Commerce Emperor Chapter 40: The Cavalier (Patreon)

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A/N: this chapter is a 'semi-interlude' I guess? While written in Alaire's POV, it takes place in the present and advances the main story instead of focusing on past events. Hope you'll like it.

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A few weeks ago, the night Belgorth arose in Walbourg…

The council room was cold in the evening.

The setting sun heralded the call of incoming darkness and a warm summer night under a starry sky. She looked at the window, imagining the gentle wind blowing on her face. It took all her willpower not to go outside and enjoy it firsthand.

“Lady Brynslow?” Lady Freygrad called out to her. “Are you listening?”

Alaire Brynslow disliked her last name. It had felt heavy at first, and then outright loathsome.

Truth be told, no, she hadn’t been listening. Not with her full attention. It was becoming harder for her to focus on Snowdrift’s council meetings lately. I miss Robin and Therese, she thought. Those two always made those reunions lively.

Colmar looked over his documents just long enough to glance at her. She couldn’t see anything past his glass eyes, but his voice betrayed a hint of concern. “Alaire?”

“I was listening,” Alaire lied as she focused back on the meeting. The city’s council looked at her while waiting for directions she could hardly provide. “I still fail to see the problem.”

“I do not think you appreciate the seriousness of our situation,” Lady Freygrad said. “Thirty ships is a large order. Our shipyard can’t satisfy it without extensive recruitment and–”

“Lady Freygrad,” Alaire interrupted her with a small smile. “All I hear is good news.”

A year ago, Lady Freygrad only ever visited to announce fruitless efforts to renovate Snowdrift or to attract newcomers to replace their falling population. Now she complained about receiving too many orders for their shipwrights and craftsmen.

Alaire never expected to find herself in this situation. Snowdrift’s support of Roland had caused an influx of funds from the prince’s vassals who needed weapons, housing, and a hub for their military logistics. Now that the capital had fallen back into the loyalists’ hands, Snowdrift had been richly rewarded for its loyalty. Roland already issued the city a few benefits on trade as a reward for supporting his bid, such as reduced tariffs on imported goods from foreign nations and a temporary exemption from export taxes; a measure which had Therese’s fingerprints all over it.

Whatever the reasons behind it, the tax exemption had already caused a few investors from the Riverland Federation to turn their attention to Snowdrift. A merchant prince commissioned them an order of thirty ships for their merchant navy on top of previous orders from Archfrost’s royal fleet. Robin’s agricultural reforms and Colmar’s success in enriching Snowdrift’s farm lands had resulted in a greater harvest and productivity, a process which freed up manpower from the countryside. A day didn’t pass without Alaire hearing of peasants clamoring for city work.

“It seems to me that our manpower issue will solve itself on its own,” Alaire said. A short-time use of Robin’s skill clothes allowed untrained newcomers to pick up the basics in little time. “I recall you complaining that we are struggling to house the new immigrants.”

“Astonishing as it may sound, our previously empty houses and warehouses will soon find themselves all occupied,” Lady Freygrad confirmed. She clearly wished that Marika hadn’t left the city. The Artisan could have easily solved that housing problem. “Our real issue, Lady Brynslow, is that the demand for Snowdrift goods and ships outpaces our current production. We will either have to turn down commissions or delay our deliveries.”

Alaire already knew which option Robin would choose in her place. She chose to follow his wisdom.

“We will turn down new orders,” she said. “Snowdrift needs to inspire trust in its partners, and nothing kills trust quicker than delays.”

Colmar nodded in assent. “The city already struggles to gather the material needed to satisfy new orders in a quick and steady manner even with my power. Since I will not stay in the city forever, I suggest that you turn towards more sustainable means of commercial expansion.”

“Please do not remind us of your future departure, Lord Alchemist,” Lady Freygrad complained with a sigh. “We shall mourn your loss greatly.”

“I take it that the Blight will soon be purged?” Alaire asked. Colmar wouldn’t leave the city with that poison still threatening it.

“The Berserk Flame inside the Gilded Wolf grows stronger by the day,” Colmar admitted. “However, the flux of positive essence generated by Snowdrift outpaces its growth and slowly douses it. My experiments with the Mage’s runestones have also yielded encouraging results. Even if Robin’s plan to transport the Blight to another area where we can destroy it safely fails, it should soon peter out on its own.”

Peter out. Alaire vividly recalled their descent into the Blight’s heart, how its evil had poisoned dozens and twisted them into monsters. She remembered its evil, its burning rage, its searing flames born of hatred and bloodlust…

It relieved her to learn that her city would soon heal of its corruption on its own. Snowdrift would overcome its past scars and turn towards a brighter future.

