Harsh laughter fills the fading scenery of the office, bringing it back into focus. My laughter, to be precise. Still gravely offended, Count Erment glares balefully, "You find my rejection amusing?"

"More your choice of words," I exhale, calming down swiftly, "You appear to be under a misconception, Count Erment. At what point did I ever say I wished to be your successor?"

He frowns deeply, "You-"

"I said that I wished to join your Path to mine, that we might see the end," I remind him with a smile, "'twas to be a partnership of equals at the very least. I also was quite clear about the fact that I am in no way your subordinate."

"You...claim to be my equal?!" shock and rage suffuse his being to the core, a plain-looking halberd appearing in his hands in an instant, the spearpoint pressing at my throat in a flash, "Such insolence!"

"No, I do not," I smile beneficently, ignoring the sharp pricking at my neck, "That was simply me being polite. However, it seems that you are determined not to accept the reality of your situation until the very end. You know barely anything about me, but I know a fair bit about you. I had the misfortune of aiding someone in the endeavour once upon a time, you see."

"Speak sense," Count Erment demands coldly.

"Do you still not understand?" I ask mockingly, "Count Erment, surely your arrogance isn't so thick as to not recall the reason for your demise? Have you purged the sight of your broken body lying amongst the remains of all those you once held as loyal from memory, their last breaths spent decrying your selfish tyranny?"

His arms stiffen, the tip of his halberd draws blood, but I continue talking with but the barest of movements away, "Wherefore does this self-destructive pride still remain, I wonder, having already once paid in death for its lavish indulgence? After more than a thousand years spent forgotten in the deepest depths of this Keepsake, have you not reflected even once on why that might be? You are little more than a footnote in history at this point, beneath the radiant myth of The Heroine, Djhonine Iduras as a foolish villain slain for his cruelty and greed. That is your Legacy - and I want no part of its propagation."

According to a contemporary autobiography (so much of the details are blurred by bias) I helped acquire after a great deal of research was done to track it down, Count Geronil Erment was, once upon a time, a minor nobleman in a long-dead country that once sat just over the northern borders of Ghoath, straddling the line between it and The Lakes of Dalk. His holdings were modest, but the times were turbulent and the courts of the royal family had chosen to spend the remaining time to the 19th Astral Eclipse in exquisite luxury, at the unfortunate expense of the outer territories sworn to their service. Taxes were ludicrously high, and all exported goods were funnelled back to the palaces of the capital for feasts and other entertainments in lieu of trade between territories or foreigners.

He, like many of his peers, was forced into tyranny in order to meet the growing appetites of the King, his family and their most favoured courtiers. Erment's people could ill-blame him as the situation was hardly a well-kept secret and supported each other through the hardship as well as they could even as the nights grew longer and attacks from monsters and bandits - forced from their homes by the same circumstances or surrendered to nihilistic hedonism like the capital - increased exponentially in scale and frequency.

Eventually, enough was enough, and in coalition with his neighbours, they attempted to gain independence - only for the monster attacks to become so ever-present that leaving the county was tantamount to suicide. Count Erment was not to be dissuaded by such things, and after several years spent in a brutal campaign, much of the Kingdom's territory and some just outside of it was in his control - functionally making him a King, though the only throne he ever cared to sit on was that of the royal family he'd broken his family's oath of fealty towards.

Such was his obsession, that even as the territories he had gained started to fall victim to the ceaseless onslaught of monsters, he was noted as being completely unphased by the rising body count, only concerned with his next campaign for worthless, monster-infested land on the road to the long-abandoned capital. The people split in twain, between the fanatical loyalists and, well, everyone else.

Thus, after a long and bloody civil war that surpassed the era heralded by The Heroine, his tiny faux-kingdom fell with his exhausted corpse, and the precious few people that survived melted into obscurity. Save for the author of the autobiography, but that's just superfluous detail.

"If these insults are intended to change my mind, you are gravely mistaken, wretch," Count Erment pulls his weapon away, and prepares to strike my head from my shoulders, "For that, you will die instead."

"Which would only prove my point," I quirk an eyebrow, then sigh, "Come now. Are you still going to pretend to lack percipience? Surely you've heard enough by now?"

Reluctantly, the halberd is retracted, "Perhaps your words demonstrate wisdom. However, my judgment of you remains firm. You are wholly unworthy. Anyone who stands solely for others is fit only to serve as the floor on which they walk. Not once have you demonstrated any desire for yourself throughout this conversation. Such a creature cannot, and will never be able to lead others."

