The assembled nobles began discussing the performance amongst themselves, and Eric watched them with a grin on his face. His expenditure of mana had left him exhausted and he was sucking down air, almost gasping.
The nobles wrote down questions and handed them to servants, who conveyed them to the Castellan. Marcella cleared her throat. “Your first question comes from King Richard Tremaunt, ruler of Trok, first of his name, guardian of the realm. ‘Will you work for the good of the kingdom and use your power in defense of it?’”
What a good question.
Eric’s gaze shifted across the different council members, dredging up his memories of them and their secrets. Voice filled with confidence, he replied, “I will work for the good of the kingdom as long as it provides for my needs.”
The king’s half-masked face gave a firm, polite nod.
You’re a good man, Richard . . . but you’re going to die soon enough. Your piece-of-shit son has to go before he takes over and drives the kingdom into the ground. I’m not going to let there be a famine this time.
Eric knew the next questions would be from the small-council members, then the nobles. He mentally braced himself, and tried to think of the questions they would most likely ask.
“Your next question comes from Chancellor Bortis Faltear,” Marcella continued. “He wants to know if you will go into the Twilight Depths.” She lowered the slip of paper. “The Twilight Depths is what is called a mega dungeon. A place where you can fight monsters to gain milestones to advance your Class.” She gestured for Eric to answer.
“I am a Reaper,” Eric said as he stared at the Chancellor, grinning and trying his best to convey a sense of excitement in the look. “I think it’s in my best interests to fight monsters.”
You’ve got the connections I need, Chancellor, he thought. We’ll be working together plenty. And I will absolutely be in dungeons more frequently than in my last life. Even better, it will keep us away from the small council’s machinations.
The Chancellor inclined his head in a satisfied nod, and Marcella read the next one. “Steward Alp Nash asks, ‘will you kneel to the king right now and swear fealty?’”
You slimy fucker.
Eric fought to keep a scowl from spreading across his face. He had intentionally been avoiding looking at the man, though now his gaze was drawn to the greasy slimeball. The man had been draining the treasury for years, and his actions would lead directly to the famine. Eric wanted to use a Blackflame Bolt on him right then and there, to blow a hole right through his skull and ignite his brains. The man had tried to execute him—unsuccessfully though not for lack of trying—dozens of times after pinning his crimes on the Summoned.
Instead of answering directly, Eric chose to go with the diplomatic answer and deny Alp Nash the minor victory of forcing the response he’d been wanting. “I said I would work for the good of the kingdom. That should be enough to demonstrate my intentions.”
He heard some whispering from the nobles and knew he had made the impression he wanted.
People see the king’s weakness and the advanced state of his incurable black rot.
Eric had tried to heal the man before in the prior timeline, but he could not. No one could. Healers could only keep the disease at bay while it crawled through the man’s body, slowly working its way to his heart. Eric had no idea where he had contracted it from, what its cause was, or even what its name was. All he knew is that the man was afflicted with it ten years ago, and nothing he had done in his prior timeline had helped the man.
They know he’s not long for the world, and if I said I’d swear fealty, I’d be painting a target on my back. Now, they think if they provide for my needs, I’ll be their agent. That response opens more doors.
He also loved seeing the slight twitch of Alp’s eyebrow in irritation—he knew the man would eventually make a play for the throne by being the snake whispering in the prince’s ear. But there was a lot of time between then and now. Eric had to make the best use of the interim, and that would require him actively ignoring everyone on the small council that he could, so that he could focus on himself, the other Summoned, and their rapid growth in power.
I’ll take every possible piece you could use off of the board and then expose you for the rat you are in due time.
“Your next question comes from General Kristoff Iron-eye. He was impressed with your potent combat capabilities and asks the following. ‘If the kingdom were to go to war, would you fight for it?’”
“If it was worth my while,” Eric replied. At this critical juncture, he wanted to establish a mercenary personality, to make it seem like he was up for the highest bidder. But he’d also put forth the idea that he was going to try and do good. The best of both worlds, as far as he could portray it.