She wished she could say the same for herself.

“I heard you visit Florence each day,” Alaire told Colmar after the meeting concluded. “Why?”

“I never give up on a patient,” Colmar replied. “The sickness that consumes Florence is an emotional one, but I hope to cure it nonetheless.”

“She’s not worth it, Colmar,” Alaire warned him. She still resented her for killing her grandfather, even after learning the truth about him. However shady he might have been, he deserved better than a slow death by poisoning. Mother deserved better too. “That woman has killed thousands.”

Colmar refused to hear any of it. “I have lost someone too. Someone I could not save. It led me down a dangerous path from which I still bear the marks of. I hope I can pull Florence back from it.”

Alaire personally considered it a lost cause, but she respected Colmar enough not to push the subject. If anything, the apothecary’s dogged determination to help others, even a person who had tried to kill him, impressed her to her core. She wished she possessed a spine as stiff and strong as his own.

“I have been feeling off lately,” she confessed. “Adrift.”

“I cannot heal that pain, Alaire,” Colmar replied wisely. “You already know what cure you need. Good treatments might cause pain in the short-term, but they are required for long-term health and happiness.”

Yes, she understood what she had to do. It simply frightened her because it meant admitting how much of her life she had wasted on lies.

“I need fresh air to think,” Alaire decided.

“Will you travel alone again?” Colmar joined his fingers, his voice heavy with disapproval. “I would advise otherwise. It is unwise to leave the castle without an escort.”

“Any would-be assassin is welcome to try and take my head.” At this point, Snowdrift could easily thrive without her. The city’s council only needed her to stamp her family’s seal on documents nowadays. Her people solved their own problems. “I shall greet them properly.”

The more she stayed in Snowdrift, the more she regretted not joining Robin and Therese south. There she could have made a real difference. Fought those who threatened her homeland instead of signing foreign commissions and housing construction orders.

Alaire wasn’t made for this life. She had known it since the moment her grandfather named her his heir and dashed her dreams of knighthood.

It was only now that it had become unbearable.

Once night had fallen upon Snowdrift, Alaire took Silverine out of the stables for a ride. Her pegasus, her oldest and truest friend, hardly needed directions to take her up in the air and above the city. She knew their destination by heart.

“You understand me better than anyone, don’t you?” Alaire whispered as she petted her mount’s head. Silverine let out a gentle neigh in response. Sometimes, Alaire wondered if she was talking back. Witchcrafters said that pegasi were smart enough to speak, and wise enough not to.

Snowdrift looked so alive from above the clouds. The forges burned in the night with a new glow. Merchant ships traveling back and forth from the Riverland Federation traveled up and down the river. The dreary districts near the port now bustled with activity, once empty houses shining with the lights of their occupants. Even the Gilded Wolf’s district saw new occupants unafraid of the Blight sealed within its basement.

Robin had kept his promise. He truly brought Snowdrift back from the brink.

And he could have done it without me, Alaire thought sullenly. She didn’t resent Robin and the other Heroes for the support they gave her, far from it. She loved Snowdrift and wished it to prosper. She simply felt bitter about her own uselessness. I’m not in my proper place.

Alaire thought taking time for herself would let her figure it out. It helped for certain. She knew the path to take. Now she only needed the resolve to tread it.

Silverine carried her above the silent hills around Snowdrift and to the ruins of Mother’s convent. She landed near the silent tombstones under the red light of the Firemoon. The place was silent. Few people visited this graveyard, except for the rare Arcane Abbey pilgrims praying for the souls of the dead. The peace and quiet helped her think.

Alaire climbed down from Silverine and approached her mother’s tomb. As usual, she had brought flowers for the dead… and a longsword for herself. While she preferred solitude, she wasn’t mad enough to travel without a weapon.

“Greetings, Mother,” Alaire whispered under her breath. “I am sorry I haven’t visited lately. A war demanded my attention.”

That was a lie. She could have visited earlier, just not alone. Her retainers would never have let her leave the castle alone so long as a civil war raged. Now that peace had returned, she could finally move without arousing too much fear or suspicion.

Alaire put the flowers on her mother’s grave and then offered a silent prayer. Silverine tensed up at her side, her equine ears turned to the woods around the monastery’s ruins. Had she heard an animal? Or something else?

Would tonight be the night?

