Chapter 533

Nick kept his esoteric senses fixed on the void, walking beside Devon and discussing the merits of dwarven steel, while a fraction of his mind tracked the King’s Shadow.

Only when the spy slipped through the stone archways and far beyond his perception did he drop the facade. He exhaled, releasing the rigid control he had over his own soul.

"They bought it," he said quietly, the words meant only for his brother.

Devon glanced at him, and his shoulders relaxed. “It actually worked.”

"For now," Nick agreed. "Come. You actually do need a blade.”

They resumed their walk, turning down a bustling thoroughfare where Yohan’s Emporium of Weapons and Gear stood at the end of the street, its glass windows gleaming in the sunlight. The bell chimed a bright note as they entered.

Yohan hurried from the back room, wiping soot from his hands with a rag. "My Lords! I heard about the commotion in the old market. The guards are said to be hauling a dozen sellswords to the dungeons as we speak.”

"A minor disagreement over local laws," Devon said smoothly. "My brother handled it. We are here for dwarven steel.”

Yohan’s eyes lit up, and he ushered them to a velvet-lined display case at the back of the shop. Resting on the dark fabric were three longswords, their steel a dark, mottled gray, folded hundreds of times to create a rippling pattern along the blade.

Dad brought back a lot of loot, but most of it was raw materials, and I just don’t have time to forge something. The items sold by merchants are better for my purposes.

Nick reached out, hovering his hand over the nearest blade. He pushed a thin tendril of mana into the metal, and the steel hummed, speaking of earth, fire, and decades of masterful forging beneath the mountains, of blood and guts it spilled. It was dense and thirsty, capable of holding a complex array of runes without shattering under the strain.

The second was no less, but the third drew his attention, untainted by a dark dwarf’s psychic presence, unlike the others.

"This one," Nick said, tapping the glass above the chosen sword.

At Yohan’s nod, Devon drew the weapon and tested its balance. The steel hissed as it cleared the scabbard, eager to be free. "It feels right. The center of gravity is perfect for the Falling Water.”

Nick paid Yohan a handful of silver and a dozen gold coins, brushing off the merchant’s attempts to offer a discount. A prosperous Barony required prosperous citizens.

They returned to Crowley Manor as the commotion from the arrests died down, and a quick check with his senses told him that Darien had it all covered. Nick left Devon to practice his forms with the new blade and headed straight for the solar.

Eugene and Elena were waiting. The hearth fire crackled, warding off the creeping winter chill.

"The Shadow is gone for good, if the speed they were moving at was any indication,” Nick reported, sitting down. "They left through the western gates an hour ago, and the Crown should receive a report of a loyal, if a bit brutal, border lord who cares for nothing beyond his own walls.”

Eugene poured a cup of dark wine and pushed it across the table. “I’m glad. We’ve bought ourselves some valuable time.”

"Time to grow even beyond their wildest expectations," Elena added, a strange gleam in her eyes. "Which means it is time for you to leave.”

Nick took a sip of the wine, letting the spiced warmth settle in his stomach. "Floria is secure. Honeyton is growing. Oakenhollow is stabilizing. The northern border is quiet. There is nothing left for me here but complacency. I need to consult Master Tholm in Alluria, and then... I need to go to the Capital.”

He kept his tone measured, revealing nothing of the brief, chilling encounter with Circe across the dimensional void. The perils of his deeper magics were a burden his parents could not help him bear. They needed to focus on tangible politics.

"You have outgrown our little pond, Nicholas," Eugene murmured, his expression settling into wry pride. “That does not mean we intend to remain small for long. The prestige tier demands conflict and Feats, and to achieve our goals, we shall have both.”

"It does," Elena agreed. She traced the rim of her goblet, a spark of pure ambition flaring in her gaze. "Devon knows this. He spoke to me yesterday about the gap between you two. He intends to push for the boundary himself, though he knows the road will take years. And I... I find the idea of settling into mere administration distasteful. House Crowley will need more than one anchor if we are to survive the coming decades.”

Nick smiled faintly. The drive to grow was contagious. "You will need a formidable foe to close the gap, Mother.”

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He wasn’t surprised to hear that more of his family intended to make for Prestige. It wasn’t exactly common, given how exacting it could be to earn such Feats, and many people—even nobles with the full support of their Houses—died in the process.

But it was true they’d need that power. Ogden’s warning that Berea wouldn’t be content in its current state for long loomed over them, and even if that wasn’t the case, the attention of the Royal Court and the High Nobles of the realm was slowly turning to them.

“Fortunately, I have time to find one," Elena replied with a wink.

There was more to discuss, but little could be decided at the moment until the right opportunities arose.

Once they moved on, Eugene opened a leather-bound envelope on his desk and extracted a folded piece of parchment sealed with wax. He slid it across the table to Nick.

"The Capital is a snake pit," he warned, his tone growing more serious. "The merchants smile as they rob you, and the nobles offer wine laced with poison. You cannot go in blind. When you arrive, seek out Sir Leon Sadie.”

Nick picked up the letter and turned it over in his hands. “Did you send him ahead, then?”

“Indeed, he’ll help you out," Eugene nodded. “Leon is a man who remembers his debts, and if everything goes well, he should command a modest garrison in the upper rings of the city. He lacks political power, but he’s been gathering eyes and ears and building an understanding of the current factions. Give him this letter. He will help you.”

"I will find him," Nick promised, tucking the parchment into his coat.

