Commerce Emperor Chapter 37: Peace through Iron (Patreon)

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I spent the better part of the night after the battle assisting Mr. Fronan in the rescue efforts.

Walbourg’s packed and wooden suburbs had proven a fertile ground for Belgoroth’s flames to spread through. Thankfully, we managed to contain the inferno within an hour or so. Duchess Griselda’s witchcrafters proved as adept at putting out fires as in starting them, and she quickly mobilized the city watch to assist in the effort. Mr. Fronan’s connection to the local plants proved invaluable in detecting civilians trapped under debris, while I used my powers to shift injuries around in order to support the city’s overwhelmed healers.

The amount of casualties had reached seven hundred by the time I returned to the manor to check on Soraseo’s progress. A high number, but thankfully far less than what a Blight could have caused. Meanwhile, both Selestine and Marika worked tirelessly on our fellow Hero; exorcizing her corruption, tending to her burns, and doing all that was in their power to keep her alive. I wished I could have helped them, but Soraseo was too incoherent to agree to a trade.

I missed Colmar. His medical expertise would have come in handy to save Soraseo’s life. The burns she suffered from should have killed her twice over. Worse, Belgoroth’s unholy flames carried his vile essence. Our beloved Monk suffered more exposure in an instant than days inside a Blight’s center.

Her odds of survival were… grim.

At least she has a chance to survive, I tried to tell myself. I couldn’t say the same for Vernisla, whose charred bones we found under the remains of her slain mount. She had dared to engage Belgoroth in melee to save Soraseo and paid the ultimate price for her bravery.

I would have loved to say that her sudden demise saddened me. Alas, I had barely known her for a few days and we didn’t have time to truly talk outside of a military context. As awful as it sounded, I mourned the loss of the Cavalier more than the woman who wielded the mark.

At least the Fatebinder quickly released the Class back into the world. Witnesses had seen the mark fly out of Mount Erebia and further north.

Towards Archfrost.

If Belgoroth’s devastating rampage hadn’t put the final nail in the coffin of Walbourg’s rebellion, this news would. The support of a Hero—a Vassal Class of the Knight no less—had given the duchy’s rebellion a degree of legitimacy. For their champion to die and their mark to select a loyalist replacement threatened their credibility. It made it seem as if the heavens themselves had sided with Archfrost.

Ironic as it sounded, the Lord of Wrath might have inadvertently helped our peace along.

I was sitting in the manor’s lobby, waiting for the door to Soraseo’s chambers to open—both Marika and Selestine insisted I leave them alone and let them focus on her—when a familiar cloud of smoke popped out of nowhere beside me.

“From your expression and the smoke outside, I assume you faced your share of troubles,” Eris said upon materializing. She carried a travel bag filled to the brim with letters. “Somehow, I always manage to arrive late to tragedies.”

“Better than to arrive early and watch them unfold,” I replied, my arms crossed and a scowl on my face. “We fought Belgoroth.”

Eris’ eyes immediately widened in alarm. I quickly recounted last night’s events to her as she sat on my left, the both of us waiting for the door to open; whether Selestine and Marika would bring us good or bad news remained to be seen.

“You tried to redeem Bel?” Eris sounded vaguely bemused that I even tried it. “And he listened?”

“For about a minute and a half.” Long enough to trick him at the very least. “You know what’s the saddest part? I think that he resents what he has become deep down.”

Eris looked away, her gaze heavy with remorse. “You mean, what I’ve made of him?”

I would have liked to tell Eris not to blame herself, but she contributed too much to Belgoroth’s madness to listen to me.

“At least you tried to turn your life around,” I pointed out. “When I presented the same offer to Belgoroth, he soundly rejected me. He chose evil.”

“Evil?” The word drew a chuckle from Eris. “When the Goddess selected him as the first Knight, Bel vowed never to rest until evil had been driven from Pangeal. I remember what he meant by ‘evil.’”

