Although his days of crawling through dangerous dungeons and trudging along on misery-soaked fields of battle were long behind him, Grandmaster Dask Thomlin still maintained a trim figure which he kept in fighting form. Even though he was now considered little more than an aging bureaucrat by the younger generation of adventurers that he presided over at the national guild, Thomlin still appreciated the value of always being prepared for an unexpected fight.

He was also well acquainted with the sight of soldiers who knew their cause was doomed. Which was exactly the sight he beheld after he arrived at Fortress Starling. Everywhere he looked, the men exuded an aura of terror and hesitation. It seemed the only thing keeping many of them from outright fleeing for their lives was the self-discipline that had been drilled into them through years of rigorous training.

It was hardly the greatest welcome that Thomlin had ever enjoyed.

“I’m afraid we’ve nothing much to laugh about today, my friend,” General Aden Adler said by way of greeting, after Thomlin was escorted to his office. Unlike Thomlin, Adler had let age and neglect steal away his once formidable and handsome figure, leaving nothing behind but a fat old man whose blotched nose told the tale of his rather severe drinking problem.

“It’s a little early in the day for it, isn’t it, Aden?” Thomlin asked him after accepting a cup of wine poured from a nearly empty bottle. “I haven’t seen you in a state like this since the civil war. What’s got you so distressed?”

“The long march south has been indefinitely delayed,” Adler said in a quietly despairing voice. “First, we lost Fortress Rondale, and now Fortress Starling is in danger of being taken. If Oldstead succeeds in seizing it, our efforts will be set back by years. Many heads will roll for this failure, Thomlin, but mine will be the first.”

“Things have really gotten that bad?” Thomlin asked, aghast by what his friend described. “The news back home has been nothing but golden, detailing inevitable victory for the kingdom. Have you all been lying to us?”

“Of course, we’ve been lying to you,” Adler said miserably. He looked around the room with dazed, haunted eyes, and spoke defensively, as though he could see the disappointed and angry faces of the people back home, staring at him in disapproval. “What choice did we have? Even if we told the truth, no one would bloody well believe us.”

“Believe you about what?” Thomlin asked, now feeling concerned by his friend’s erratic behavior.

“About her! About that monstrous creature! The Empress, she dares to call herself! Everly Graff Cruor! Who would ever believe that the greatest standing army on the continent could be defeated by a single, deluded girl?”

"Everly who?" Thomlin asked. "I've never even heard of this person."

"You will. Once she finishes with us here, don't be surprised if Oldstead begins a long march north."

“Wait…wait a moment,” Thomlin said in disbelief. “Are you really telling me that this random woman you speak of is somehow stalemating the advance of his majesty’s army?”

“Ha!” barked the increasingly unsettled Adler. “When did I say anything about us being stalemated? I’m telling you flatly that she’s beating us back! We’re losing, Thomlin, losing. That rampaging bitch has been splashing the field with our blood.”

Thomlin was shocked to hear this. “How?”

“Believe it or not, she’s a necromancer. She calls the dead to her side, and they obey,” Adler said. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Do you know how hard it is to kill something that’s already dead? Bloody things are fast, too. Is that even fair? How can something be both dead and quick on its feet?”

“A necromancer? Aden, that’s impossible. That foul art died out a thousand years ago, even before the founding of the empire.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to hear then,” Adler said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “The next time those monsters engage us, I’ll have a message sent to my men informing them that their opponents are impossible. I’m certain that’ll rally the lads to victory.”

“Even if it really is an issue of necromancy, then surely the temple could deal with her—”

“As if. She smashes their holy knights aside and scorns the prayers of their priests.”

“How can that be? The scriptures teach us that the undead have no power against the faithful,” Thomlin said, as he absentmindedly rubbed the temple chain he always wore for luck beneath his shirt.

“Is that so? Then tell her that. Go on, tell Everly. Let her know she’s doing it wrong! Perhaps she’ll bow her head in apology and allow us to kill her. Wouldn’t that be a blessing?”

“Necromancy is just a form of magic. Even without the blessings of the temple, can’t she be countered with a sufficiently skilled sword expert?”

“Thomlin, please,” Adler said, as he leaned against the back of his chair and closed his despairing eyes. “Everything you say is common sense, but this situation is anything but common. This woman possesses an immense command of magic like nothing I’ve ever witnessed. The land itself shatters at her approach. The dead serve her will. The sheer feeling of terror she exudes…”

“Adler?”

