I arrived at the chosen location fifteen minutes after leaving the chief justice’s estate.  

The grassy plain was open, and there weren’t that many trees. Even better, a crystal known as a coordinate sapphire was hidden underneath the ground. One of Gregory’s precious Citrine Reapers was a mage who could warp himself and his allies to these beacons. Tris had found ten of them placed around the city and its immediate surroundings, but there were at least twenty more spread across the city-state.   

But how did I find them if I didn’t have this spot indexed?  

Observing the ebb and flow of mana.  

These coordinate sapphires emitted magical energy unique to the mage they were assigned to. You couldn’t see these mana waves unless your [Mana Perception] was a high enough level. You also had to attune your magical abilities to the crystals. So, they were like a relic or artifact vital to the Citrine’s Reapers’ navigational prowess—the one way they could get around a city-state in the blink of an eye.   

But Tris ignored those limitations. She had first used [Deduction] on the mage, then analyzed his unique mana signature, discovered the waves being emitted, and then tracked them as I soared high above the city as an eagle. She cross-referenced the wispy mana trails with a few maps she had found, then suggested this spot as tonight’s finale.  

I didn’t have the surrounding countryside indexed, but the maps helped. The inaccurate data would be replaced when I traveled the rest of the city-state. 

But the plan was set—I still had a clone bug within Gregory’s office, which I used to drop those threatening letters he’d been getting all day. And it seemed like it was about to get a very...lion-like promotion.   

All I had to do was allow my Fragment of Wisdom to take the reins. For the first part, at least. If it worked the way we planned, I’d be the supporting star of the second half, with a lion playing the role of the leading man before giving the role back to me.    

Please... Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, my lord!  

Tris opened a [Skyview] window, revealing Gregory's office. It was in disarray, with broken chairs and shattered desks scattered across the floor. Gregory, leaning against the wall, had bloodshot eyes, and nervous sweat soaked his brow, accentuating the chaotic scene around him. He looked like a total mess amidst the wreckage of his own tantrum.  

The room outside held the fifteen members of the Citrine Reapers. One of them, Lysander—the leader—and the one Gregory had punched, looked outside the window with clenched fists and gritted teeth.  

If there was...anyone I could get through... It would probably be him. The idea, and most promising path, was to convince the group that Gregory wasn’t worth it. But if they weren’t going to listen to my reason, I had no qualms about killing and replacing them. Surtr alone was more than enough to take them out simultaneously.   

“This…” Lysander sighed and ran his hands through his long, flowing orange hair before stressfully rubbing his wrinkled forehead. The harbor wasn’t on fire anymore. It hadn’t been for about forty-five minutes, but I wondered if he thought he could’ve fixed the issue sooner if Gregory had given the order to sortie.   

I had backup plans if that happened. Verdant and the others would’ve received orders via my ‘light show illumination magic’ if something unexpected had arisen.   

“I’ve never seen you like this before, commander,” said a bald mage. He wore a loose robe with orange crystals embedded in the sleeves. “How’s your face? Are you hurt?”  

“No, I’m fine. Lord Atrix can’t hurt me. Not physically, mind—”  

“AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!” A horrendous scream suddenly erupted as a crashing noise originated from Gregory’s office. Lysander charged and kicked down the door, drawing his sword and shield.   

And there… Hovering just outside the wall that had melted... Staring at a man with soiled britches, with eyes fiercer than the most violent volcano…  

“The demonic lion?! Here?!” Lysander roared. He jumped in front of Gregory and raised his shield. The mage waved his robes, and the jewels flashed a bright orange as a dozen watery greatswords appeared near him. They launched like rockets, flying blisteringly fast, yet it amounted to a paltry amount of steam.  

The aquatic projectiles didn’t come close to hitting Clone!Surtr.   

And the other four magic-wielders began chanting support magic as the rest readied their arrows. The archers' quivers were enveloped in ice and earth—enchantment magic. A heartbeat later, they drew and fired a quick barrage using [Rapid Shoot] and [Projectile Multiplication], but the pathetic attempt utterly failed. The   

The clone ‘pulsed’ its flames, and everyone recoiled.  