Unfortunately, The General had died during the war, and Eric did not know if he was in on the schemes and plots of the Steward and Admiral. He would have to learn more in this timeline before that conflict came about and take appropriate action when required.
“The Spymaster wishes to follow up on your response to the king’s question,” Marcella said. “You stated you would work for the good of the kingdom as long as it provided for your needs. Her question is as follows. ‘Hypothetically, if you were to be required to support yourself, and allowed to travel the world freely, would you be loyal to Trok and be at her disposal? Would you be willing to return to her aid?’”
Right, of course Persim would ask that. She is the most fiercely loyal person to the whole kingdom that I know. I need to get on her good side but maintain the persona I am setting up.
Eric chuckled. “Treat me right and there’s no reason for me to run off somewhere else. Make me feel like I belong, and I’m more than happy to come back and help out.”
“Admiral Trisha Beauregard wants to know if you have any experience with ships or ocean voyages,” Marcella said.
Eric’s thoughts went back to sailing to the frozen wastes of the ice shelf far to the north, to that momentous time when he had found the sunken dungeon that was imprisoned in the frost’s embrace: the White Keep, which was where he could get the Scroll to unlock the Exarch Class. “Yes. I have been on boats before. Even ones powered by wind—we had those back where I’m from.”
Eric fielded many, many more questions after that. He answered each with a short sentence that either portrayed him as good-natured, charming, affable, or mercenary. His goal was to set himself up with a persona, an identity.
The merc with the heart of gold.
In a nation run on a feudal-capitalism system, some greed was good. Showing he had a bit of that desire would ensure the upper class would seek him out at the soirée in a few days’ time. They would try and woo him to their causes, to support their factions, or even marry him into their family, as having a Summoned as a member of their house would bring great prestige.
A total of thirty minutes passed from the start of his demonstration until they reached the last of the questions. “Blackflame Mage Mercer, please return to the armory,” the Castellan stated.
And there it is. I’m back to being part of the world and no longer just a Summoned.
Eric bowed and departed. Upon stepping through the doors, he came face to face with Shannon. The doors were shut behind him.
“Any advice?” Shannon asked. She had acquired three crossbows: one full sized on her back, one hand-crossbow on her hip, and a large arbalest slung from her shoulder.
Eric smiled and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Be yourself. Show off. Have fun. Ask them for targets to show off your shooting.”
Shannon gave him a brief smile, mouthed the words, “Thank you,” and exited. The doors shut, and Eric turned to his two remaining allies.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Peter had acquired a massive war hammer that was resting on the ground next to him. “Whatever you did must’ve been impressive. Loud bangs, gasps.” He chuckled. “It’s like when I dove for a catch. Sounds like you did good.”
“Oh yeah. This power is incredible.” Eric wasn’t putting on an act. The mana that was slowly refilling his body and coursing through his mana channels, trickling alongside his veins with every pulse of his heartbeat, was intoxicating.
“But shouting the names of your Rotes and Skills seems like a dumb move,” Peter chided.
Eric chuckled, partly because of Peter’s naivete, partially because of his correctness in any other situation but this one. “You want them to know what you’re doing. You ready to knock them dead?”
Peter nodded. “Fuck yes. Any tips?”
Eric shrugged. “It’s like I told Shannon: just be yourself and show off. When it gets to the questions . . . think about what you want from them.”
“You sounded like you were working hard to portray yourself in a really specific light,” Naomi stated. She had not acquired any gear, and at the moment she sat with her legs crossed on one of the benches in the middle of the room. “Already planning some political plays?”
Just as sharp as last time, Eric thought. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep a fa?ade around her for too long. I need to confide in her as soon as we have time alone, away from prying ears.
“There’s a lot of impressive-looking people there,” Eric replied. “I don’t want to be involved in politics, but I’d be a fool not to play up a persona.”
And I’ll be getting into politics soon enough to keep this fucking kingdom together, he thought. A king’s son to kill, a daughter to get legitimized, a Steward to unmask, an Admiral’s smuggling operation to break up . . . I’m going to be busy. Not to mention the Twilight Depths—
Seraphine tapped him on the shoulder. “If you would, Blackflame Mage Mercer—”
“Why does he get his Class name as a title?” Peter asked. “You call me ‘Summoned Steele.’”
