“My [King], they will be here shortly.”

Enderan nods to his [Steward] and rises from his chair.

“And my family?” he asks as he grabs his robe and throws it upon his person.

“Already in the throne room.”

Enderan grunts. He straightens his back and assumes a regal mein. Then, with a surety he did not hold before, he begins his journey to the throne room. His [Steward] matches his pace, a quill and scroll in hand.

“The mercenaries, have they settled in?”

“Yes. As you commanded, the castle’s guest rooms have been renovated for all thirty-four mercenaries and their guest.”

Enderan slows down. “I seem to recall only thirty-three mercenaries, Harold. And a guest?”

“Ahem,” Harold clears his throat, slightly caught off guard by the usage of his name. “Well, it appears that Merry Marrows has recruited another member during the past week. They also have a [Rune Smith] who is not officially part of their team. I thought it best to show respect to their guest as well.”

Enderan frowns, slightly annoyed, but resumes his walk to the throne room.

“That is fine, but please inform me next time about any updates. I do not wish to make a fool of myself.”

“Yes, my [King].”

Without speaking anymore, Enderan made his way to the throne room. His wife, [Queen] Mercia, sits upon one of two thrones. On her left stand her three daughters, each dressed in flowing gowns that shine and glint like metal. Unfortunately, his youngest daughter seems incapable of standing still. Thankfully, her movements are subdued and not distracting.

He walks up the steps and takes his rightful seat on the throne.

His wife, ever dutiful, hands him his scepter, an enchanted thing moulded from a variety of metals. Bronze, platinum, gold, and silver glimmer, reflecting upon the room a rainbow of wealth.

He looks to the sides of his hall where his nobility stand, silently waiting.

Now, he decides. The [King] closes his eyes and lets his presence fill the room. His aura weaves through the metal of the room, his power pulses through walls like the blood in his veins. The [King] opens his eyes and the room shimmers.

“Send them In,” Enderan, [King] of Kurzix, commands.

The [Guards] grunt and strain as they slide open the heavy steel doors. Once they start to move, the doors glide silently into the walls.

The first to enter is his knight, Edwir, the most loyal person Enderan has ever known. Though he knows very little of the man’s past, that matters not. Edwir has proven himself time and time again to be diligent, strong, and above all, virtuous.

Edwir walks into the throne room wearing his full armor, each step he takes sounding like a hammer striking metal. To foreigners, the sound is offensive to the ears; but to Enderan and those in his city, they are softer than the softest lullaby a [Bard] can sing.

Behind him, a column of women march in. An Amazon of truly mind-boggling beauty leads the squad. She is so beautiful that he cannot pull his eyes away, despite his wife’s pointed glare.

Thankfully, like his city, he has an iron will.

The women halt at parade rest before the throne. The next troop enters, the four of them as ungainly as the women are uniform.

A masked man and woman stride side by side; two steps behind limps a gaunt parody of a man, all in black in contrast to the pair’s white. At the rear, a giant walks, his muscles a contrast to the sickly man’s, his workman’s clothes counterpoint to the pair’s elegance. No doubt, that man, so reminiscent of Kurzix’s [Iron Smiths] is the [Rune Smith]. The other three remain inscrutable to Enderan’s intuition.

Harold steps forward. “Presenting [Iron King] Enderan, and his wife, [Queen] Mercia.”

“Thorns,” Trinity’s clear voice rings throughout the throne room, “present arms!”

The women snap to attention and tip their spears forward. Trinity draws her sword, presents it in front of herself, then sweeps the blade down to the left.

The masked woman and the [Smith] bow, but the remaining two do not.

He suppresses a frown. It is imperative that the crown be respected, lest his power wane. Even foreigners to his city must respect his authority. But, he needs them, so he will ignore this transgre-

“They don’t bow,” he hears his youngest daughter whispers before being shushed by his eldest. But, her whisper had echoed through the iron hall, heard by all in attendance.

The slight can no longer be passed off as simple ignorance or absentmindedness and can only be construed as blatant disrespect.

Cursing Amber in his thoughts, Enderan’s gaze sharpens as he looks at the two who had refused to show respect. To allow this discourtesy in his throne room, before the nobility, will weaken his image.

“Bow.”

The [King] commands, his voice infused with the strength of his aura. The tall skinny man struggles against the command, but eventually, the man does bow, his will crumpled under the [King]’s Aura. Enderan can’t help but be a bit impressed that the sickly man stood so long.

Unfortunately, the masked man remains unfazed. Enderan is even more impressed, however the man’s resistance may still be chalked up to a strong, highly leveled class. His nobles are starting to whisper with one another, pointing at the singular miscreant.

The man’s resilience is impressive, but it will not matter. He is a [King] upon his throne. In his own hall, none can match him.

With an influx of mental energy, he calls upon the full strength of his Aura, even activating [Aura of Iron] to bolster the command further. He focuses the full brunt of his energy upon the masked man.

“I said...

...BOW.”

The metal of his Throne seems to grow and glow, the light in the room twists at his words and as the metal walls ring with his command.

He waits…

The masked man sends an exploratory hand underneath his mask.

And waits…

The incorrigible man pulls back his hand and examines his gloved pinky.

And waits…

The masked man yawns and leans nonchalantly on his cane.

“Doesn’t that throne hurt to sit on?” he asks the [King].“Good decor. An excellent display of wealth and power, if not particularly artistic. I know I wouldn’t want to sit on a throne like that though; it would be hellish on the back, and I don’t know where I would find a chiropractor.”

The throne room is silent. Never has anyone disobeyed the [King] here. Kurzix’s nobles are dumbstruck. This situation is not only wholly unexpected, it has never happened before. Ever. As of this moment, Enderan really doesn’t know how to continue.