Well, everyone except Lysander, who held resolutely. He kept his shield raised. The grit in his eyes could rival sandpaper.   

I’m using our waypoints to ‘paint’ the scene. Anyone from a distance would see the side of the estate and nothing else, my lord.  

“What’s...with this heat?! It’s...” The bald mage grunted through the discomfort and waved his sleeves again, recanting the chant for [Water Barrier]. It wasn’t strong enough, but the clone lowered its calefaction simultaneously to make it seem convincing. 

“Is this too much for you?” A deep voice growled from the clone as it bared its fangs. “Gregory Atrix, architect of failed invasions, your ambitions have crumbled like the ruins of ancient empires. Plymoise remains unyielding, a fortress against your futile designs. Your drakes fell victim to my fangs. Your hippogriffs trembled before my mighty flames! And your soldiers... Your...weak, pathetic, meager soldiers that you sent on a death mission... Their deaths are on your hands, little one.”  

Gregory couldn’t move. He was too stunned to even breathe.   

“What’s wrong? Are you regretting your choice? Do you wish you could go back in time and prevent the invasion? How naive are you, Little Gregory? You remain here in your estate like the coward you are. Your legacy will be nothing. You will be nothing. There is but one fate befitting you. Death, Little Gregory—a man who does not deserve to rule over a land as beautiful as this. That is where your journey will end. Oh, but it won’t be now. It won’t be tomorrow. I will strike you down at a time of my choosing, and you will forever live in constant fear until that day arrives. Oh?”  

The clone turned its head towards my direction in the far distance.   

“It seems I’m not the only one to come for your head. It seems, Little Gregory, that you have more enemies than I initially assumed. But they won’t take your life. They won’t burn your soul within these hell flames. That honor belongs to me, but I will not fight your battle. Look out towards the moon’s ascent and gaze upon the beam of crystalline light.”  

The clone snarled and bared its fangs once more,   

“Or is this a trap I’ve devised to deny you your precious Citrine Reapers... What will it be, Little Gregory, who hides behind his people like a spineless whelp. What will you do? You have received threatening letters throughout the day, have you not?” It threw back its head and menacingly laughed as it vanished in a flaming show of nocturnal fire, leaving the rest stunned and perplexed. Gregory needed more than a few seconds to find his voice.   

Lysander cautiously lowered his shield. He grabbed his arm and kept it still when he realized he shook with alarmed trepidation.   

“That’s the power… The one who wiped our drakes and hippogriffs? Who destroyed hundreds of men? The rumors… They’re…”  

“I… I don’t give a damn about the rumors!” Gregory spat, interrupting the mage. He trembled like a babbling baby and stumbled thrice when fear empowered his unsteady feet. “If that lion’s master— That’s more reason to do your goddamn jobs! Go on! Hurry up! Get out there! Kill whatever’s at that pillar and bring me their heads! You swore to defend me with your lives, did you not? Fucking defend me already!”  

Little Gregory was losing it. He rambled like a madman for three more minutes—maybe hearing himself articulate was how he knew he was alive? He kept stuttering and speaking so fast that he fumbled his words and created sentences that didn’t make sense.  

“What’s the plan?” asked one of his archers.   

“We can’t let this stand. That light is near a coordinate sapphire, and we mustn’t lose it,” said the mage. “We cannot allow a foreign agent to attune themselves to it and sabotage our network. It would take years to harvest new crystals! And longer to replace them!”  

“But this must be a trap. The lion believes us to be fools,” added another—a large, burly man with orange tattoos down his arms. He gripped a heavy axe that shimmered orange. “Are we going to blindly walk into it?”  

“But what if it’s not lying?” Lysander finally spoke. “Our enemies are more numerous than most. Many desire to take Lord Atrix’s head, and we cannot downplay any threat. It… It must be investigated. Trap or not, we must go. We cannot allow the citizens to witness it and add more fuel to—"  

“Then go! Stop—stop chattering and act!” Goddamn! Gregory was so pathetic I wanted to claw my eyes out. “Hurry up and bring me their heads!” he repeated, his desperation highly evident as he interrupted Lysander again. “I can’t die! I have too much to live for! My legacy needs to be engrained within history’s tapestry!”  