With his departure scheduled for the following day, Nick spent the remaining daylight hours walking the streets of Floria, settling his affairs.

His first stop was the Temple of Sashara, where the first evening prayers had just ended, leaving the sanctuary quiet. Marthas knelt before the central altar, his soul burning like a miniature sun in the ether.

He rose as Nick approached, smiling faintly in satisfaction.

He already knows. Not surprising, even given the wide berth the Shadow afforded him. Within the Goddess’ Domain, there is little he doesn’t see.

"The wind shifts eastward," the priest noted, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall.

"Tomorrow morning," Nick confirmed.

Marthas reached into his vestments and produced a solid gold medallion stamped with Sashara’s sunburst motif. He pressed it into Nick’s palm.

"The Main Temple in the Capital is a viper's nest of politics and misplaced faith," Marthas warned, looking more serious than he’d ever seen him, aside from his exorcism of a Lesser Demon and his fight with the Daughter of Fate. "But there are still true believers among the clergy. Show the temple guards this seal. It marks you as a friend of the flame and will open doors, Nicholas, but do not let your guard down.”

"I will be careful," Nick said, pocketing the medallion with a respectful bow.

He wasn’t exactly sure why the Prelate was being so forthcoming with his help, even after his favor with Sashara had been used, but he wasn’t going to pry, especially as the massive man had already turned back to his quiet contemplation of Her ashes.

Unwilling to remain under Her divine gaze any longer, Nick left the temple and walked to the northeastern shops, then entered Ogden's shop.

Rhea stood behind the counter, packing a series of glass vials into a travel case. She looked up, wiped her hands on a cloth, and pushed it toward him.

“Master said you’d be coming soon. These are high-tier healing potions, spiritual restoratives, and three vials of liquid fire," she listed briskly.

Ogden emerged from the back room. "Keep your head down in the big city, boy. Dragons and kings share the same flaw: they hate anything that casts a longer shadow than theirs.”

Nick vanished the case into his ring without asking why he’d been given liquid fire, even though he was more than capable of summoning the element himself. Given the sheer potency he sensed in the vial, he had a suspicion about its origin.

He turned to Rhea and took a moment to take her in. In the weeks since their return from Toneburg, she’d grown a bit stronger, but more importantly, she seemed more settled.

"Next time we meet," Rhea said, her chin lifting with stubborn determination, "I will be a proper Alchemist.”

"I look forward to it," Nick replied, offering a genuine smile before stepping back into the cooling evening air.

His final visit took him to the beastmen quarter. The streets here were narrower, having avoided most of the rebuilding frenzy, but they’d expanded as well, absorbing almost every beastman among the refugees.

He stopped in front of a modest wooden house and knocked softly.

The door opened. Elia stood in the threshold, looking past him as if she couldn’t quite see him, and he resisted the urge to curse. The chaotic static of prophecy crackled around her soul, a storm of splintered futures.

She reached out, her fingers finding his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"The Shadow found nothing," she whispered.

“Indeed. We’re safe, my friend,” he replied.

Yet she did not smile. She leaned closer, her sightless eyes wide. "The Capital is a city of gilded cages, Nicholas. Beware the smiling men who offer you crowns. They trade in chains. Every throne there is built on rot that runs deep into the earth.”

Nick felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. He placed his hand over hers. "I will not accept any crowns, real or metaphorical.”

After a moment, Elia released his wrist with a nod, then stepped back into the shadows of her home. "Safe journeys, Eidolon.”

Nick returned to the manor somewhat unsettled as the stars began to pierce the darkening sky. He made a small detour to grab his brother’s sword and sequestered himself in his quarters, requesting a small brazier, a set of etching tools, and privacy.

He had gifts to prepare.

He began with Devon’s. He laid the steel across his lap and focused his intent, etching microscopic kanji into the crossguard. He wove the concept of Weight to balance the blade perfectly for Devon’s grip and layered a Kinetic Absorption seal into the fuller.

As he pushed his mana into the metal, it reacted, vibrating and greedily drinking the power. Nick paused, eyes narrowing, and pushed his perception deeper into the weapon.

A faint hum echoed through the soul-scape. A closer look revealed a budding consciousness, a tiny spark of conceptual awareness born of the friction between Prestige-tier magic and master-crafted dwarven steel.

A Spiritual Sword. As far as he knew, it was little more than a legend, a weapon capable of growing alongside its wielder, learning its forms, and guiding its strikes.

Nick smiled, feeding a fraction of his protective intent into the spark, nurturing it. He wrapped the hilt in fresh leather, then set the blade aside.

Next, he took a scabbard similar to the one Rose used for her longsword. He carved a looping array of runes along the inside of the casing. He bound the concept of Accumulation to the leather. The scabbard would passively siphon ambient mana from the air, storing it like a coiled spring. When the blade was drawn, friction would release the stored energy, granting Rose a single, explosively powerful slash to compensate for her sluggish channels.

It’d take her months to fully restore her Royal Bloodline, and hopefully this gift would ease the sting.

Finally, he took two polished jade discs. He spent hours carving intricate, overlapping geometric patterns onto their surfaces and wove spiritual mana into the stone, creating a disruptive field to scramble telepathic probes and memory delves.

They were not foolproof against a determined mage, especially a Prestige one, but they would instantly alert the wearer to an intrusion and buy precious seconds.

By the time he finished, the sky outside his window had brightened.