhat rare. The Imperial Faith of Iso didn¡¯t inspire many knights, and they turned to disorganized sects of smaller religions, or older creeds; this created fragmented Knight Orders. At least, initially. Three-hundred years since the founding of the Eighth Empire, and the Knight Orders had created Templar Knights, powerful and very Elite sects of specially trained Knights that were led by their Grandmaster. The Knight Orders would swear to various Lords, obtaining immense patronage for the service of immensely powerful, organized holy men. They didn¡¯t take land outside of expanding their operations, requiring temples to be built to host their men and worship many diverse Gods.


    Throughout the many decades, three Knight Orders have had their stars rise above all others.


    The Order of Ascendent Dawn, worshippers of Sorael, Angel of Light. Healers in the line of duty, these Hospitaller Knights were very popular heroes to the common folk and soldiers alike. Their patron, Sorael, was once simply just a summoned Angel of the Goddess of the Sun, Solariel. However, Solariel fell into relative obscurity, and only recorded mention of her Angel remained, with the Knighthood holding an inspiring history of coming from nothing but scraps of a legend and building a resplendent faith from it.


    The Order of Yore, Warrior-Scholars that record history, texts, knowledge, and tend to have a mixed membership of faithful Sorcerers and Templar Knights. They worship the Scribe God, a God so ancient they have no name or identity to claim. The Order of Yore works to potentially reclaim their God¡¯s stolen or lost identity, while preserving all histories within their temples. They hold great relationships with the Order of Ascendent Dawn, both helping each other in piecing together lost histories.


    Lastly, the Lantvandic Knights, an Order of Templars that was formed by an ancestor of the now Ducal House of Lantvandi. The Lantvandi or ¡®von Lantvandi¡¯ means ¡®of Lantvandia¡¯. They come from a bitter continent to the far-west, having traveled over the Altola Ocean to reach Orestien, this stranded legion of a foreign human nation from a very foreign land cut their way through the Eshal Forest, and into the Empires of Man. They then became mercenaries during the collapse of the Seventh Empire, then soon served the ascendent Petty King Wodin Rothsland, and their Company Commander was awarded the title of Marquis. Taking the name of Lantvandi in honor of their homeland, the mercenaries continued to work for the Petty King, soon earning the rank of Dukedom.


    They brought with them their land¡¯s God, Nodum, God of Storms, Calamity, and Disaster.


    ¡®A very fitting God for that family,¡¯ Cedric mused.


    To obtain upward mobility within society, an individual needed to climb that ladder. It often took extenuating circumstances and impossible odds to do so, but it was indeed possible. The two girls in front of him were likely just two commoners, likely from a small family that was moderately well off, or had a tragedy strike them, and had the girl¡¯s needing education. As obvious magical practitioners, it was most common to see Sorcerers not from the ranks of nobility trained in a sort of apprentice-master relationship by wandering Sorcerers.


    Magical knowledge was a restricted resource, and while the nobility lobbied to as hard as they could to restrict its presence within the population, it was nearly impossible to do so in any reasonable effect. While magical knowledge was important for one¡¯s advancement, every generation there would always be someone who became some Merlin-esque figure and threw the status-quo out the window to teach some hillbilly how to cast fireballs. Genius, intelligence, and talent existed outside of socio-economic class, and magic tended to be a very fast equalizer; for it didn¡¯t matter how fancy Cedric got with his own magic, a fireball was a fireball, as too was a lightning bolt.


    Both would kill him dead if he just stood there and took it, with the most basic magical ingredients to a good fighter being piss-simple to create just by watching nature. Control to the wind to move faster, throw fire and lightning to kill things, and throw magic at things that were harmful. There was always that one autistic kid that had things just click, and suddenly that autistic kid was an old monster living it up in the hills, periodically teaching kids how to grunt correctly and cause a volcano to explode.


    Watching as the two girls visibly sweat and re-thought their plans about attending ¡®high-school, elitist fantasy edition¡¯, Cedric popped in with an offer.


    ¡°I could take you two under my wing.¡± He shrugged. Noble sponsors were one of the only ways these two girls were going to get through their schooling without being utterly abused. As a Scion of a ducal line, Cedric was ¡®up there¡¯ in the hierarchy. Sadly, he doubted he was going to be the highest. There was undoubtedly going to be other ducal scions, and knowing his luck, the Lapplands were going to be there.


    ¡®Fuck those dudes, my lord.¡¯ For some ungodly reason his generation¡¯s Lapplands had spawned in threes. The triplet sons were around his age, maybe a bit younger, and at least one was going to attend the magical academy. The Royal-Imperial College needed to have some face, so the Lapplands were likely going to send at least one son there. ¡®I truly pity those girls for having those buffoons as brothers.¡¯


    The twin daughters of the Lapplands, Anastasia and Annette Lappland, he remembered because they were the sole people who could organize and boss around those three embodiments of human scum. Honestly, from what he observed, the Lapplands seemed like good folk; the sons were just crass as all hell. The ¡®conversation¡¯ about ¡®breaking¡¯ the ¡®defiant¡¯ came from a brief introduction to the three boys. He was unsure if that was a poor joke, but holy hell was it an introduction.