Seraphine replied. “A person’s most prestigious Class determines their title. Until you are officially recognized, however, you are simply Summoned.” She pointed to the hammer. “Once you have introduced yourself, the title of Summoned will be dropped, and you will be Reaver Steele instead, although as a group or individual, one might refer to you as a Summoned if they do not know your most prestigious Class.”
Naomi asked, “So I get to be Tinkerer Takinaka? That’s a mouthful.”
“Nothing stops you from using a more familiar name with others,” Seraphine replied. “I would encourage it, in fact. But while you are in court, or amongst the nobility in an official environment, I would stick to surnames and Class titles.”
And in really formal environments, Eric added mentally, it’s Class, then first name, and surname, all in a row. But that’s only if we’re in the king’s throne room or a court of law. Sometimes really fancy parties, but it depends on the atmosphere.
Eric had been in all those types of places last time and did not relish the formality he knew would be expected of him there. Thankfully, by avoiding the Admiral, he would not be dragged on her arm to many of the upper-crust parties.
“Blackflame Mage Mercer,” Seraphine said, addressing him once more. “May I speak with you?”
“Sure,” Eric replied. He gestured to the benches.
Seraphine frowned. “I had hoped to take you to another chamber.” She glanced at the other two Summoned. “No offense to either of you intended, but my questions are for him as the leader of your group.”
That seemed to catch both Peter and Naomi off guard, and they regarded Eric with different expressions.
“No offense taken,” Peter said, though his gaze was hard, bordering on the edge of a glare.
Naomi’s stare was filled with curiosity, but she just smiled softly. “Mhmm. Sure. He’s the leader.” There was a trace of humor to her voice.
“I don’t mind,” Eric replied. Seraphine smiled, then led him out of the armory and into a small side chamber. It was a simple, small record room that kept a tally of weapons, armor, and work orders to the smiths to ensure the armor was well-stocked and maintained. The scribe in the room stopped mid-scribble, and at Seraphine’s simple gesture to the door, vacated the room.
“Please, sit,” she said as she shut the door after the robed man.
Eric sank into one of the cushion-covered wooden chairs. Seraphine sat at the scribe’s seat behind the desk and clasped her hands as she rested her forearms on the edge of the furniture. “What did you want to know?” Eric asked.
Her lips tightened and turned up into a smile. “You are fate-touched, I am sure of that. It is unprecedented.” She moved her clasped hands to her lap. “What is it you want?”
He knew of the term. Fate-touched was a word used to describe people who would change the course of history in some way, shape, or form. Often, they would experience visions of the future, glimpses of the past, or even projections of other parts of Elyndor as if they were present in the moment. Coincidentally enough, roughly two out of the twenty Summoned across Elyndor would be fate-touched, though non-Summoned might be given that label as well.
I want to save the world. But we’re a long way between here and there. And I’d be a fool not to play myself up as a fate-touched given the precedent.
He frowned, letting it show on his face as he decided to play up a vulnerable side he knew Seraphine would want to use to her advantage.
If she thinks I have a weakness, she’ll assume she can keep a handle on me—if needed, I can buck her perceived control with that. The tighter the leash she keeps on us, the easier it will be for her to keep the other small council members away from us in these crucial early weeks.
After waiting for fifteen seconds to make it seem like he was pondering her query, he replied. “I want to be well-off. I lived a lower-class life back where I came from.” That wasn’t a lie—as he had grown up in near-poverty for the first few years of his life. Even then, his father’s business had only kept them out of the roughest neighborhoods.
He brought his gaze up to meet Seraphine’s gentle-yet-prying eyes. “I want a life well lived. If I can help people? All the better. If I can make my surroundings better at the same time? I’d love that. It seems like I’m going to be a political prisoner of sorts, stuck in this city, maybe the kingdom at large, until I prove myself an ally, or get citizenship, or do what’s needed to prove my loyalty. Whatever it is . . . I want to live a long, happy, rich life.”