Count Erment laughs, gazing down pityingly, "Stand beside you? Mutual benefit? Pfah. People do not respond to a selfless husk. Being left to their own devices is not leadership, it is dangerously shallow idealism. Chaos. Only with a firm will, the desire to rule, can a leader exist."

"And, pray tell," I snort, finding his stubbornness to accept any possible criticism or weakness just as insulting, "How did that work out for you? Would we be here, having this conversation if your philosophy was infallible? No. Your selfishness demanded too much from those who trusted in you to lead, your vision narrowed and cold. People despise such tyranny and squirm incessantly to see their freedoms restored. Dictating your will with no thought for the strain it places on those you forced beneath you is not leadership. It is the relationship between a man both heartless and blind, and a collective of unwilling. Expendable. Tools."

Silence reigns between us, the heat of our glares unabating. 'tis clear to anyone that our ideals are diametrically opposed. Privately, I can recognise that he does at least have a point that I made hardly any mention of my own desires and such. It's not the first time since I came back that I've been questioned on my approach to leadership nor on what it is I actually want out of all this - what I wish for myself aside from the big picture concerns like the existence of Inheritors.

Growth without purpose is practically the same definition of cancer. There's no end goal that springs to mind. Only things that can be better defined as a means to an end. What would, at the end of it all, bring me satisfaction? I've spent the better part of the last thirty years just going with the flow, so I...don't know.

It's hard to admit, but I really don't know what I want. My life has a purpose to fuel it, but no destination. Just an endless journey stretching out into infinity until I break down somewhere down the road.

Food for thought. As if I don't have enough of it.

Back to the present, I breathe deeply, "Just get on with the Trial already. Handsome as you may be, I find little pleasure in exchanging heated stares with you."

"Since words cannot reach you," Count Erment's halberd disappears back to wherever he's storing it, and he takes his seat once again, "Action will demonstrate your inadequacy."

He takes a moment to re-centre himself before speaking, "In the days of my youth, my territory was beset by refugees turned bandit. Among them, were a man and woman of unusual skill. Once just any other loving couple, they were highly respected in their home village before being forced to abandon it by an ever-increasing tide of monstrous abominations. The woman died not long after from starvation and her husband gave up what shred of dignity still remained, he and the other survivors turning into monsters in the skin of Firm. You are to assume my role and kill him by any means you see fit to employ. Take heed, that a soft heart and feeble idealism will avail you not."

I blink, only to find my perspective has changed, my body now seated in the exact same posture where Count Erment was a moment prior. Disconcerted, I take a look at the quest window that's popped up in front of me.

It's become a Legacy Usurpation, huh? Figured it would.

Under normal circumstances, Legacy Trials are intended for the sole benefit of someone who is deemed worthy of it. Sometimes, a person will have enough qualities in common with the one presiding over it they'll be designated as a Potentiate and given a more 'true to life' experience in exchange for a more complete Legacy.

Well, a Usurpation follows a similar principle for when the Legacy's originator and the supplicant are simultaneously similar and yet incompatible. In other words, they share a foundation, but where one built their way upwards - the other dug down. The person taking the Trial is given a harder than usual challenge - usually ideologically charged - that must be overcome in their own way in order to take the complete Legacy rewards by force. This, as opposed to simply kicking the offender out or killing them outright, in order to prove some kind of point, is what makes it a Usurpation.

If there were no common ground at all, there'd be no meaning in continuing. As for where our Paths intersect, that's neither here nor there. I don't have unlimited time to work with so I should start by taking stock of the situation.

First off, the time limit. Not as much as I'd prefer for a task as complex as this promises to be, but by the same token, almost too much as I'm on a tight schedule. If I had a few days to dedicate to this, I'd be happier, but I still need to be back in Meteo by patch day, that's just not up for negotiation - I need to be there to respond to the changes it brings and finish getting ready for the influx of Newborn. It won't be all at once, but it'll ramp up heavily, and Meteo in it's current state can't handle the inevitable chaos without intervention - how much work I have to do is dependant on the people I've put the word out to, though.

But I digress.

Taking these bandits down with minimal loss of life sounds much more forgiving than it probably is. If an Aspirant - even younger and less powerful - had difficulties, I'm in for a hell of a time. That I'm older and more experienced than he probably was is a point in my favour, but we'll just have to see if that clinches it.