Alaire waited a moment, a hand firmly waiting on her sword’s hilt. When the night answered her caution with silence, she relaxed a little. She stared at her mother’s tomb, took a deep breath, and spoke her piece.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Alaire confessed to the tombstone. “The name Brynslow. Not since…” Her jaw tightened with anger. “Not since I learned the truth. That grandfather poisoned you.”

Mother didn’t answer. Alaire had hoped she would one day, when she was too young to know of the Soulforge and the fact that the dead were better off in the ground.

Still, Alaire hoped that her mother’s spirit could hear somehow. It gave her strength and the resolve she needed.

“I don’t want to bear a bloodstained name like that one,” Alaire said. Once she had seen it as an honor, and now, as a curse. “Grandfather killed you for dishonoring it. No name should be so precious as to warrant an innocent’s murder.”

Silverine lowered her head, her elegant tail sweeping from left to right, her legs flexing as if to jump at an unseen target. The shadows thickened around them, the wind softly blowing on Alaire’s cheek. She strengthened her grip on her longsword but remained resolute.

“I have decided… I have decided to abdicate,” Alaire finally declared; both to her mother’s tombstone and to herself. She felt much lighter afterward. “To continue upholding the Brynslow name would mean sitting on your corpse, Mother, and I…” She let out a sigh. “I do not have the heart for it.”

“That’s good,” a male voice said behind her. “That was what she wanted for you.”

He had finally shown himself.

“You are late,” Alaire said as she quickly turned to meet the intruder. “I thought you would never show yourself.”

“Oh?” A young man walked out of the shadows, dressed in a rich black tunic. “Is that why you came alone?”

“You wouldn’t have shown up otherwise,” Alaire replied. She quickly recognized him as Roland’s treacherous squire Sebastian. The Knot of Greed’s leader, and according to Robin’s warning letters… her father.

He hadn’t changed much since he last visited Snowdrift with the prince, but his eyes… His unblinking eyes were now a deep shade of crimson, redder than fresh blood. The same inhumanity that fueled Fenviros and Chastel both animated the man.

“So it’s true,” Alaire whispered, a slight unease filling her heart and pain racing through her arm. The last demon she encountered broke it alongside many other bones. “You’ve sold your soul.”

“For love,” he replied with aplomb.

Alaire responded by unsheathing her sword and pointing at the demon, while Silverine expanded her wings in a brazen intimidation display. He did not move an inch.

“Are you truly my father?” Alaire asked dryly.

“Yes.” He smiled at her utter lack of courtesy. “I expected a warmer welcome.”

“You abandoned me at birth to work with demons trying to destroy my homeland, what else did you expect?” Alaire spat to the ground. “A kiss?”

“A warmer welcome,” Sebastian repeated himself. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “For all it’s worth, I am sorry. Your mother and I intended to take you away to a safer place, but by the time I made the necessary arrangements, she was dead and your grandfather kept you out of my reach.”

“Lies,” Alaire replied, unimpressed. She was through with sweet-talkers. “You were the Knot of Greed’s leader. If you’d spent half the resources you used to ruin Archfrost to kidnap me, no one could have stood in your way.”

“True, but if a man is a man, he lives up to his responsibilities, and infiltrating Archfrost was one of mine.” His red eyes lingered on the tombstone, though Alaire detected no sorrow in them. Only a strange, foreign curiosity. “Truthfully, I only realized how much I loved your mother after I lost her.”

“You didn’t love her enough to leave flowers on her grave,” Alaire countered.

“Because I never intended for her to stay here.” He shook his head in annoyance. “You are not making this easy for me, my daughter.”

Daughter? The word filled Alaire’s heart with bitterness. By blood perhaps, but nothing else. He hadn’t been here when she and her mother lived as prisoners inside the convent, or after Alaire lost her to the fire, or when she tried to steer Snowdrift away from decay, or when she dealt with the mess his fellow cultists started. The one thing he ever did for her was ordering Florence to spare his daughter’s life, a demand she tried to fulfill by letting her pet demon break both of her arms.

Alaire didn’t know this man, but she understood demons. His actions spoke for themselves. Alaire didn’t want his love. She wanted the truth.

“Is Sebastian your true name?” she asked sharply.

“Does it matter?” he answered with a shrug. “I’ve had so many names, I’ve forgotten half of them. Sebastian is the name your mother wished to give you if you had been born a boy, so I cherished it.”

If he thought it would soften Alaire’s heart, he was mistaken. She did not lower her guard. He seemed to have come alone, but she knew better than to underestimate a demon.

“What lies did you feed Mother?” Alaire asked, her tone so venomous it surprised her. Pent-up anger she had long suppressed swelled back to the surface. “She would never have loved you if she knew the truth.”