Seraphine nodded solemnly and that polite, courtly smile became more genuine. “I think those are admirable goals. How old are you?”
“Eighteen. What about you?” He genuinely did not know her age, as last time, she’d wanted nothing to do with him after the onboarding and culture lessons; especially once the Admiral had dug her claws into Eric and pulled him into her circle.
“I am twenty-eight,” she replied. “The reason I ask these things is that you could become a force of nature. At level one you caused an explosion with a Skill that a Fire Mage could only match if they were level twenty and had put all of their Rank increases into Fireball.” She frowned. “Allow me to interrupt myself. I told this to the other Summoned while you were performing for the nobility. Let me explain how the Summon Stones work. Each major power holds one such stone. There are five in total.”
She reached into a hidden pocket on her dress and produced a small map, which unfurled on the table.
“Why do you just have a map on hand?” Eric asked.
“I am the handler of the Summoned,” Seraphine replied, “in addition to being the Magistra, which means that I handle all matters of the Ley Lines in the kingdom. That includes diplomacy. Having a map on hand for reference is handy.”
She gestured for Eric to lean over and said, “The Kingdom of Trok, the Bhlast Meritocracy, the Empire of Pwish, Flescion, and the Allied Cities of Chisholm; those are the five major powers. When one Summon Stone is used, all are activated. We still do not know who activated their Summon Stone, but they are linked. Every major power has four Summoned at their disposal as of today.”
Mutually assured destruction, Eric thought. Just like nukes. The Empire of Pwish was who used their Stone. In five years, it’ll be an all-out war between the five major powers. If I can get Trok into shape and root out all the corruption, then broker an alliance with Bhlast, we’ll be able to fortify before the invaders from Flescion arrive. Alone we barely survive, but with Bhlast we could wind up thriving. If I can clear out the corruption and set a good ruler up on the throne, we’ll flourish.
He needed a strong base of operations. Investigating a Titan trapped in the world would take massive resources, especially if he wanted to keep it secret. He did not want its existence becoming general knowledge, because someone might do something stupid and cause it to wake up early.
I may have to just live with the fact that I won’t be able to start investigating right away. Once I have some money, I can hire some people to begin gathering information. But even then, my Class is not suited to getting directly involved. I’m better off focusing on growing my personal power in the short term, as fast as I can, and setting the kingdom on the track of success. Maybe I can get Darius on the job since he’s not doing anything except rotting in his little retirement hole.
“The use of the Summon Stones almost always precedes hostile actions from one major power to another,” Seraphine continued. “You should be prepared for the possibility that war will be declared . . . and you may be called upon to help Trok.”
“I’d answer,” Eric said. “You seem like good people here, and I want to keep the others nearby. I have a feeling Elyndians would not quite get me the same way they do.” He sighed. “I don’t relish the idea of fighting . . . of maybe having to . . . kill people. But if it’s what I have to do . . . my Class literally defines it as my task.”
Seraphine furled the map up and slid it into her concealed pocket. She put a hand out and gently placed it on top of his. Her touch was dainty, delicate, and oddly cool. “I’m going to entrust you with some information. Tomorrow, you will be taken to the Twilight Depths, the mega dungeon at the heart of Tenebria. You will not be alone—a guard escort will be present, along with your fellow Summoned. However, those guards will most certainly be taking notes to feed to nobles, merchants, and other interested parties. Later this week you will attend a soirée, which is an all-day event. It will be your debut to the populace at large. A chance to make an impact just like you did at the demonstration.”
Eric was aware of all of this already, but Seraphine trusting him to this degree spoke volumes about his efforts to impress her. Seraphine could possibly open up doors he could not. And she was not acting nearly as callously or dismissively towards him as she did last time.
Already my first significant change from last time around. Hopefully, this is the right path to take.
“I’ll do my best in this dungeon,” he replied. “And this party sounds interesting. I’d love for some lessons on proper decorum, and heck, if it’s a party, there’s going to be dancing, so I’ll need some lessons on that.”
“A short culture course will be administered after your Twilight Depths excursion. Shall we head back to the armory?”
“Absolutely.”