“I would say burning down a town for the sake of mindless destruction counts.”

“True. But what about those who watched it happen and did nothing? Does inaction count as evil? Does ignorance?” Eris sighed. “Bel came to agree. Over time, his definition of evil grew to encompass all of humanity.”

“Himself included?” I asked. “Does he consider his mad vision of an oath more important than life itself?”

Eris confirmed my suspicions with a sharp nod. “There is nothing more stubborn than a paladin who stays true to his vows, especially when they conflict with reality. In his mind, destroying the world and himself is the only way to stay true to his principles.”

I snorted in disdain. I put great value in my promises too, but I wasn’t afraid of changing my mind when the facts changed. Belgoroth would rather sacrifice minions on the altar of honor rather than lose face in his mind. He did not deserve pity.

“I will say it again, Eris: I offered him a helping hand and he spat at it,” I consoled her. “He could have cast away his anger out of his own free will and instead chose to wallow in it. Do not blame yourself for his choice. You helped create him, but he decided to stay that way himself.”

“That’s the saddest part, Robin,” Eris replied with sorrow. “After centuries of slaughter and tarnishing his Class, I don’t think Bel will change his ways. The other me hopes to eventually reason with him, to control him, but she’s wrong. Bel will never stop killing. If he turned his head to look back, he would have to face the mountains of corpses he piled up, the oceans of blood he shed, and the mistakes he made.”

“That’s pathetic,” I replied without any sympathy. “Cowardly, even.”

“I wouldn’t be so judgemental, Robin. We are all running from something.” Eris stared at the door, her legs crossed. “It always catches up to us in the end.”

My jaw tightened. I wouldn’t compare Belgoroth and Soraseo—considering the weight of their respective sins—but I could see the similarities. My friend tried to escape her crushing guilt in death. She might very much find it.

“We didn’t find Belgoroth’s sword in the Abattoir’s wreckage,” I said, changing the subject. “Will didn’t have it anymore.”

“The Knot of Wrath smuggled it further north,” Eris replied with confidence. “I believe I mentioned that Colmar wasn’t the only beastman among us. The other, the Hunter, lives on the other side of the northern mountains.”

“The Hunter?” I recalled that it was a Vassal Class of the Ranger, but I couldn’t remember its power for the life of me.

“His Class is mine’s opposite, in a way,” Eris explained. “I can go to any place I want; while he can find whatever he wants. When I asked him to find the sword, his power led him straight to the City of Wrath.”

The City of Wrath… The very name sent shivers down my spine. Belgoroth massacred an entire kingdom when he first fell, and the atrocity created a Blight so powerful it opened a rift between life and death: the Deadgate which Soraseo sought to access so desperately.

We knew from Florence that Belgoroth had been trapped in the City of Wrath and that his sword was the key needed to free him. With the seal now so thin that Belgoroth could possess a golem, his escape was now all but inevitable.

“When do you think he will break out?” I asked Eris.

“I cannot say yet,” Eris replied with a sigh. “I’m sure he’ll escape before summer’s end at the very least.”

“And what will he do once he does?” Eris was the one who knew Belgoroth best, so I assumed she would know. “We’ve heard reports that beastmen tribes are gathering an army. Will Belgoroth lead them to march on Archfrost?”

“Lead?” Eris scoffed. “Bel does not lead, he slaughters. He will kill anyone that stands in his way and the beastmen army will pick on his leftovers. Once he has slain all of Archfrost, he will then turn around and execute the fools who followed him.”

After last night, I very much believed her. Belgoroth would not stop until he had burned the entire world to cinders.

“Do you think we can beat him?” I asked her. Our last battle made me realize that as dangerous as the Knight and its Vassals were individually, the combination of all of their abilities made Belgoroth exponentially more dangerous. How could Roland hope to duel a foe who not only shared his power, but could also predict all his movements and ride any mount?