Those who were prepared to kill should be ready to die in turn. This little bitch wanted to have his cake and eat it too—to sit back and reap all the rewards without putting himself in danger.   

How ironic that I could literally...  

Just end his life without a moment’s notice...  

The dumb bastard didn’t know how close he lived on Death’s edge.    

Lysander and the others discussed the plan. Five minutes of deliberation later, he and nine others would be teleported by the mage after receiving his buffs and enchantments. The mage—Mikel—would tag along after convincing Little Gregory that he would be needed. The other five desired the same—but the cowardly ruler refused and cited that he needed people there to protect him in case someone else wanted to attack.  

“And I guess that means it’s almost time,” I said as my clothes and appearance changed. I didn’t want to be an orange-haired High Elf, so I used my slime to create a suit of onyx-like armor that covered me from head to toe. To be safe, I temporarily transfigured into some random guy I had seen in town.  

I hope you’re ready, Surtr. It’s almost show time.  

I am! I have been awaiting this moment!  

Good. Just be patient a little bit longer.  

With everything set up and organized, I just had to wait for my ‘guests’ to arrive.    

 

---

Ten arcane symbols manifested with ethereal brilliance, carving themselves onto the verdant canvas of the grass. In the blink of an eye, Lysander and his soldiers materialized, poised for the imminent fight.  

But I only ‘saw’ nine.   

The tenth was under the effects of [Shadowmerge], an invisibility skill that merged the user into shadow. It worked effectively at night, and even the shadow of a mere blade of grass was enough for the lv. 53 orange-freckled gnome to vanish immediately upon arriving.   

They didn’t think I saw her because she was at the far back, but I did. My eyes pierced her skill’s effect, and Tris marked her with a waypoint.   

But I was going to play along with it—pretend their little scheme was working—as I looked at the group and crossed my arms. Seeing them in person wasn’t any more impressive. Their buffs and enchantments wouldn’t overcome the power difference between us.    

“Are you the one who desires my lord’s head?!” demanded Lysander. He slowly approached while not lowering his shield. Its glimmering citrine surface reflected moonlight like a sparkling jewel.  

 Clearly, their equipment wasn’t something Little Gregory had skimped on. Of course, a coward like him would use money to give his warriors the best equipment. In this case, it was an Exalted Armament. They required specific titles like [Hero] or [Dark Champion], and the Citrine Bulwark—Lysander’s shield—required [Guardian of the Atrixian Flame]. Only one could hold the title. It was passed from commander to commander of the Citrine Reapers upon accepting the role.   

That only reinforced their status as the guardians of the land, but what was this flame? Was it literal? Or perhaps more metaphorical? Atrix’s color was orange, yet bountiful nature surrounded it. Likewise, Plymoise was green but dusty and rocky, like a mixture between great arid plains and a desert. Really, it seemed like the colors should’ve been swapped.    

Exalted Armaments ranked below Lord Armaments. Divine Armaments, like Sekh’s mace and [Tyranny Control], reigned at the top. 

Royal Armaments required titles like [King] or [Queen] but shared the same category as Exalted Armaments.   

In either case, those armaments were rare. And possibly for a good reason. You could think of them as national treasures or priceless heirlooms. And while you could regain a lost physical armament, the same couldn’t be said for a skill. You’d need a specialized Skill Orb—also rare-- to store it if you wanted to pass it on to the next generation.  

Losing one wasn’t good—especially with how powerful skills and spells could be.    

“And what if I am?” My voice was denser than solid steel and gritty like sandpaper.   

“Are you with that demonic lion?”  

“Yes. I am.”  

“...”  

“Too stunned? I would say you’ve fallen right into my trap, and you have, but it’s not what you think, my dear Lysander.”  

My words caught him off guard. Two of his soldiers looked at each other as if they weren’t expecting this.   