“I personally commanded the defense of Fortress Rondale, Thomlin. I barely managed to escape before its walls fell. We didn’t have a mere sword expert among our ranks that day, we had a damn Sword King! One of the ten blades.”

Thomlin whistled at that. The rank of Sword King was a title that only a select few ever achieved. It was the very pinnacle of the swordman’s art. The requirements and training involved created a being that existed in the realm of the superhuman. The ten blades of Winstead were an elite brotherhood comprised of nothing but sword kings. They were considered the finest warriors in all the land, each one of them a veritable army unto themselves.

“Which one was it?” Thomlin asked.

“Willem, the Silent Storm,” Adler replied.

“And how did he fare?”

The Silent Storm has been silenced, forever.”

Thomlin was stunned into silence. Adler laughed bitterly at his friend’s reaction then said, “Just imagine how I felt seeing it in person.”

“I don’t understand,” Thomlin eventually said. “Sword Kings are the absolute masters of harada. No matter how powerful a mage’s magic, Willem still should have cut her down.”

Adler leaned over his desk towards Thomlin, his eyes wide, his grin brittle, and said, “The Empress is a sword king as well, Dask! And a more powerful one than poor Willem ever was.”

“Be serious, man!” Thomlin yelled, refusing to believe his ears. “Someone can potentially be a sword king, or they can be a mage, but it is impossible for them to be both! Such a being has never existed! Never!”

“HAHAHA!” laughed the maddened Adler. “And now you begin to see what I’ve been dealing with these past months. Have another drink, please,” he said, as he refilled their cups with a shaking hand.

“Adler…is what you say the truth?” Thomlin asked his old friend quietly.

“It is.”

“Why have you called for me?” Thomlin asked next, although he suspected he knew the answer.

“I wouldn’t make this request if the circumstances weren’t so urgent. Thomlin, please lend us the services of the Silver Lance.”

“Aden, you must be joking. If this situation is as dire as you claim, then how can you possibly expect me to send in Winstead’s only sky-ranked team? If anything, you should be sending for the other ten blades!”

“Thomlin, please, I dare not make that request. The ten blades are uncontrollable! Together they may very well destroy that woman but the mayhem they’ll unleash while doing it would be indescribable. Even the king can barely bring them to heel.”

“And the temple won’t send one of their paladins?”

“Another unacceptable risk! What if they sent Sarah?”

Thomlin had to admit that Adler made a good point. Sarah was not someone you could rely upon for restraint.

“Oh, for the love of…you’re really going to put this all on me, aren’t you?” Thomlin complained. “Adler, the Silver Lance is an irreplaceable treasure. Losing even one of them would mean the end of my career.”

“If this fort falls, we’ll lose our primary staging ground into Oldstead,” Adler said, rubbing tenderly at his temples as he spoke. “Everly has been tearing our forces apart left and right. For the last month, the standing order for my men has been to retreat as soon as she’s sighted. We just can’t hold our ground before her.”

“Do you really believe the Silver Lance could make a difference?” Thomlin asked.

“I don’t know,” Adler said bluntly. “But we must convince the men that we have a means of opposing that monster. We must help them to keep their hearts! They’re terrified of her! She springs forth from nowhere, slaughters them by the dozens and then saunters off the field to who knows where. Like it’s all a game, but she’s the only one who knows the rules.”

“Are you saying you can’t keep track of her?” Thomlin asked. “What’s the use of those damned spirit wielders if they can’t follow one girl?”

“Her defenses are impenetrable. Everything about her is a mystery to us. Thomlin, she may not even be human…”

“Adler, wait!” Thomlin said, now feeling a sudden burst of inspiration. “Have you tried paying her off? If she truly considers herself royalty, then she may be amenable to a few chests of gold. I haven’t met a royal yet who could resist a bribe or ten.”

“Of course, we tried bribing her! We're not amateurs. She demanded far too much.”

“How much is too much?” Thomlin wondered.

Adler described the amount which in turn caused Thomlin’s jaw to drop.

“Is she insane?”

"She said that amount was a pittance compared to the value of her honor. Then she called us paupers for trying to negotiate.”

They both sat in silence for nearly a minute and pondered the price of a madwoman’s honor.

“All right. I suppose I’ll have to rally the guild,” Thomlin decided.