“The Knight and his Vassal Classes might match Bel if they join forces and fight as one, but defeating him is only half the problem.” Eris scowled. “So long as a single person wishes harm on another, Bel will get back up. Cut his head off, and he will put it back on his neck. Burn him up, and he will arise from the ashes. Impale him, and he will wield the stake like a spear.”

I realized I should consider Belgoroth a natural disaster rather than a powerful foe. We might as well be discussing how to stop a hurricane. A sentient, malicious hurricane.

“Then what other options do we have?” I pondered out loud. “Can we seal him away again?”

“I’m not sure if that’s possible anymore,” Eris confessed. “Lady Alexios has been working on new seal designs, but Bel had centuries to ponder his defeat. I’m not certain the same trick will work twice on him. Moreover, his old prison was powered by people’s fear of the Demon Ancestors. That feeling has waned over the centuries.”

I sank deeper into my chair. “You have a wonderful way of lifting my spirits, you know that?”

“Would you rather that I lie about our chances?” Eris shook her head and denied me that kindness. “I won’t deny that Bel is a tough customer. However, we do have many Heroes at our disposal to fight him off. I’m sure we can figure a way out of this bind.”

For the sake of victory, I had to share her optimism. I tried to consider the problem from different angles. Did we need to confront Belgoroth at all? Avoiding a costly battle at all could prove a victory in itself.

“Belgoroth’s Blights are connected to the City of Wrath,” I recalled. “Do you think Colmar’s plan to disrupt the former might work on the latter? If we dropped a payload of Sanctuary-charged runestones in the center of Belgoroth’s power, would it prevent his escape?”

To my sorrow, Eris appeared less than convinced. “Honestly, Robin, I wouldn’t bet on it. Disrupting the Blights might delay the seal’s failure by a few years, but at this point, it will fail.”

“In the absence of anything better, we might as well consider the option,” I pointed out.

If that plan failed… no, even if it succeeded, it would only kick the Belgoroth issue down the line. He would return one day to confront a future generation of Heroes. One that might be less prepared and united than ours.

What else could we do? Defeating Belgoroth in battle would prove a temporary measure at best if we couldn’t contain him afterward. If I could trick the Lord of Wrath into a deal, then mayhaps…

No, no, no. I was thinking it all wrong. A Merchant’s role wasn’t to fight battles or win them, but to support their allies, foster wealth, and forge unbreakable bonds. My strength didn’t come from the skills I had gathered, but from the friends I had made and my understanding of the collective consciousness that drove our powers.

I had been considering how to defeat Belgoroth when I should have been pondering how to destroy the Lord of Wrath. If Eris’ redemption didn’t put an end to the Devil of Greed, then I needed to find another approach.

I reviewed all I had learned so far: how Daltia used soulforged adamantine tools to grant her allies immortality, how the flow of negative essence and their bearers’ flaws corrupted the original classes and eventually turned them into the Demon Ancestors. A somewhat clear picture formed in my mind.

“Eris,” I said after some thoughtful consideration. “Stop me if I’m wrong.”

“With pleasure, my dear Merchant,” she teased me. “What troubles you?”

“The Demon Ancestors exist in their current forms because of three elements.” I raised three fingers to illustrate my point. “The Heroes they used to be; the soulforged adamantine object tying their immortality to a worldly concept; and one of the original Seven Great Classes.”

Eris squinted at me. “That is correct.”

“We know what happens when we remove the original Hero from this infernal triad,” I explained. “They lose the corrupted class and their Demon Ancestor identity survives as a bodiless incarnation of sin tied to their adamantine object. If we somehow convinced Belgoroth to repent, his demonic self would remain as a spirit bound to his old mark and sword.”

Considering that the Hero’s repentance wouldn’t put an end to the Demon Ancestor, I had to consider other options. I wanted more than a temporary fix. I wanted a solution.

“Suppose that, instead of removing the original Hero, we subtracted another element of the triad,” I suggested. “Since you’re the one most familiar with the matter, what do you think would happen if we somehow managed to destroy Belgoroth’s sword?”