“You are Bone, the leader of Merry Marrows,” he hears his wife speak. “You have been contracted by his highness to protect the royal family. Why do you not bow?” she asks, quickly taking a hold of the situation.

The masked man looks up. “Because he didn’t say please,” he answers innocently.

Enderan is not a man prone to anger. He is considered rather mellow by his family and friends. Rarely, very rarely, does he let his emotions control him, lest he lose himself and his class.

But, somehow, this mercenary really knows how to piss him off.

“Um,” a soft and childish voice tickles out. Amber raises her hand while her legs are touching together. “Can you please bow, I have to pee,” she exclaims as she squirms. Her face is a mask of concentration, no doubt trying not to soil herself.

Maybe he really should have heeded Harold’s advice that a six-year-old girl is too young to be present at the throne.

Then he is caught off guard as the man unfolds his arms, lifts his hat, twirls it around his hand, and makes a most magnificent bow. “At your word, mademoiselle,” the masked man replies with eloquence and sincerity.

Enderan sighs. He can already feel a wrinkle forming on his forehead from this experience. He may even level just by the fact he was so easily… ignored?

“Amber, go, but return as soon as you are done,” he orders, annoyed.

His daughter nods and rushes out of the throne room, as fast as she can in her heels and dress. He watches her leave and can’t help but think about the rumors that are going to arise. Already, he regrets having held this meeting in his throne room.

“Thank you for your timely arrival. Your presence is very much needed in this trying time,” he pauses, allowing the nobles an opportunity to digest his words and regain their countenance. “An army marches on my city, with the intention to slaughter my people and to take my crown. Of course, I understand that the Mercenary Guild no longer allows its members to be employed in wars, so I will not ask you to fight or defend my city. All I ask is that you defend my life,” he points at himself, “and the lives of my family.” He waves his hand at his [Queen] and the two present [Princesses].

Enderan observes the mercenaries as a whole and finds thirty-two neutral expressions and two masks. He cannot read those two, even with his passive skills at work.

“Normally, my royal guard would defend my life, but due to a recent failed assassination attempt, I have lost a great number of my elites and there exists a great hole in our defenses.

“I require your protection until the end of this current crisis. As per the contract, each individual mercenary will be paid a single gold drachma and each team will receive ten gold drachma per day,” he announces.

He watches his nobles frown at his words, most rather surprised at the impressive sum. Such profligate spending would have been unthinkable and wasteful a year ago. But now, the adamantium mine and the several artifacts he obtained from it have made him into a very wealthy king.

“Now, do you have any questions?” he asks.

“Yes,” the first to speak is the Amazon, Trinity. “Your family consists of five individuals, who will have unique schedules we must act around. As such, how do you wish to deploy our teams?”

A good question, but one he need not answer.

“I will leave that choice up to you and my [Knight], as this is an area in which my knowledge is limited.”

The amazon frowns. She turns her head and looks at the masked man. The masked man shrugs and steps forward.

“From my experience, the best defense against someone’s life is to preemptively stop a [Assassin] from getting anywhere near their targets. Thus, we will disperse most of the Bladed Thorns near the castle entrances. In the unfortunate chance that an attack manages to reach its targets, we will have our elites bodyguarding the royal family.”

He points to the masked woman. “Jess here is an [ArchPriestess] with magic to both heal and protect. She will be in charge of defending your highness,” he then points at the Amazon. “Trinity will be in charge of protecting the [Queen], “he turns towards the [King]’s two standing daughters, “your two daughters will be given five Bladed Rose mercenaries and, “ he moves his finger a final time, away from everyone else. The finger stops at a door behind the throne. “I will personally be protecting her.”

At his words, Amber’s face peeks out from the door. She freezes when she sees everyone’s gaze directly on her.

 

_________________________________________________________________

 

“Mercenaries?” a tall skinny man wearing embroidered robes asks his [General].

“Yes, my liege,” the [General] controls his horse to match [King] Azernick’s speed, “our scouts noticed a large contingent of [Mercenaries] recently arriving at Kurzix. A good thirty of them.”

Azernick scratches his chin, the beard he is trying to grow is not long enough to be comfortable yet. “They are probably there to protect Enderan’s life,” he says his thoughts and shrugs. “A setback, for sure. I doubt our remaining [Rogues] will be able to sneak into the castle again. Instead, tell them to keep watch in the city, and if a good opportunity to kill a member of the royal family arrives, they are free to take it.”

The [General] frowns, his [King]’s reaction seems too… relaxed?

“Was there anything else?” Azernicks asks.

“Err, no. I just expected you to be less sanguine about the situation.”

Azernick chuckles darkly. He glances behind him, where his army marches in lock-step.

In the midst of the army is a large, enchanted, and embroidered carriage with the image of a black raven on the side.

“Because this war is already won. We need only reach our destination.”

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

As night falls upon Kurzix, silence envelopes the city. No sound is heard, nor should any be heard. And yet, if one listened closely, they might hear the soft and steady sound of snoring.

Because that is what men may do as they sleep. In this case, on this night, the snoring man has had little rest over the past week.

Unfortunately, his current sleeping position is not the most comfortable.

Edwir Gradian snorts, coughs, and wakes up from his deep sleep. A thrill of confusion and panic washes over him before he forces himself to calm down.

He frowns as he looks forward, the visor of his helmet having dropped.

Raising it, he looks around and finds that he is wearing his armor… and standing.

He then tries to remember what happened.

But nothing occurs to the old noggin.

Then he turns around and stops when he sees his [King]’s throne.