Adler was elated to hear it. “My friend, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet. Sky-ranked adventurers are notoriously independent. Even if I put the call out, the lance won’t necessarily heed it. It’ll take a bit of time to get help mobilized—”

“General Adler! News from the field!” shouted a young officer who burst through the doors, now out of breath from racing to deliver his message.

“Well, don’t just stand there gawping for air, you little fool. Out with it!” Adler ordered him.

“Y-yes, sir! Uh, Sir Ian Kane has located the Empress, and has directly engaged her!”

“WHAT?!” Adler thundered. “Send orders telling him to fall back at once! NOW! NOW! Get out there and see it done! Tell the men to drag him back if they must! Send out our finest! No harm must come to the king’s nephew!”

“Ian Kane?” Thomlin asked. “The Dragon Slayer is here?”

“Yes, Sir Ian bloody Kane!” Adler snapped. “The King’s bastard nephew is running around the field playing at being a free knight! I gave him permission to assist with our efforts on his solemn word that he wouldn’t place himself in danger! Damn him for this! Who’s the one who’ll lose his head if that armored witch slays him? Gods, I need a drink!”

But Thomlin wasn’t so sure a drink was necessary.

Sir Ian Kane, although not a member of the ten swords, was considered one of the greatest swordsmen in the nation. He’d been the final pupil of the legendary mountain splitter himself, and it was said that his skill was equal to that of his teacher. Such was his ability that Thomlin had repeatedly made entreaties to the young man to join the adventurer’s guild.

I’ve seen him wield his blade, Thomlin thought as his heart surged with hope. Sir Ian’s talents are magnificent. He’s a rare, once in a generation genius! Perhaps he’s exactly what is needed to put this villainess down. Fight on, Sir Ian! Fight on and WIN! I’ll pray feverishly for your success.

Yes, this could work. Sir Ian was the Dragon Slayer! Necromancer or not, who could possibly withstand him?

__

“I’m disappointed, your highness,” taunted the Empress as her heavy blade collided with Sir Ian’s, nearly driving him to his knees through sheer brute force. “Where did all your ferocity from earlier go? Is this how you planned to avenge your lost love?”

Everly Graff Cruor’s distorted voice echoed with both malice and mockery as the two fighters continued their duel. It radiated supreme self-confidence and contempt for her opponent. A contempt that was likewise felt.

“Be silent!” Sir Ian Kane growled through his gritted teeth as he forced himself to remain standing. “I’m just getting started, murderer!”

“She put up a much better fight, you know,” Everly said casually. “Nothing spectacular, but I admired the precision of her swordplay. She clearly trained diligently. Not an ounce of natural ability in her entire body, but she surpassed her limitations through repetition and sheer desire for strength. Admirable, truly admirable. Not that it saved her from me...”

The so-called Empress’ expression could not be seen thanks to her intimidating ebon helmet. But beneath it, Ian could feel the witch’s lip curling at him. “And to avenge her, you came running at me as soon as I appeared, like a little hero. You saw the great villainess and knew that justice was on your side! But look at how things have turned out! This isn’t quite how you imagined your revenge would go, is it?”

“I said be silent!” Ian roared back in response, his anger surging throughout his body, lending him renewed strength. “I’ll hear no more of your poisonous words!”

“This world was seeped in poison long before my birth. A foul miasma known as weakness. I shall be its cure, but the taste will be bitter.”

“You’re a disease, Everly!” shouted Sir Ian. "A plague upon the land!"

“When I choose to be,” she said, tauntingly. “Does that upset you?”

As they crossed blades, Ian pushed forward into her guard. Then, with a sharp pivot as he stepped in, he drove his right elbow hard toward Everly’s face, hoping to stun her long enough to make room for a swing at her neck. But Everly responded by holding out her hand to absorb the hit. Then, she retaliated by thrusting her palm against Ian’s clavicle, putting a sharp stop to his momentum.

Her strength was monstrous. Although Sir Ian was taller and heavier, he was dwarfed by the unnatural power she wielded.

As he grunted in pain, Everly backhanded him with a gauntleted fist that snapped his head back and had him spitting blood. Before Sir Ian could respond, Everly crouched low and swept forcefully with the flat of her sword, catching both of Ian’s legs just beneath his knees to knock him painfully off his feet and onto his back.

“No—” the young knight began to say before a boot planted itself firmly on his chest, holding him in place. When he tried to retaliate, the tip of Everly sword was driven through his arm, causing him to scream with pain as he was forced to release his sword.