“That’s not possible,” Eris replied bluntly. “Not unless we manage to put an end to the very concept of anger. I’m confident in our skills, Robin, but this task is beyond any of us.”

“It’s only a thought experiment,” I replied. “Please indulge me.”

Eris intertwined her fingers and pondered my demand. “If we somehow managed to destroy Bel’s sword… I suspect he would become as mortal as you are. However, the corrupted Knight class would likely pass on to another bearer should he perish.”

“Interesting,” I muttered. I had half-expected that answer. “How would this process unfold?”

“If only I knew, handsome.” Eris shrugged her shoulders. “Our generation had no Fatebinder to regulate our marks. The Knight Class might return to the Goddess, or more likely, it would immediately select a bearer that matches its temperament. Which, considering its corruption, would likely be some bloodthirsty madman or berserker.”

“So if we destroy Belgoroth’s sword and then slay him, the title of the Lord of Wrath will become an inheritable curse.” A prospect hardly any better than sealing an immortal demon for a short while. “Then, what if we removed the corrupted mark?”

“That too is impossible,” Eris replied. “The original seven were gifts from the Goddess Herself. Even the Artifacts couldn’t alter them.”

“But their wielders could,” I pointed out.

“Yes,” Eris confirmed with a sorrowful expression. “A bearer’s sins can stain the marks. Hence why the Artifacts put in failsafes in the second generation.” Her eyes suddenly lightened up. “Wait, I see where this is going. You aren’t considering how to destroy the original mark, but how to purify them.”

“I am,” I confirmed with a sharp nod. “I mean, it does make sense, no? If we can purify a Blight with a steady flow of positive essence, why not a corrupted Class too? What was tainted can be cleansed.”

“In theory,” Eris confirmed, albeit with heavy skepticism. “However, so long as the marks’ bearers are bound to the object fueling their immortality, their Classes are constantly exposed to a flow of sinful essence. We cannot clean a cloth constantly drenched in tar.”

“But suppose we do purify the mark and dissociate it from the triad,” I insisted. “What would happen then?”

“The former Hero would become an immortal human wielding a powerful cursed relic,” Eris replied. “Bel was a peerless knight, but he would be no match for the likes of Roland or Soraseo without the mark. A good prison could probably hold him indefinitely.”

Of all three scenarios, this was the one I would favor most. This outcome also opened the possibility of imprisoning the fallen Heroes and forcing them to pay for their crimes; or at least contain them. Maybe some of them would try to turn their lives around like Eris did. A man could always dream.

I understood the problem a little better now. A Demon Ancestor’s existence rested on a self-reinforcing loop. The Class granting them extraordinary power was constantly kept corrupted by a flow of sins, itself channeled through an indestructible object bound to the bearer’s soul and tied to a concept born of the collective consciousness of all mortals.

The lynchpin was the corrupted Class itself. The marks’ powers were what separated a Demon Ancestor from a mundane fiend or criminal. I could only see two ways to permanently neutralize them: either end the sin that fueled their corruption, or purify the mark that granted them their power.

“You compared a mark’s corruption to a cloth being constantly tainted by a flow of tar,” I told Eris. “If we cannot end that flow, would preventing it from reaching the mark be enough?”

“Like raising a barrier between all of the world’s anger and the Knight Class?” Eris stroked her chin. “An interesting idea… I suppose it will take a very long time to purify the mark, though it should make it possible.”

Then the idea was worth a shot. “So you agree with the concept.”

“The hypothesis is sound,” Eris confirmed with a chuckle. “However, I draw a blank on how to test it out. The mark is bound to Bel’s soul, and thus the sword he hid it within.”

“True,” I conceded. Belgoroth refused to form a contract with me, so my power wouldn’t help separating them. Neither could it fully separate a mark from the soul, or Eris would have fully lost her connection to Daltia and her demonic self, however remote it had become. “So far though, it sounds easier to achieve than ending all hatred in the world.”