“It is true I came to her as a liar,” Sebastian confessed. Alaire refused to call him Father, even in her head. “Lady Daltia demanded that I lay the groundwork for Lord Belgoroth’s return. Marrying into a noble family close to the northern border seemed the best way to infiltrate Archfrost’s nobility. I could weaken the border and corrupt the country’s higher echelons from the inside.”

Alaire sneered in disdain. As she had thought. “You just used her,” she whispered in sorrow. “Just like Grandfather used me.”

“You are wrong. The more time I spent with your mother, the more I wished that my lies would become true.” Sebastian looked up to the sky. “She was such a willful, kind-hearted woman. Once she told me she was pregnant with you… I abandoned my plan. It cost me Lady Daltia’s favor.”

Alaire glared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will, my daughter, but it is the truth. I only returned to the Knots once your grandfather put your mother in the dirt.” Sebastian’s face twisted into a scowl of genuine fury. “It wasn’t enough to kill that pathetic old man, no. I wished him to watch the slow ruin of his legacy, the agony of his land, the death of his people. I ensured that he lost his sons until he had no choice but to choose you, the bastard granddaughter he considered a stain on his reputation, as his heir.”

Then he smiled, his sharp teeth glittering under the moonlight. It left Alaire unsettled. His grin reminded her too much of Chastel’s.

“I destroyed him,” he said. His hatred sounded sincere enough. “Then I served Lady Daltia in bringing ruin to Archfrost. She promised to revive your mother for me in return.”

All of this pain and suffering for a grudge… Alaire struggled to suppress the sickness in her stomach. Mother would never have wanted any part in this madness. The fact that this madman used her as an excuse to slaughter thousands filled her with disgust.

“The Devil of Greed shortchanged you,” Alaire replied harshly. “How is freeing the Lord of Wrath going to save anyone? He seeks to kill us all.”

“Belgoroth is a tool. The threat that shall prop up Lady Daltia’s glorious return. He will be the eye of the storm that will reshape the world.” Sebastian waved his hand at the horizon behind the mountains. “When the people see him flatten their world, they will lose faith in their false Heroes and turn back to the true ones. The weak and those in despair will surrender themselves to Lady Daltia. They will give her their souls for her to forge her crown.”

Alaire squinted in confusion. “Her crown?”

“The crown of a new world,” he replied with a ghastly smile full of feverish madness. “One made for the true believers. Paradise.”

He’s insane, Alaire realized. His deal with the Devil of Greed had taken whatever reason he might have had. “Why are you here, Sebastian?”

“You will not call me Father, even now?” The demon took a step forward. “I came for you. For her.”

“Stop right there,” Alaire threatened. She adjusted her stance slightly for battle, while Silverine tried to shield her behind her wings. “Another step and I’ll–”

“I am not here to hurt you, my daughter,” Sebastian insisted, stopping just short of Alaire’s sword range. “Lady Daltia has shown me the way to return your mother to life.”

“Lies!” Alaire gritted her teeth. “The dead don’t come back!”

“Have you taken a look at the false Alchemist? Why he never takes off his mask?” Sebastian let out a snort. “Your mother’s soul awaits beyond the Deadgate. You can help me revive her.”

“Stay back,” Alaire warned one last time as the demon closed the distance between them. Silverine let out a furious neigh, her forelegs stomping the ground. “I’m warning you–”

Sebastian let out a laugh, his fair face swelling with gruesome pustules. His eyes sank into his skull in an instant and vanished under a tide of white flesh alongside his nose, mouth, and ears. Something crawled beneath his skin and threatened to erupt at any time.

Silverine flapped her wings and leaped at the demon to trample him. A vain effort. The faceless monster backhanded her with inhuman strength. Silverine was thrown to the side like hay by the wind, her frame hitting the grass with a loud crash.

Her heart skipped a beat in alarm before she charged with a sweep of her sword. She aimed for the throat in a decisive strike. Her weapon cut through the air at blinding speed, but still not fast enough to surprise the demon. His hand grabbed the blade in midair with incredible dexterity, his pallid fingers closing on the flat parts of the edge.

“Did you take yourself for the Knight?” Sebastian mocked her, the words coming from inside his throat with no mouth to utter them. His other free hand moved in front of Alaire’s chest. “You are only human, my child.”

Darkness swirled around the demon’s finger. Alaire felt its cold grasp sink into her chainmail and kiss her flesh underneath, a chill that reached all the way to her soul. She was propelled back by a force as strong as a battering ram, Sebastian letting go of her sword as she flew.