“I have a proposal, you see, and I would appreciate it if you allowed me to share it with you. It concerns the future of this beautiful land.”  

“Like hell we’d talk with a monster like you!” Someone else found their voice and retorted. “You’re just going to burn the city to ash!”  

“Well, you’re not wrong. That’s an option. And it’s one I should really consider since your shitty lord tried and failed to conquer Plymoise. How was it? When you saw the survivors return with their tails stuck between their legs like abused dogs? When you learned that the paltry naval fleet your lord sent out would not be returning. By my count, there were 750 lives on those seven ships. No one escaped. There were no survivors. Well, you won’t need to know how I know that. Just know that this isn’t a fight you can win.”  

“What is it that you truly want? Are you the one behind the letters? Is the chaos in the city your doing?” demanded Lysander.   

“Chaos is but a mere stepping stone to what I desire. Atrix is a land with befitting beauty I hadn’t seen in years. Decades, even,” I said, laying it thick with flowery language. “The forests are rich and gorgeous, and the babbling brooks hold water reminiscent of flowing sapphires. The fertile farming land eclipsed what I’m familiar with. And…it is a shame Little Gregory wishes to put it at risk for the pathetic reason that is wanting to be embroidered in history’s tapestry.”  

“History’s… Were you watching?!”  

“That I was. My eyes are special, you see. They see the unseeable. And…” I raised a hand and summoned a pistol, aiming it at the sneaky little invisible pest. “Rykla... Hmm... Let me see... A gnome with [Shadowmerge]? From your titles… I’d say you’re the one Little Gregory uses for assassinations. You have ten seconds to make yourself visible before I shoot.”  

Suddenly, a dozen watery greatswords manifested over Mikel’s bald head when I purposely averted my eyes. They launched as Lysander rushed forward with his shield raised. Four archers aimed at my feet and unleashed arrows enchanted with [Vinebind]. [Projectile Multiplication] transformed four arrows into forty.  

Citrine Bulwark’s unique ability was [Arcane Counterflux], which fit its name. I launched a few fireballs from my other hand at the shield, knowing they would effortlessly bounce away when he deflected them.   

I can probably burn it to cinders. I won’t, though.    

Transparent tendrils shot from the shield and attached to my spells, launching them towards me at twice the speed. I dashed back and jumped to the left, avoiding the trajectory Tris had predicted they’d take. But the weakened flames I used couldn’t hurt me. 

The arrows rained around me, funneling me into a spot closer to the gnome. Each birthed a vine that anchored into the ground before squirming through the grass like snakes. In two seconds, they had encircled my legs and violently stretched to pin my arms to my body.    

The dozen watery greatswords suddenly became engrossed in electricity, and the barrage launched like homing projectiles.   

“Your teamwork is impressive,” A quick use of [Ira Ignis] scorched the vines and broke me free. I took aim and quickly shot down the incoming aquatic projectiles. “Really. Be proud of yourself. Oh, and didn’t I tell you to come out? It’s already been ten seconds.”  

Bang! Bang!  

I turned around and shot the invisible gnome’s kneecaps—she was just a foot away from slitting my throat. It shattered the illusion, and her cries pierced my ears as that jagged dagger dropped to the thin grass. Lysander shouted her name as I grabbed her by the collar. “So light… So weak…”  

I threw her at Lysander, who caught her gently before setting her down. He rummaged through a pouch for a potion as the mage stepped forward. But Lysander’s face… He narrowed his eyes while looking at the gnome’s bloody kneecaps and realized…  

The wounds had healed…because I had subtly used healing magic after picking her up.   

“Shall we try this again? Do you want to hear my proposal?” I asked, looking past the mage. I stared deep into Lysander’s eyes.    

“Just for you to kill us in the end?! You may be strong, but your mana isn’t infinite. That demon of yours must take up a substantial portion!” argued Mikel. “And your powerful spells can’t be cheap!”  

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Little Mage. Wrong… Wrong… Wrong… Always and forever wrong… I didn’t want to do this, but perhaps I should approach another way?"  