“It is,” Eris confirmed. She searched in her bag and dropped a pile of documents onto my lap. I immediately recognized the treaty draft I’d asked her to show Roland. “This should prove a step in the right direction. Our prince charming agreed to your idea of forming a parliament without any reservation.”

“Truly?” I had hoped for that outcome while still fearing failure: I trusted Roland’s good heart, but I did ask him to concede some power and compromise with the faction that slew his father.

I read through the draft and checked the annotations. Besides a few minor edits—which I quickly recognized as Therese’s handwork—most of the structure remained the same. Roland had decided to put the greater good ahead of his absolute kingship. His heart remained in the right place.

“Did Therese convince him to sign it?” I asked.

“Clever boy,” Eris replied with a chuckle. “I suspect these two have come to an arrangement. Roland reigns while she governs. The sword and the quill.”

“Quite the nickname for future generations,” I mused out loud. The question of an heir might prove problematic down the line, but I trusted Roland and Therese to find an arrangement of some kind. “You lifted a burden off my shoulders. I’ve lost count of the hours I spent agonizing over each word.”

“Please, we don’t play in the same league.” Eris patted her bag and the letters it overflowed with. She should become a mailman if she ever wished to retire from the Hero business. “I also present you with Lady Alexios’ correspondence with her niece. I was with her when the Cavalier’s mark returned to the roost.”

I smirked ear to ear. “I assume we’ll avoid a religious purge?”

“Lady Alexios is open to a compromise, though she would rather discuss it in person at Roland’s coronation,” Eris answered my smile with one of her own. “Both parties understand a war will only strengthen Bel, so I’m optimistic they’ll settle for an amicable divorce.”

At least this marriage would end better than Marika’s. I allowed myself a sigh of relief. After so many tense calls, it felt good to clean up those messes.

“We’re doing a pretty good job,” I mused. “We’re ending wars before they can start.”

“Trust me, Robin. The world would be a better place with more merchants and diplomats than warriors.” Eris tilted her head to the side. “Somehow, I can tell victory leaves you unsatisfied.”

“You do know me well.” I kept thinking back to Belgoroth’s taunt. That I had let my mother die and sought to help others only as a way to atone for it. Perhaps he had nailed the core of my problem. “Where do people like us go when we’re no longer needed?”

“Where the smell of commerce carries us.” Eris gave me a strange, thoughtful look. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Robin, but perhaps it is time for you to focus on yourself rather than others.”

I chuckled. “Should I spend more time in front of a mirror?”

“No need, you always look impeccable,” Eris teased me, though her expression darkened slightly. “Instead, I suggest that you take time to focus on building your own strengths rather than fixing the weaknesses of others.”

My brows furrowed on their own. “Come again?”

“External satisfaction is fickle because it relies on the will of others, which we can never control,” Eris explained herself. “It binds us to outside forces and grants them power over us. True happiness comes from within.”

From her expression, I could tell she spoke from experience. “You’ve struggled with it yourself.”

“Yes.” Eris’ lips twisted into a deep scowl. “I thought I could fix the world, and when it refused to conform to my expectations, I forced it to. All Merchants stumble on that slippery slope at one point or another.”

I pondered her words thoughtfully. Ever since I’d left Ermeline, I sought to rid this world of corruption and save Archfrost from its downward spiral. But now that victory was within sight, I realized it brought me little satisfaction.

I didn’t regret helping others. If I could go back in time, I would still travel back to Snowdrift all over again. However, Eris had a point. I couldn’t keep throwing myself at problems expecting that fixing them would bring me joy; because if I did, then I would care more about my satisfaction than those I was trying to help. That kind of mindset was bound to backfire someday.

I was mulling over what to do when the door finally opened. Selestine walked out, her creased eyes surrounded by black rings. My heart skipped a beat in my chest.