    Scared out of their wits, but it seemed Sestrel had a bit of bite to her yet still. ¡°And what do you gain out of doing that?¡±


    He laughed at her bite, ¡°I dunno.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Sell yourselves.¡±


    The two looked disgusted, and he sighed. ¡®Fucking slaver culture¡­¡¯ He corrected himself, ¡°Present your talents; give me a reason to protect you. Flaunt your feathers, show yourself off, and advertise your talents.¡±


    Their eyes sparked with realization. Alice started as she toyed with her necklace, ¡°I¡¯m a novice Enchanter and a Force Mage.¡± She whispered. ¡°I learn magic fast! I just¡­don¡¯t have much to learn from.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a hermetic witch.¡± Sestrel bit out, ¡°I learned from nature and what I could figure out on my own. I¡¯m okay at natural alchemy, although I don¡¯t know anything fancy like transmutation or more advanced brewing methods.¡±


    Blinking at that he cocked his head, ¡°Those are my vocations.¡± He mused.


    The two girls blinked, themselves confused, ¡°Which ones?¡± Sestrel asked with a furrowed brow.


    ¡°I¡¯m an Enchanter, Alchemist, rather skilled at Force Magic, although I¡¯m a bit ignorant on hermetic magics.¡± Cedric shrugged. ¡°I guess that fits in neatly. I¡¯ll just take you two under my wing and we¡¯ll have ¡®study sessions¡¯. Just don¡¯t refute me when I correctly claim you two are charity cases.¡±


    Alice nodded thankfully, while Sestrel narrowed her eyes with inherent pride.


    He rolled his eyes as he caught her attitude, ¡°You want to get raped? Fuck off with the pride, be my little duckling, and you¡¯ll get through school with snide comments and a bruised ego. If anyone pushes you around, just invoke my name. If they keep pushing, you¡¯ll need to escape, tell me what happened, and I¡¯ll have your back. At that point it becomes an entire ordeal about honor, pride, and dick measuring.¡± Cedric sighed exhaustively, ¡°Mien Gott.¡± He groaned, already feeling the annoyance his future self will need to deal with.


    While Cedric and his future classmates weren¡¯t hormonal teenagers, they were instead collage age elitist classist scumbag rich-kids going to a hyper-competitive college. If Alice and Sestrel left without a complex of some sort, then he was going to proclaim himself Patron Saint of Patrons.


    ¡°Thank you, Scion Alkahest.¡± Alice bowed, Sestrel following shortly. ¡°You¡¯ve shown us endless generosity and kindness.¡±


    ¡°Eh, call me Cedric. At least in private, I guess. Or maybe in public; the fuckwits will think we¡¯re fucking if you do that. Benefits and negatives, pros and cons.¡± He mused amusedly.


    Both girls gave Cedric an appraising look, and then glanced at one another. Words were left unsaid as Cedric turned back to the quest board and gave it a gander.


    ¡°Why is Scion Alkahest acting as an Adventurer?¡± Sestrel asked a bit caustically.


    ¡°The maidens, of course!¡± He cheered, drawing a glare from the baggie eyed receptionist and Quest Master holding the fort down. ¡°But really the experience. And reagents.¡±


    Alice toed the ground, ¡°Do you need a party?¡± She asked.


    Cedric snorted, ¡°Afraid I¡¯m a bit too advanced. Not to sound self-aggrandizing, but I¡¯m elite in my age group.¡±


    ¡°Your not much older than we are!¡± Sestrel argued.


    ¡®Ah, so that¡¯s why she grew upset about me being her teacher.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯ve studied magic since I was three. At age four I was leading servants around with illusions and mind-magic both. At age eight I was practicing advanced levels of pyromancy that developed into cursed fire. I am an expert within the realms of illusion and mind magic, and you dare question my tutelage?¡± He grinned, and an odd gong sounded out, the two girls immediately stumbling as their vision distorted; one eye had its images inverted, while the other eye saw only the electromagnetic spectrum in 3D. He contained the sound to a space around them in a ward he¡¯d set down, only affecting them.


    The Discordant Gong sounded again, and this time it was an entirely different illusion; the illusion spreading to the cerebral and auditory senses, causing them to immediately spill onto the ground as their balance fell out. Alice looked like she was about to puke, while Sestrel was frantically flailing about.


    With a snap he canceled the magic, the two girls staring up at his amused smile with wary surprise, ¡°You know Mind Magic?¡± Sestrel whispered, no small amount of fear in her voice. Mind Magic had a reputation. He wasn¡¯t surprised that the two girls didn¡¯t defend against it, as one of the most powerful aspects of his magic was that it worked while an entity was surprised and unprepared. Some Mind Magic, like Whistle of Death or Demon King, needed a moment for them to work, allowing an unprepared entity to defend against the magic. Others, like the Discordant Gong, worked instantly but to less effectiveness as they weren¡¯t allowed to root themselves fully into the affected person¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Certified expert, madam.¡± He grinned cheekily, but then frowned gravely, ¡°Don¡¯t spread that around.¡± He warned, drawing immediate nods from them both. Smiling again, Cedric offered them a hand up, and they took it. ¡°Sad to say that for how advanced I am, I¡¯m a bit of a lone wolf, yeah? Cursed Fires, indiscriminate Mind Magic, you know how it is.¡± He chuckled.


    The two girls swallowed, ¡°Ye-yeah.¡± Alice stuttered an agreement.


    Clapping Alice on the shoulder to her wince, Cedric strode past them to grab a quest. ¡°I trust you two know what to do?¡±


    They blinked and nodded, ¡°Thank you, Cedric. We won¡¯t take more of your time.¡± Alice supplicated.


    ¡°No problem. I¡¯m happy to help. Soul¡¯s stained as it is.¡± Giving them a jaunty wave, he walked off.


    Looking down at the mission, he sighed. ¡®Tis going to be a long two weeks.¡¯