“Ah,” said Everly. “So much for the great dragon slayer. I wouldn’t wriggle around too much by the way. You might accidentally sever your radial artery. I’d feel terrible if you bled out before I could finish gloating.”

“I'm not afraid to die,” Sir Ian said fearlessly.

In response, the Empress gave her sword an ever so slight twist that made Sir Ian howl once more with pain.

“Is that so?” Everly asked. "The problem with talented people like you, Ian, is that you've managed to avoid experiencing pain for so long that you never learned to properly respect it. That ignorance has stunted your growth. I think a little suffering would season you nicely."

“Damn you!” Sir Ian raged. “This isn’t over, do you hear me? This isn’t nearly over! Mock me all you like, but until you put that sword through my heart, I’ll never stop coming for you! Not until you lie dead at my feet, traitor!”

“You’ve a long way to go until that blessed day, your highness.”

“I don’t care! I’ll stop you! I’ll find a way to stop you!”

"I forgot how adorable your pouting face was."

"To HELL with you!"

“Where was all this energy when we were together?” she wondered. "The sex could have been spicier."

"You're vulgar!"

"You used to love that about me."

"All I see now are my regrets!"

"Well, that's fair too."

“You can’t stand against the entire kingdom, Everly!"

The Empress paused for a moment as though she were carefully considering the prince’s words. Then she shrugged.

“Well, if I can’t stand against it, then I’ll be certain to trample all ov—"

An arrow flew across the field and bounced harmlessly off Everly’s helmet before landing at her feet. Everly seemed confused by its sudden appearance.

“—What are those extras doing? How dare they interrupt me?” she said. Then, an enormous fireball came hurtling at her. As it did, an aura of void-black darkness began emanating around her armored body and swallowed the destructive surge of energy before it could harm her.

“Idiocy. That would have killed you as well,” Everly murmured.

“I would gladly sacrifice my life to see you dead, witch!” Sir Ian boldly said.

“When will you grow up?” sighed Everly. Although her voice remained calm, her body language nakedly revealed her displeasure.

A force of thirty armored men on horseback came racing towards the two combatants, with their weapons drawn and spells prepared. Soon, they were encircled.

“Release Sir Ian and surrender yourself at once, traitor!” ordered their captain.

“You interrupted me, just now. You threw off my line and then you nearly killed my audience,” Everly said.

“I ordered you to surrender—” the captain began to repeat before Everly raised her empty hand and made a swift slashing motion with it.

All around the circle, the members of the rescue party fell ungracefully from their mounts.

Headless.

“NO SCENE STEALING,” seethed the Empress.

She then turned her attention back to Sir Ian and gave an embarrassed little laugh. “I apologize for that. I know they were on your side, but they had no sense of timing. I can’t stand unnecessary improvisation. Mugging for screen time is such an ugly look. Now, where were we?”

“W-what?” asked Sir Ian.

“Before they interrupted us. You said…shoot. Eris? What did he say? Oh, good, thank you. Okay, you said, you can’t stand against the entire kingdom, Everly! Would you please repeat that?”

“What?”

“REPEAT. YOUR. LINE.”

“…you can’t stand against the entire kingdom, Everly,” Ian quietly repeated.

The Empress paused for a moment as though she were carefully considering her opponent’s words. Then she shrugged.

“Well, if I can’t stand against it, then I’ll be certain to trample all over it,” she said.

After saying that, Everly gently removed her sword from Ian’s arm and stepped back, allowing the prince to rise to his unsteady feet.

“What…what are you doing?” asked the confused Sir Ian as he nursed his injury.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m sparing your life,” replied Everly.

“FOR WHAT PURPOSE?” Sir Ian yelled, outraged by her nonchalance.

In response, Everly began to wildly laugh; she was so delighted by Sir Ian's reaction that she couldn't contain her joy at the sight of his anger.

Her mockery continued until her sides hurt and her breath began to wheeze. When she finished and regained her composure, she said:

“Isn’t it obvious? Personal amusement. Sadly though, I no longer have time to play with you.”

“This is no game, Everly!” Sir Ian said angrily.

“You only think that because you lack the perspective gained with power,” Everly replied. “Until you’ve overcome your limits and acquired true strength, you’ll always be a bystander. A victim has no voice in the chorus, Ian.”

“I am no one's victim!” he yelled.

"Then allow me to enlighten you."