“She will live,” Selestine reassured me.

I sank back in my chair with a sigh of relief, as did Eris. Our friend had survived in spite of her best efforts.

“Thank the Goddess,” I whispered. “Thank you, Selestine.”

“She will require a long rest, physically and mentally,” Selestine said as she turned to me. “You should go talk to her, Robin. Marika assured me the three of you were quite close.”

I set aside the treaty and jumped to my feet. I could read between the lines. Soraseo needed moral support. I left Eris and Selestine behind to discuss the Reformist-Abbey settlement before walking into the bedroom.

I found Marika sitting next to Soraseo’s bed. Soraseo herself was wrapped up in bandages soaked in medicinal poultice, her damaged armor piled on a table nearby. She had lost her hair and every patch of her body showed signs of burns.

At least she was alive. So long as Soraseo was coherent enough to trade with me, I could partition her wounds and offload them to volunteers. I would bet many of Walbourg’s citizens would gladly offer a patch of skin to a Hero who valiantly defended their lives and homes. The moment I met Soraseo’s hollow eyes, however, I realized I would soon face a dangerous obstacle.

My power couldn’t help those who refused to trade.

“She had us worried for a moment,” Marika told me with her warmest smile. A pile of blackened runestones sat near her. Belgoroth’s corrupted essence raged inside them. “Selestine is an amazing healer and witchcrafter. I wonder if she has a Mage or two somewhere in her family tree.”

“She might,” I replied. She certainly had more than humans among her relatives. “How are you feeling, Soraseo?”

My friend responded with a blank look devoid of feelings. The sight sent shivers down my spine. She had borne the same expression right before she threw herself at Belgoroth. I was speaking to a corpse on its way to the tomb.

Marika and I exchanged a worried glance. We had to drag our friend out of her downward spiral before she sank any further.

“I confess I took the opportunity to peek over your correspondence,” I admitted. “I apologize for violating your privacy, but I had to know why you tried to throw your own life away.”

That, and I had to confirm whether Belgoroth spoke the truth when we battled. His power allowed him to wield words like weapons, but he could have woven lies or half-truths. And I was right.

Soraseo did not answer. Her silence did not discourage me.

“Your father, the Shinkoku Emperor, perished of a stroke, and your brother will inherit the throne in your stead,” I recounted, searching for any hint of a soul in those hollow eyes of hers. “Is that why you tried to throw your life away? Because you blame yourself for his death?”

Still no answer.

“Belgoroth said your father died of a broken heart and that he cursed you on his deathbed, but nothing indicates it in the letter you received,” I insisted. “He could have died of natural causes for all you know.”

“Demons lie,” Marika added. “That’s what you say all the time. Don’t trust anything he said.”

This time, Soraseo mustered the strength to raise her head at us.

“I have killed my mother,” she confessed quietly.

Marika clenched her jaw, while I listened in respectful silence.

“My heart had no intention, but my hand did the deed,” Soraseo said, her voice breaking. “When Father banished me, I asked him how I might earn his forgiveness. He ordered me to return with my mother or not at all. ”

She had dedicated herself to an impossible quest, and now blamed herself for its predictable failure.

“Father died. My brother hates me. He shall not let me return home.” Soraseo looked down at her bandaged hands. Did she imagine the blood she spilled dripping between her fingers? “I can no longer wash away my shame.”

“Don’t say that,” Marika insisted. She took Soraseo’s hands into her own, as if to warm them up. “So long as you live, there’s hope. I’m sure we’ll find a way to repeal your exile.”

“Why?” Soraseo swiftly retired her fingers out of Marika’s grasp. “My people loathe me. They loved my mother and I slew her. Should I return, I will find only scorn. Father could have absolved me, but he is gone too.”

Marika’s words were heartfelt, but I could tell they had fallen on deaf ears. Soraseo had given up on redeeming herself. When a door was shut tight, forcing it to open would only break the hinges. I would better break in through the window. Find another entrance, another angle.