One by one, the color faded from their faces as I spoke the names of their loved ones—of the ones who thought them dead because they were chosen to join this elusive unit.   

“You would even dare to threaten our children?! Does your depravity know no goddamn bounds?!” One of the archers was pissed. Those orange eyes wished to gaze upon my mangled and mutilated corpse. He readied another arrow and aimed it at my head.    

“Threaten? Where did I say that? I merely named names—nothing else. Your mind assumed something else, so that says more about you than me.”  

“What?! But—Commander, we need—”  

“To kill me?” I pointed at the gnome nursing her knees. “Haven’t you realized it by now? I’m merely playing with you. This isn’t even a challenge! We could fight a thousand days and nights, and I would forever be the victor. I didn’t need to heal her. But I did. Because I don’t want to kill you. I will, but my plan involves you being alive.”  

“Heal…? Commander—” The mage turned around, and Lysander stood. He lowered the archer’s bow.  

“Our enemy speaks the truth. They didn’t have a reason to heal Rykla.” Lysander drew his sword, stabbed it into the ground, and sat.   

“What—what the hell are you doing?! You can’t be seriously considering—”  

“Look around you, Mikel.” Lysander shut the mage up. “We are outclassed. Our enemy has been toying with us.”  

“But if we attack together and regroup— The fifteen—”  

“Listen to him. Your commander’s wise. He knows further conflict will end in preventable deaths. But… If you wish to press this further… You won’t be fighting me.” I gathered a spec of flame around my fist and carelessly threw it into the air. It exploded into a blazing inferno that shot towards the heavens.    

At that moment, the air trembled with an ominous energy, and a thunderous roar echoed through the surroundings.   

But then…from the heart of the searing conflagration came the manifestation of the Dark Lord of Tyranny's excessive mana given physical form. Surtr’s towering figure alone caused the surrounding air to catch flame. He threw back his head and roared, entrapping us in a vortex of impenetrable black fire. His eyes glowed an intense, piercing crimson as he jumped from nothing, landing beside me as if he didn’t weigh a pound. But the ground quivered beneath his arrival, and his presence emitted an aura of fearful paralysis.  

The Citrine Reapers had never encountered anything like my lion. It took all they had to stand back-to-back—however useless such behavior would be.    

They couldn’t dare extinguish his harsh flames.    

“The lion you saw at Little Gregory's estate was a puppet made from my mana. How does it feel to see the genuine thing?” I rubbed Surtr’s chin and ran my fingers through his fur. “Still wish to fight? You should really listen to what I say if you value your lives. And know that it is child’s play to summon him whenever I want. I don’t need to prepare any rituals. Nor do I need to waste time chanting like other mages. My grand lion can show up anywhere…anytime…without a hint of ominous foreboding.”  

“Stand down! That’s an order from your commander!” Lysander shouted.  

“But commander! Listening—”   

“Do not make me repeat myself, Mikel.” Lysander’s voice was cold. The bald mage bit his lips and turned away.   

“Good. That’s what I want to hear. Now, do you mind?”  

Surtr roared and eliminated the vortex threatening to swallow us. I approached Lysander and sat, but Surtr remained standing. He stood behind me and stared unblinkingly at his potential dinner.   

“Now, was this so difficult? Oh, feel free to speak frankly. Unnecessary pleasantries aren’t required.”  

“Can you blame us?”  

“No… I suppose I can’t. Part of the fault lies in me for creating a hostile environment, so allow me to offer my forgiveness, Lysander.”  

“Since you know my name, can I know yours? It’s only fair, isn’t it?”  

“Rio,” I answered, giving him a fake name. “And yes. Today’s chaos unfolded as per my explicit orders. The events in the noble district? The firebombing at the ports?”  

“What about the family? The children who perished? And the bird that flew throughout the night—the one repeating those grave sins on repeat.”  

“Yes. That was me. But before you give me a disgusted look, know that I possess a skill to craft puppets from flames.” I gathered some fire in my palm and threw it beside me. It immediately transformed into some random Atrixian citizen—it was like my technique with wooden puppets, except I used fire at the base.   

