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MM - Chapter 259 - SCHEMES AT TAVERNLIGHT
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 16:24:34 +0000 UTCLucius Slade
- West Base Town, ZionLine -
Lucius trudged through dimly lit streets. His boots padded against uneven cobblestones in a rhythm that echoed his defeated spirit. The sun was low, casting gargantuan shadows over Celendine’s Shield. By design, they took the form of the kingdom’s heroes. He found no pride in their silent stares, only mockery at his failures. Exhaustion clung like a second skin; today's shift at the blastslits had been the worst he’d ever experienced.
Only that morning, Lucius had envisioned triumph, a glorious harvest of Superiority that would elevate his name and put Alaric in his place. Instead, the battlefield became a stage for the upstart baron to use every attending noble and their entourage as stepping stones.
The barroom’s door creaked open under his hand. A wave of warmth laced with fine wines, liquors, roasted meats, and unwashed bodies tickled his senses. The low murmur of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter, faded instantly at his arrival. This establishment was no place for commoners, and that truth was reflected by the few occupants, all nobles. They were the elite among those stationed at West Base Town. Each of their families held sway in courtly circles that called the western reaches of the kingdom home.
As always, the center of attention was Lady Elowen, daughter of Count Bertram. Her auburn hair cascaded in elegant waves, framing a face of impeccably-tailored beauty. Flanking her were the twin sons of Viscount Hargrove—Xarial and Zorial—along with three baron apparents from holdings wealthier than Lucius’s.
Their eyes were on him, and the laughter swelled anew, sharp and cutting. Xarial leaned back in his chair, a smirk twisting his features. "Ah, look who the Skink dragged in by the tail—it's the Crandal-whisperer himself. What were you bragging on about last night? Oh, that’s right...” Xarial’s tone turned mocking as his smile stretched, “‘I’ll, double your kills, Xarial, or I’m no son of a baron!’"
Zorial chuckled beside his brother, raising his mug in mock salute. If not for wearing different colors, it would be impossible to tell the brothers apart. "Perhaps the Crandals grew weary of our dead Lucius’s nighttime moanings and chose to suicide at the feet of that Traveler upstart.”
Silas—one of the baron apparents—joined in, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Come now, brothers. Our dear Lucius fought valiantly—for our amusement, at least.”
Their roaring laughter washed over and through Lucius. His fists clenched at his sides, face flushing with heat, though not from anger. This was why he came here night after night: their mockery of his efforts was the coal within his forge, stoking the flames of his ambition ever hotter. Letting the rage seethe, he forced himself to the bar without retort.
The trio’s roaring laughter was silenced in the beat of a heart. Elowen clicked her tongue, the sound barely audible, yet more than enough to bring their fun to a screeching halt. Their eyes fell on her, each seeking a clue as to what had set her off.
Elowen wasn’t even in the line of succession for her house. It hardly mattered. The differences between count and viscount were so significant that they might as well hail from entirely separate realities. A baron apparent like Lucius had no right to breathe the same air as a count’s daughter. At least, for now. He would strangle that reality with pure effort, gaining as many levels as it took to earn the whole kingdom’s respect.
The barkeep, a grizzled man with a scar bisecting his brow, eyed him warily. Lucius slapped a handful of coins onto the worn counter. “Two bottles of Shadowfire.”
The barkeep’s scar danced as his eyes widened in surprise. “Must have been a worse day than they’re letting on.” He spoke conspiratorially as he slid the dark glass bottles across the counter.
Lucius grunted in response, snatching the drinks before retreating to a table in the far corner, away from the ridiculing gazes. He uncorked the first with his teeth; the sharp burn scorching his throat was just what he needed. The warmth spread through his chest, dulling the edges of his melancholy but doing little to erase the image of Alaric's triumphant gestures from his mind.
Three cups in, the room spun gently around him, the laughter blending into the background rather than biting deep. He stared into the amber depths of his drink, replaying the day's events in torturous detail. Eighty Crandals. The number taunted him, a testament to Alaric's impossible prowess. How could one man, a mere level 41, wield such power? It defied reason, defied the natural order.
Well, he’s not level 41 any longer… Lucius tutted harshly to himself.
A soft rustle of wyrmsilk drew his attention upward. Lady Elowen stood before him, her emerald gown shimmering faintly in the low light. She regarded him with a tilt of her head, eyes gleaming with an intensity that belied her sympathetic smile. The look was calculating, intelligent, and utterly unnerving. Lucius hated it. He imagined others would swoon at the sight of her; his stomach was the only thing swooning, and it was far from pleasant.
Without invitation, she slid into the seat across from him, her presence commanding the space like a queen surveying a fallen knight.
“Poor little Lucius Slade,” she murmured, voice smooth as polished marble. She leaned forward slightly, showing skin he didn’t want to see. “How disheartening it is to see you so distraught. Chin up, dear boy. Think of today as a lesson to grow from. Some people should not be offended so casually, lest they reveal fangs that pierce even the armor of ones such as ourselves.”