I considered what to say. I had known Soraseo for months now, so I understood how she thought. Her life weighed little compared to her principles.

“Vernisla died saving you,” I said bluntly.

Soraseo’s eyes darted at me in shock. From the glare Marika sent my way, she and how Selestine carefully avoided mentioning it. I could guess why they would think adding more guilt on the platter might prove too much, but in this case, they misunderstood Soraseo. This woman had been willing to jump into an impossible quest in the hope of washing away her soiled honor.

“The Cavalier perished saving you from Belgoroth,” I told Soraseo without sugarcoating anything. From the way she slightly recoiled, my words hit her like a hammer to the face. “Did she die for nothing?”

Marika scowled at me. “Robin–”

“Did she die for nothing?” I repeated myself; and when I received no answer from Soraseo, I kept insisting. “Will you let her die for nothing? Are you so craven?”

Soraseo’s hands curled into fists. “I am no coward.”

“If you won’t live for yourself, then live for her.” If Soraseo valued her honor more than her life, then I ought to turn it into a rope to salvation rather than a weight dragging her down. “Vernisla had what, twenty, thirty years of life ahead of her? She gave them all to you, so you owe her a lifetime.”

It was a cheap blow, but one Soraseo couldn’t ignore. Her eyes regained some flicker of light. I had inspired another emotion in them.

Anger.

“I have taken countless lives,” Soraseo replied with a baleful glare. “I have killed innocents. I have taken more years than you will ever see, Robin. My death–”

“Won’t be enough,” I cut in. “You’re shortchanging the dead!”

Soraseo stared at me as if I had grown a second head, while Marika looked fit to gag.

“Short… change?” Soraseo repeated, though I could tell whether she struggled to understand the word or my meaning.

“You’ve ended countless lives, and you hope to repay them with one death?” I enlightened her. “No merchant will ever take that deal. You want to know what it will cost to pay back your victims? Save as many lives as you’ve taken.”

“That…” If Soraseo still had the skin for it, she would have blinked repeatedly. “I cannot…”

“You can, and you must.” I shrugged. “Because in your case, to live is braver than to die.”

Soraseo clenched her jaw and fell back into a tense silence.

“We’ll let you rest for now,” Marika said with a tone that brook no disobedience; neither from me nor Soraseo. “We will check on you in the morning.”

Soraseo watched us leave without a word. I sincerely hoped my words had reached her. I doubted she would try something stupid like jumping out of the window—she sought a glorious warrior’s death, not a shameful suicide—but the risk remained.

Before we left her alone, I took a moment to activate the soundstone Soraseo recorded for me. The song of her biwa filled the air, smooth and melodious. I hoped music would help soothe her soul.

“That was harsh,” Marika scolded me after we exited the room. Eris and Selestine were both gone by then. I supposed they decided to review the Fatebinder’s correspondence in a more private setting. “Did you try to guilt-trip her out of her depression?”

“If that’s what it takes to save her life,” I replied shamelessly. I wouldn’t apologize for it.

“I don’t approve of the method, but… I hope it’ll work.” Marika shook her head. “Tonight was exhausting. We’ve won, but I don’t feel like celebrating.”

“Not even your widowhood?” I teased her, trying to lighten the mood. We would both need to relax a little. “I would drink to that.”

“You know I said I didn’t care who killed Will, so long as he was out of my life?” Marika scratched her cheek. “Well, I was being truthful, but…”

“You thought his death would be the end of it all,” I guessed. “Instead of a new beginning.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Marika let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve spent so long dealing with the mess Will left us with. The debt, the fear he would come back to kill us… now he’s gone, I’m not sure what to do next. Beni still won’t talk to me, for a start.”

“Give it time,” I insisted. “It’s one thing to win the battle and another to heal its scars.”

Marika burst out laughing. “You sound like an elder pretending to be wise.”