Everly’s sword swept across Sir Ian's face in a vicious swipe that left a deep furrow carved into it. The young warrior collapsed to his knees and covered his wounded face with his hands, as blood seeped between his fingers.

On the ground before him lay his ruined left eye.

“If ignorance ever blinds you again, I'll come for the other one,” warned Everly.

She then left Sir Ian behind to continue his helpless sobbing, as she made her way to the gates of Fortress Starling.

As she walked, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky in an unnatural red hue. From the ground beneath her feet, wretched figures dressed in the battered remains of armor and bearing rusted, ancient weaponry, began to rise and fall in step with her as she approached the fortress.

Soon, a legion of them had formed.

A silent army of the dead that awaited their master’s command.

“She’s here!” shrieked a panicked guard who stood watch on the wall. “The Empress is here!”

Everly smiled to herself, pleased that her title was now being recognized. They were finally starting to learn.

She then thrusted her sword towards the fortress. A terrible wave of motion and power erupted from her weapon and tore into the very substance of the earth itself. The ground didn’t just quake, it was sundered. Even the atmosphere seemed to shudder and crack. The air screamed as it was displaced by the forceful energies Everly unleashed.

The gates of Fortress Starling weren’t merely knocked down. They were torn away, ripped aside like thin sheets of paper, as were the walls they were connected to.

With one attack, half of the entire settlement had been smashed into ruinous collapse.

“Their defenses are broken, my children. Go forth and reap!” commanded the Empress.

With the order now given, Everly’s silent army of the dead ran through the breach to begin their bloody culling.

__

 

“Sound the order to retreat. Make no attempt to resist. Do what you must to survive,” Adler commanded his adjutant who hurriedly rushed from the room to fulfill his order, before turning back to Thomlin.

“Well, looks like I was too late in seeking your help, my friend. Get out of here, Dask. Remember what you saw today.”

“Adler, what are you saying?” Thomlin asked him. “There’s time enough for us both to escape!”

“No, I’m afraid there isn’t,” chided Adler. “I told you; the crown will not accept failure. I’d rather die honorably here with my lads than cringe before those unforgiving bastards at court. My neck’s so fat they might have to drop the guillotine twice to properly execute me. I’d rather not experience that.”

“Adler…”

“I had a good run, Dask. Far better than I deserved. Although, I do wish sometimes that I hadn’t let ambition tempt me into joining the military. I think the most fun I ever had in my life were those days I spent with you and the others, adventuring. Too bad we can’t go back to that time, eh?”

“…Those were great days for me as well, Aden. The best,” Thomlin said softly.

“HA! Listen to us, reminiscing about times past, like those sad old men we enjoyed mocking in our youth! What a joke age makes of us. Get out of here, Dask. Get out of here and warn them. Warn anyone who’ll listen.”

“Aden—”

“JUST GO!” Adler shouted as he poured himself a final drink. When he looked up, Thomlin was gone.

“Ah, about time. He’s a good man, he really is, but he always needed to be pushed into doing the hard part,” Adler said to himself as he sipped his drink. "This world has never been kind to those too soft to act."

All around him, Adler heard men scrambling to escape. He also heard screaming, glass shattering, and the clattering steps of…things that shouldn’t be walking.

The sound of his lads dying tore at him. Adler knew that as their leader, he should be out there with them. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave his desk. He didn’t want to see the bodies; he wanted to remember his soldiers as they were. Well-trained, dependable, loyal, and brave.

He didn’t want to see what the skeletons had made of them.

Speaking of which, the skeletons soon arrived at his office door and began filling the place up, surrounding him on all sides. As one, they stepped towards him with their weapons held high.

“Well, that was life,” Adler said to no one in particular.

“I don’t suppose any of you would care for a drink?”

__

 

When the skeletons completed their work, when the fighting had died down and the dying pleas for mercy were silenced, their master nodded her approval and sent her pets back to their rest. She then turned her back to the devastation she’d wrought and walked away into the night.

She soon vanished from sight in a flash of eldritch red.

__

Everly soon reappeared before her ominous black tower, a fearsome place that existed within the chaotic planes of the astral realm. The massive building stood against a backdrop of endless raging storms, in a barren landscape filled with flame and crowned by darkness.

It was her home, her castle, her personal sanctuary.

And truly, it was dope as hell.