The same concept, really—just a different manner of executing it.   

“And illusion magic makes them look real. So, the children that have died thus far have never existed. But I cannot say the same for the soldiers who perished. Their lost lives were genuine. And dare I say that a few in the noble district deserved to burn. They weren’t saints. They weren’t reputable warriors that deserved to die with honor.”  

“How dare—” A man near the gnome found some courage, but…  

“SILENCE!” Surtr roared and flared his flames, instilling another wave of suffocating pressure across the land. His deep voice rumbled throughout their hearts as he showed his fangs.   

“Be more mindful of any interruptions, okay?”  

“What is it…that you truly want?”  

“I desire revolution. I want the people to rebel against Little Gregory's madness before his thirst for war leads to the country’s undoing. Look around.” I gestured to the left and right. “Ignoring the obvious scorch marks from my lion’s flames, this city-state's beauty is incomparable. It’s lush, green, vibrant, and beautiful, and I cannot risk it becoming a bed of ash and death.”  

“…” Lysander remained quiet for a moment.   

“To answer your unasked question… Yes. I can kill Gregory. I had hundreds of opportunities, but I will not create a power vacuum. Plans are already in motion to instill a new ruler—the rightful heir.”  

“Then he still lives? That’s refreshing.” Lysander’s soldiers shared shocked expressions as they looked at each other with widened eyes that exposed their confusion.  

“You’re relieved, but you’re not surprised. Explain.”  

“It happened the day I became commander. Lord Atrix told me of a threat to his life. I swore to protect this land and…I’m not proud of what I’ve done. It was…murder, and I didn’t know it until after I had Dryke’s blood on my hands. The plan was to throw firesalts in the furnace and blow up his shop, but something felt strange. I couldn’t find the weapons that were said to be there. I searched and discovered a young boy sleeping in his bed, hugging a doll. And I couldn’t finish it. I couldn’t kill a child, so I lied. I framed it as a smithing accident and dug up a burnt corpse from the graveyard. Lord Atrix was drunk when I returned, and he revealed everything in an intoxicated stupor.”  

“Yet you still remain loyal to a man who would lie to kill his son?”  

“Escaping isn’t easy. I have no wife. I have no children. I have nothing that binds me to this world except my soul, so the oath was painless. But my allies are different. My leaving would transfer any punishment to them. And I couldn’t let them suffer because the sins weighing on my heart were too heavy. I did the deed, and I must live with my actions until the day I draw my last breath fighting for this beautiful land.”  

“I see… Interesting… What do you know about Ayroix's mother?”  

“Only that Lord Atrix took her life out of rage when she refused to give up Ayroix’s location. The reapers weren’t involved, and I wasn’t aware of that incident until his drunken rambling.”  

“Who else knows?”  

“Only me. Lord Atrix doesn’t remember most of that night. Word of it has refrained from escaping my lips until this moment. I’m unsure how you discovered him, but you’re clearly working with information we can’t access.”  

“Well, Lysander…” I stared him down. “Isn’t this the opportunity you’ve been waiting for? Obey my instructions, and revolution will happen. The people will rise against Gregory’s oppressive ways through their own hands—after finding their own strength—after realizing that they can make a better future for themselves, their children, and their children’s children. Atrix doesn’t need to keep its war-mongering reputation. It does not have to be defined by sins of the past.”  

“And you’re suggesting Atrix’s atonement is only possible if it follows you?”  

“Not necessarily. Maybe there’s a silver lining in this... Perhaps it’ll happen with or without me, but I am the closest thing you have for this to be achievable in your lifetime. Oh?” I looked past Lysander and onto his soldiers’ faces. “I sense some discomfort. Please, let your worries be known far and wide. I’ll allow you to speak.” I stood and stretched. “A decision like this cannot be made lightly. But know this. You ‘died’ and left your previous lives behind to serve a man who would throw you to the wayside to save his own skin. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve had eyes on Little Gregory for longer than you think, and I know how he treats you like disposable pawns.”