“Does that make my words untrue?” I replied with a thin smile. “You’re strong and smart, Marika. You’ll figure things out.”

“Careful, you smooth-talker you. I told you I can’t stand compliments.” Marika stretched her back. “I’ll get back to work. It never fails to clear my mind.”

“Might I suggest working on the airship? Call it a gut feeling or intuition, but I can tell our conflict with Belgoroth will soon come to a close.” One way or another. “If that crybaby shares the same powers as Vernisla, he might confront us atop a winged monster. We must possess the means to challenge him for control of the skies.”

“Yeah, I guess an airship would help if he flies at us on a dragon’s back.” Marika crossed her arms. “Alright. I’ll get to work on it with Marwen at once.”

“Thank you.” I glanced at the door to Soraseo’s room. “And thanks for being there for her. She’ll need us.”

“The same goes for you, Robin.” Marika excused herself with a pat on my shoulder. “Night night.”

I returned the gesture and watched her leave for her workshop. My head remained heavy with questions. I needed to find a plan to deal with Belgoroth, alongside a back-up or two. The enemy we would soon face demanded novel strategies.

My gut told me that the key lay in our marks. The old and new generations were somehow connected enough for mine to resonate with Daltia’s in certain circumstances. I suspected this bond applied to all of the Seven Great Classes.

Perhaps I had approached the problem the wrong way. Diplomacy would never convince Belgoroth to stand down. No Merchant could defeat the Lord of Wrath.

But a true Knight might.

—-----

The next few weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

Soraseo did not kill herself, much to my relief, though she still refused to talk to me or accept a trade to remove her injuries. Selestine at least managed to convince her to follow a strict essence therapy with her.

I knew Soraseo would open up to us sooner or later. My friend was like a river whose calm surface hid powerful currents. She needed time and serenity to process her anger and the recent tragedies. Once she was ready, she would confront us… for the better or worse.

Eris left as swiftly as she showed up to deliver the Reformists’ answer to the Fatebinder, while Marika and Mr. Fronan started working on building up the airship. After the assault on her capital, Duchess Griselda proved more than willing to provide additional funds for our enterprise.

Meanwhile, I spent my time alternating between helping Walbourg dealing with the fallout of Belgoroth’s attack and smoothing over the treaty. It had taken a while, but the lords of Walbourg finally understood they needed Archfrost’s help as much as my homeland needed their own. Roland’s honor and my power offered them a once-in-a-century opportunity for a bloodless, unbreakable compromise. I could only pray that they would take it.

As a foreign diplomat, I was not allowed to observe the Estates-General’s deliberations, though Selestine’s allies kept me informed of the proceedings. When Duchess Griselda finally left her assembly’s room after eight hours of discussion with a satisfied smile on her face, I already knew I had won.

“The Estates-General of Walbourg have decided, by a narrow majority of one-hundred sixty-one votes against one-hundred twenty-nine votes and ten abstentions, to reincorporate with the United Kingdom of Archfrost.” Griselda presented me with a bill filled with signatures. “My congratulations, Lord Waybright.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Griselda.” I accepted the document with a warm, satisfied smile. “You have proved that sometimes, the quill is mightier than the sword.”

I brokered peace between Archfrost and Walbourg.

The civil war that claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands was coming to a close. After all the struggles we went through, this news filled my heart with happiness. My homeland would finally mend its wounds.

Soon, it would no longer need me.

And I would have to live with it.

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Next Chapter 

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A/N: and this shall be CE’s last chapter before the Christmas Break; the next one shall come out in January.

Gotta be honest, I was burning out on the Walbourg arc by the end, so I kinda hurried its conclusion. I really want to go back to the merchant/business side of the story, so the Archfrost/Belgoroth arc (and the volume) should probably conclude in six or seven chapters. Next chappy will be the Knight Interlude, and the last of the volume.

In any case, I hope you’ve enjoyed the story so far, and I hope to see you again in 2024.