Everly entered through the front gates and approached a throne that sat in the center of the first floor. It was a twisted sight to behold, covered in detailed sculptures of screaming figures tormented by ferocious, snarling beasts with snapping jaws that tore into their helpless flesh.

It was the sort of throne that might appear in the feverish dreams of a prophet of the apocalypse. Or on the album cover of a particularly cool metal band. Probably a German one. Those guys went hard.

After seating herself on her fearsome chair, the Empress silently reviewed the events of the day.

Then she sighed with immense satisfaction, before gleefully kicking her feet in the air.

“That was boss level. That was absolutely boss level. Did you hear that line I said about Kane’s eyes being veiled by weakness? Guys, I totally adlibbed that! It just came to me on the spot!”

“I was observing through the viewing crystal, your majesty,” said a sinister looking goblin wearing a spotless white suit. “Your gift for improvisation is an absolute wonder to behold.”

The goblin’s name was Carter, and he proudly served as Everly’s righthand man.

“Appreciated,” Everly replied. Her voice, although still distorted, contained considerably more cheer now that she was back home. “Improvisation isn’t my forte; you know I prefer planning things in advance, but when inspiration strikes, you just gotta roll with it, right?”

That boy was a fool to cross blades with you, rumbled a voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the earth. The weak should know their place.

“You never did like Ian very much, did you, Titania?" Everly asked with amusement.

He thinks too highly of himself. His prattling annoys me. Won't you please kill him, next time?

"Aww. You're hard to say no to. If you're nice, I promise I'll consider it."

Personally, I most enjoyed the moment when you left that foolish little prince on his knees in utter despair, came a woman’s seductive but venomous voice. I could taste his pain. How deliciously cruel of you, mistress.

“Well, what can I say? Leaving a sworn enemy with a gruesome reminder of my power felt thematically appropriate. True villains leave scars.”

Wonderful. And I’m certain that particular scar won’t heal for quite some time, Eris said with malignant delight.

“He should thank me for it,” opined Everly. "His looks gave him too much confidence. Now, he has depth. No depth perception, but definitely lots of depth."

Everly Graff Cruor, the Empress, the terror of the battlefield and the self-styled ruler of darkness, reached for her helmet and removed it.

Out from it spilled shimmering locks of bright golden hair which framed the breathtaking features of the young woman they belonged to. So great was Everly's beauty, that it easily captivated the heart of any stranger who beheld her.

Only a closer look into her dazzling hazel eyes would reveal a glimpse of the mad fires that raged wildly within her; they were the eyes of a girl who worshipped destruction itself. One who happily shared her faith with others.

She was also frequently told she had a rotten personality.

“Woot! I killed a lot of dudes today. Makes it feel like a fried chicken sort of night, doesn’t it?” she asked Carter.

“Does it really?” he replied, knowing better than to ask how killing anyone could make someone desire poultry.

“I think it does! Effort deserves reward. So, I deserve some friiiiiiied chicken!” proclaimed the Empress.

“I’ll have your meal prepared at once,” the goblin said with a bow.

“Don’t skimp on the hot sauce! You know I like having some heat in each bite.”

“I’d never dream of it, Great Everly.”

“I love you, man. God, I’m staaaarving,” she said.

Everly followed Carter out of the throne room to the dining hall, while removing bits of her armor as she walked. A pair of ghostly attendants followed behind her and patiently gathered each discarded piece for storage. When she’d completely freed herself of it, one of them handed her a robe to wear as she sat to eat her meal.

The chicken was very good.

“Bitchin’, she said with a satisfied smile.

“Oldstead sends you their fervent gratitude, majesty,” Carter informed her. "Their troops will soon take command of the remains of Fortress Starling."

“Yeah, gratitude, that’s nice,” Everly replied between mouthfuls. “More importantly, are they prepared to follow through on the deal?”

“Sadly, there’s still considerable resistance to the idea of you becoming their monarch."

"Still? Which part of obey or die are they struggling with?"

"The prime minister believes that he can succeed in having you assassinated before you claim your rightful due.”

“Aw, cute. Pin him naked to a wall where everyone can see him.”

“Alive or dead?”

“Chef’s choice.”

“As my Empress commands.”

The goblin left to fulfill his duty as Everly greedily continued to devour her food. After she finished her third plate, she pushed it aside and sighed in contentment.

Delicious food truly was a heavenly reward for a day’s hard labor.

Coming to this world had been the best thing that ever happened to her.

She wondered what sort of fun tomorrow would bring?