Lucius blinked through the haze of his drink, wondering if he’d heard her correctly or was already drunk enough to miss the insult that should have been there. He met her gaze, finding what might have been a flicker of understanding there. “Lady Elowen,” having not spoken in hours, Lucius’s voice cracked. He shot to his feet, bowing to mask his embarrassment. “Apologies for not offering you a seat.”
She laughed coyly, a delicate hand covering her lips, "Nonsense, Baron Apparent Slade. We’re all nobility here, and this is no place for such formality. Please, sit.”
He did so, having little choice. It didn’t matter how polite and understanding she sounded, with Celendine’s Shield still lacking a Grand Marshall, her word was above all others: she was the law. “Thank you, My Lady.” He ignored the daggers jabbing into his back from the onlookers' envious eyes.
She waved a dismissive hand, rings worth more than his father’s mansion catching the light. “I’ve been watching you, Lucius. You possess ambition. I see it in your eyes even now, despite that Traveler’s attempts to wound your pride. You are not alone in this. He insulted us all today. Tell me, what stirred such venom between the two of you?”
Lucius hesitated, yet couldn’t hold himself back in the end. Knowing the drink had loosened his tongue, and being able to stop the angry mutters from coming out, were entirely separate things. He took another swig, the burn steadying him. “I called him for the fraud that he is—a charlatan who wormed his way into favor through sheer luck. Instead of a proper defense, he laughed in my face as though to confirm the rumors!” Lucius knew his voice was too loud and didn’t care. Having a sympathetic ear after everything he’d been through was too comforting to resist. “You saw what he did next; you were all there! Eighty! He stole eighty kills from us!”
“So, that’s how it began.” Elowen nodded, her expression oozing the kind of feminine pity that would pull at any man’s heart. “I was quite shocked when his avarice extended to my own kills. Perhaps you did not notice, but between everyone in this room, Alaric left us only four.”
Lucius’s jaw fell wide open. Words failed him. The idea of anyone, let alone an interim baron, taking Superiority from a count’s daughter was so alien that his brain refused to wrap around the concept. It was suicide, political and physical. A burst of laughter started in his chest and refused to be held back. His eyes shot wide in panic and both hands clamped over his mouth, unable to believe he’d laughed in Elowen’s face.
She chuckled cutely, blinking away his audacity with unshakable poise. “It is indeed laughable. I’ve certainly never heard of such a thing. The question that demands an answer: was it true audacity, or ignorance that took him so far?” She quirked a single brow, letting Lucius know the question was not rhetorical. While waiting, she poured a measure from his second bottle into the unused cup, sipping delicately.
Lucius’s hand paused halfway to taking another drink, and he swallowed hard, suddenly finding himself wracked by sweaty nerves. Elowen had delivered the question so innocently, yet that conniving glint in her eyes was shining brighter than he’d ever seen. His heart pounded as though the stakes were life and death. He didn’t know what to do, how to respond, he didn’t even know if they were playing on a board of Glimmerstones, or Siege’s Scuffle.
“I… That is, it’s impossible to say what that outsider is thinking, if he’s even capable of such a thing, My Lady. It’s clear as daylight his Physique missed a spot.” Lucius bought himself precious seconds to think, then blurted the first non-answer that came to mind. “Those same rumors implied Alaric turned down the Queen’s offer of a relic. After today, we can safely say they were false; he obviously emptied out the entire vault. Perhaps that is where his confidence to offend one such as yourself comes from?”
Elowen nodded sagely, but Lucius could see the disappointment in her eyes; he’d seen it often enough from his mother to know what it looked like. “These outsiders are truly unfathomable. How are we to grasp the motivations of a people who die and rise again, gaining levels with ease while we toil with our entire fortunes on the line? I fear for the front lines in the days to come. The empire is vast, and reports detail their outsiders triple our own.”
Lucius gaped for a second time as he tried to imagine what it must be like for the Dantinians. Was it possible they had three Alarics to contend with? The thought brought a shudder.
Elowen’s eyes flicked toward the door, and the sharp glint returned a thousand-fold. She stood, leaving her full cup behind. “I appreciate your candidness, Lucius Slade. Remember, no matter the outcome, we are in this together. The kingdom must remain strong to face what is coming.”
She was across the room and seated again before he could respond, somehow not even appearing to have rushed. Just then, the door slammed open with a gust of evening wind, and none other than Alaric strode in like he owned not only the building, but the entire wall. Lucius’s heart stopped cold in his chest when the man’s piercing cobalt eyes zeroed in on him.
When he first arrived at The Wall, it took Lucius a week to earn the right to enter the barroom. The other nobles stopped him at the door, making sure he knew that every seat inside had to be earned. Not one peep was heard from the other table as Alaric stalked across the room, closing in on his table.
In this together, my hairy crack!
The man moved with the kind of deadly grace that made Lucius’s instincts scream bloody murder. Most disturbing, he looked nothing like a man who gained several levels in a day. There was no awkwardness, every subtlety of his stride reeked lethality. The certainty of the threat was backed by having watched Alaric cut down Siege Crandals—monsters well known for being the bane of melee warriors. Possibly the only comforting thing about the man was his face; Lucius had never met someone uglier. It was good to know there was at least some balance in the universe.