The next thing I take note of is that my equipment is gone - replaced by a similar style of formal wear to what Count Erment was clad in, but from the stitching, notably cheaper and worn. These were days when Erment County struggled to make ends meet, after all, and even if some concessions would have needed to be made to keep up appearances for the sake of morale and outsiders, the difference is unmistakable. Feeling the tips of my tapered ears, I appear to still be the same person, but I have been inserted into the same role as Count Geronil Erment.

A quick look at my Status reveals no significant differences. My Class, Skills, Titles and Attributes are the same as they ever were - not accounting for the unspent free points I'm holding onto. Considering my circumstances, and in light of the revelation that my Beloved Blade Title is a permanent passive, I switch to the much more situationally useful 'Inspirational' Title. My Charisma is hardly substantial, but in the execution of my 'role', every little bit extra will be a boon.

None of my other 'Active' Titles strikes me as being useful, though I have to admit I have more than I realised for this early on in the game. This many Titles wouldn't be strange on someone past their first Class advancement perhaps, but here I am with two Astral-Tiers and a Platinum at Level 23. I feel like complaining, and I don't really know why.

Next order of business is to search the room. I don't find much of use, the only interesting thing being a very nice bottle of liquor stashed away in a desk drawer. I don't recognise what it is, but the small sip I sample tastes like cherries and cinammon. Not unpleasant, but I've better things to do than get smashed off of illusionary brandy.

All the documentation is in a language I simply cannot understand. Even if we were talking in Modern Merrowan just a minute ago, he's had centuries to acclimate to the change in common languages. Not to mention, I heard once that people tend to think in their native languages even when they speak another, which might also be contributing. For the time, this is unfortunately accurate to what would have existed and I sincerely doubt he's feeling all that forgiving, so there's no use in bemoaning the issue. I can only hope the language barrier doesn't extend to the people here as well, or this will get incredibly awkward.

From the window, I can see that the office is rather high up, and that we are in a Castle Town of sorts. It isn't in the best repair, but it's still quite defensible. Troops in uniform mill about in formation or about their duties, all to a very high standard from the looks of it. Not the most professional, but the sense of duty, cohesion and discipline are all top-notch.

Taking a seat at the desk once more I fumble beneath it and press a button on an enchanted device I found while looking around which I presume is for some kind of summons, like a buzzer for a secretary or something. Hopefully, it is not some sort of panic button.

Less than half a minute later, a knock at the door precedes the entry of a scruffy looking young Silva in a frilled shirt and faded scarlet leggings a size too small. He hurriedly bows 90°, "Count Erment, you summoned me ikonte?"

"A little slow," I remark, deciding to integrate a little of the real Count's personality to sell the facade. Seems communication is possible despite my fear.

"S-sorry, ikonte, I came as soon as you called!" he shudders, clearly fearful of the Count. I sigh reflexively, which makes him start, mistaking the target of my disappointment.

"Forget it, I've more important matters to deal with," I shake my head slowly, "What news of The Reivers?"

"They-"

"Speak up and stand straight when you're addressing me," I order, finding his subservience aggravating, "Do you report to me, or the carpeting?"

He gulps audibly, complying swiftly, arms plastered to his side and his spine stiffened. Even so, he can't bring himself to make eye contact, his pupils darting this way and that to avoid mine. I'll take what I can get.

"...Well?"

"The-they appeared on the western border of the forest according to the latest report from the Sentinels. Only a few forward scouts milord, they dare not approach the fort," The Assistant stammers out, "The men are ready to mobilise at your order, ikonte, you need only give the order."

"You presume to know my intentions?" I question gruffly, "No. We won't be chasing them through the trees. What fool would give up an advantageous position?"

If my, albeit shallow, evaluation of Count Erment's personality is at all accurate, he probably saw red the instant he heard that bandits were encroaching on his territory and pulled out all the stops to remove the threat to his 'property'. The cost such a reckless move would incur likely didn't even enter into his head.

"Ikonte-"

"Alert the officers, then take me to a suitable meeting room once they're gathered there," I declare imperiously, "We're doing this the right way."

IdleFancy

Writing an argument without giving too much to one side or the other is harder than you'd think. Had to seriously cut back some of the dialogue to leave room for development and ambiguity, and I'm still not entirely happy.