 

________________________________

Glossary

Places.

The Kingdom of Winstead: The primary setting of the story. The strongest nation on its continent. It was once the center of a world spanning empire that collapsed thousands of years ago. Even though it has only recently recovered from a devastating civil war, its current king has ambitions to begin rebuilding the empire. However, his desires may exceed his reach.

The Free Republic of Oldstead: Once the southern half of the kingdom, Oldstead successfully revolted against Winstead’s rule two centuries ago and declared itself a free democracy.  The kings of Winstead have nursed a grudge ever since.  Due to Oldstead’s interference in the recent civil war, Winstead has declared a punitive war against them known as the summer campaign.  Until recently, Oldstead was losing badly.  I wonder what’s changed?

Fortress Rondale:  The second fort built by Winstead deep in Oldstead's territory to allow for easier staging for the army.  Recently captured. Named after Duke Rondale, the former supreme commander of Winstead’s army who died while building it.

Fortress Starling: The first fort built by Winstead deep in Oldstead's territory to allow for easier staging for the army.  Recently captured.  Named after Lady Starling Rondale, the favored daughter of Duke Rondale, who unbeknownst to the public had her father assassinated so she could claim his fortune.

 

Terminology.

Harada: Also known as sword aura.  The internal energy cultivated by rare and talented melee combatants that gifts them with superhuman abilities that can counter the power of magic users.  The difficulty involved in cultivating harada makes it impossible to cultivate mana as well.

Mana: Also called magic. The external energy cultivated by mages with their elemental servants.  The ability to wield magic is genetic in nature and limited by decree to noble and royal bloodlines.  The difficulties involved with learning magic makes it impossible to also cultivate harada.

 In Winstead, commoners who are discovered being able to wield magic are automatically conscripted into lifelong indentured servitude by the nobility, or killed if they refuse.  Centuries of this cruel mistreatment eventually led to the revolt that ended with the founding of the Oldstead Republic.

Knights: In this world, there is no delineation between magic users and melee fighters.  A mage is as dangerous with his hands and his sword as he is with his spells.  All magic users automatically qualify for the rank of Knight, as do harada users at the expert level.  Mage knights receive the rank, Knight-Ignis.  Harada experts are called Knight-Magnus.

 A third rank of Knight exists, called Knight-Humus.  These are men of noble birth with no capacity for magic or harada.  They serve as junior officers who bridge the gap between commoner soldiers and the superhuman elites.  Knight-Humus can still be dangerous thanks to their superior training and equipment.  Many of them wield ancestral enchanted weaponry that can make them almost as much of a threat as the lesser skilled members of the upper echelons.

Sword King: Extremely rare Harada Practitioners who have reached the pinnacle of skill. Valued as national treasures. (Although they’re universally known as sword kings, many who achieve the rank use a variety of different weapons.)

Magus: Extremely rare mages who have reached the pinnacle of power. Valued as national treasures.

People.

General Aden Adler:  A former renowned adventurer who once helped save the life of the previous king of Winstead and was rewarded with a noble rank and a lofty military command.  It was the worst decision he ever made, and he has deeply regretted it for decades.  Hates his life, drinks a lot.

Grandmaster Dask Thomlin: A renowned adventurer who once helped save the life of the previous king of Winstead.  Although he was offered a noble rank and a lofty military command, he turned it down because he couldn’t bear to walk away from the life of an adventurer.  Really the best decision ever, this guy loves his life.  Every day is great!  He’s now the current Grandmaster of Winstead’s national guild.

Sir Ian Kane, The Dragon Slayer: The nephew of Winstead’s king.  Which technically makes him the son of the man the king had killed to secure his throne, which is why he now uses his mother’s maiden name and feels awkward at family reunions. He didn’t kill a real dragon.  He killed a sword king whose alias was “The Dragon.”  Killing a sword king in single combat automatically grants you the rank of Sword King for yourself, and an alias of your own, hence why he’s known as “The Dragon Slayer.”  Clever, right?  Used to date you know who.

Everly Graff Cruor:  Unlike Sir Ian, she did kill a real dragon once.  It talked a lot of smack that it couldn’t back up.  Ironically, they taste great roasted.

Carter: Is a goblin that will kill you in your sleep if he suspects you’re a threat.

Eris: Don’t ask about Eris.

Titania: Hates braggarts.  Unless they’re Everly.

Willem, the Silent Storm: Is dead.