Nope! Not doing this. If he can walk away from a conversation, then so can I!
Lucius rose, his destination clear. In the time it took for his boot to rise for that first step toward freedom, a tidal wave of mental power crashed into not only him, but everyone in the room. They tried to fight back but were instantly crushed as though they faced not a peer, but a Hierarch. Terror gripped all their hearts so thoroughly that not even a whimper escaped.
Alaric was suddenly looming over him, a finger in his face. “Sit!”
Lucius’s ass was pressed against the wooden bench before he could think to move. Alaric’s bloodlust winked out like a blown candle, and thank the starbreakers, because it was far more overwhelming than it had any right to be.
With their ability to breathe restored, Xarial and Zorial surged to their feet, Elemental Power converging in their extended palms. They shouted over each other. “You dare unleash such malice in the presence of Lady Elowen!”
“I don’t care how powerful you think you are, this assault will not go unpunished!”
Lucius was the only one who got to see Alaric’s fury shift seamlessly to a devilish smirk. He turned and addressed them, chin high and voice smooth as wraithskin. “My sincerest apologies, I've only recently become a noble and don't yet know how to control my strength. My quarrel is with him.” Alaric hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Lucius, who was less than comforted by the admission. “The rest of you may go.”
The casual dismissal of his betters should have had the group fuming. Instead, all their thoughts were aligned.
He’s that powerful while not knowing what he’s doing?!
Elowen stepped forward gracefully and inclined her head respectfully while dropping into a curtsy. “Then, you are forgiven, Lord Alaric. It is easy for those of us who received our abilities at birth to forget the troubles of one who has greatness so abruptly thrust upon them.”
Lucius couldn’t have picked his jaw up off the table if he tried. Both her choice of words and the unnecessarily forward-tilt of her curtsy were a dead giveaway.
She’s flirting with him—our enemy?! What fresh layer of the Demonic Realm have I fallen into?!
He wasn’t the only one looking at Elowen like she’d suddenly unfurled wings. The twins' eyes were so bulged they could fall out at any moment.
Her soft voice cut through the tension. “You said we may go. I hope you don't mind if we choose to remain. After all, if your cause is just, then witnesses among the peerage will only serve to aid y—”
“I said leave!” Alaric's anger flared anew, accompanied by a burst of bloodlust that was gone an instant later. The heart palpitations were less than appreciated. His tone made it obvious he didn't care at all. “Never mind. Suit yourself, but don't regret your choices later.”
Lucius's bowels twisted with realization; the man before him was not a stable, sane individual. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. All eyes darted between the crazy bastard and his prey as he claimed the seat opposite Lucius, posture radiating threat.
He’s too strong. A monster. He's a monster. I'm going to die, and they’re going to let it happen! Cowards!
Alaric leaned forward, voice a blade held against Lucius’s throat. “Your petty games today slaughtered thousands of my guilders. Do you comprehend the levels you cost me? If not for reclaiming our equipment, you would already be dead. But the levels are enough. You assume they come easily to us Travelers simply because death is not final… they don't.”
The blatant lie drew choked sputters from the rest of the room. Even a blinded man would have noticed Astra's members swelling in level over a few short fingers. Upon dying, all they had to do was run back to the field and try again. The unfairness of it had been souring their eyes all day.
“Five hundred thousand gold,” Alaric snarled, “Or the equivalent in materials, items, or gear.” His demand drew outright gasps.
The pores across Lucius's skin expanded wide in panic. The sum exceeded his leveling annuity for the whole cycle. He slammed a fist on the table, desperation fueling defiance. “Madness! Who would even carry such wealth to the front lines?”
Alaric's expression darkened, a storm cloud gathering. “Then I've no choice but to challenge your father to a duel.”
Lucius recoiled, hands trembling around a cup he didn’t remember picking up. Horror gripped his guts at the realization that his actions might have consequences far, far beyond the scope he'd imagined.
I cannot allow this ravemind anywhere near my family! Please. Please be reasonable!
“What?” He squeaked, voice betraying him in this moment of dire need. “Why drag my father into this? He bears no part in our feud! I will admit that my foolishness allowed events to spiral, but they should stay between us. We can come to an arrangement that does not involve my family. We must!”
Comments
JTP
👀One thing to add, no way anyone outside the royal family knows how well they did in the Girding. That would put a massive target on Selena’s back. The queen is the only one Selena would tell the truth to. I’ve kinda alluded to this a few times with Selena still not being taken seriously by the other nobles, not hailed as a hero or the next queen or anything. She’s still low-key, which she would not be if they knew just what she and Raine had done…
ImmerFertig
I wonder what the room thinks now. Screw around and your family will be involved to pay.
_mori
Vaterran nobles seem pragmatic enough. Alaric isn’t just a prominent traveler, he’s downright a hero of the kingdom. Helping their princess match and even exceed the performance of their most prominent ancestor. With his reputation, apparent skill and rate of growth, an interim Baron will likely be a temporary title. Not to mention he had the Queen’s favor before formally meeting the princess. He’s a through and through up and comer, and if a faction of quasi-immortal warriors is going to become a factor in future wars, having good ties with your local population can only be a good thing.