Her back hit her mother’s tombstone. She heard it crack while her eyes saw stars and a terrible pain racked her spine. She might have snapped like a twig without her chainmail and heavy clothes to soften the blow.

Alaire attempted to get back to her feet, but the demon tackled her to the ground before she could even kneel. Gone was the handsome man who had followed Roland around like his shadow. The creature leaping on Alaire had become a mismatched, stitched horror of white flesh, and male parts mixed with female ones in an unholy, faceless abomination.

“A precious human still,” Sebastian said. His hands grabbed both of Alaire’s wrists and forced her to her back on the soft grass. “A great-granddaughter of Apocris through me, the great archmage of Irem and scion of the Lich of Gluttony. The blood of the true Heroes flows in our veins.”

“Let me go!” Alaire snarled. She attempted to push the demon off her with her feet, but he crawled over her stomach. She might as well be hitting a wall of stone. His white flesh had gained the solidity of ancient bones.

“Mine has dried up, but yours can open the door. I considered this plan for so long… I never went through with it because I feared your mother would hate me for it, but now…” A sharp, vertical line opened in the middle of the faceless man’s skull; it swiftly widened into a mouth full of sharp teeth. “Now my mind is so clear, I fear nothing anymore.”

To Alaire’s horror and disgust, a forked tongue emerged from the fanged maw. The abomination’s flesh wriggled with what could pass with disgusting enthusiasm.

“Your mother’s soul will need a… compatible vessel,” Sebastian said, his cold tongue licking Alaire’s cheek. Her body shivered with disgust, but the demon kept her firmly pinned under his weight. “Now that you have reached the right age, we can get right back to where we left off. After serving that fool Roland for so long, I’ve missed the touch of female flesh–”

The sky shone with silver light.

Sebastian snapped his head at the stars above and instinctively let go of Alaire’s hand to protect his head with his palm; a short but fatal mistake. She swiftly jammed her sword through his head.

“You little–” Sebastian snarled, the blade pierced through the vertical jaw and throat. His wound shed no blood and he showed no hint of dying, so Alaire furiously kept pushing down to the hilt.

The silver light above only grew stronger. Alaire barely had time to look up to see a star falling down to earth and upon her. Something hotter than any flame hit her between her eyes with the strength of an arrow, drawing a cry of agony out of her.

It burned. She felt a hot iron seal imprinting itself in her flash, marking her, claiming her.

Then something cold grabbed her by the throat. A strong hand slammed her skull against her mother’s tombstone as the silver light blinded her, scrambling her head. She barely had time to sense the warm flow of her blood dripping down her skull before she was slammed face-first into the grass and kissed dirt. An impossibly strong grip seized her throat and began to squeeze.

“After all I have done for you…” she heard the demon who used to be her father rage on as he clenched with all his inhuman strength. Her sword was still stuck midway inside his head. It did not stop him, nor slow him down. “After all I’ve done for you!”

Alaire opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out of her crushed windpipe. Her vision blurred as her lungs desperately gasped for air, her arms convulsing.

A cloud of white smoke erupted at her side and a furious cry echoed in the night. A pair of hooves hit Sebastian with immense weight, shattering his skull, caving in his twisted chest, and sending him flying off Alaire’s chest. A flash of orange light filled her vision before she could recover, filling the air with warmth.

Silverine? Alaire managed to turn her head to the side. Her trusty pegasus furiously stomped a pile of flames underfoot with all her might and anger. Gold dust burned on the grass. What… What's happening?

A shadow loomed over Alaire and took her in its arms. Alaire’s vision stabilized as her lungs filled with fresh air again. She recognized a woman with long black hair, clothed in the Arcane Abbey’s clothes. Her staff shone with the light of exhausted fire runestones and spilled faint smoke.

“-With me…” the woman said, though it took Alaire’s addled mind a few seconds to understand her words. “Alaire, stay with me!”

“I… I’m fine…” she managed to rasp. Oh good, it felt like she was breathing again. “Lady Eris… is that you?”

“I usually arrive at the worst of times.” Eris smiled warmly as she offered Alaire her hand. “This time might be the exception.”

Indeed. Alaire slowly rose back to her feet, using her mother’s cracked tombstone to stand. She looked at her pegasus. A pile of burning, shattered bones that Alaire assumed to be her father lay at Silverine’s feet. Her pegasus’ furious onslaught and Eris’ flames had turned him utterly unrecognizable. Red smoke arose from his remains, reducing them to ashes. He’s… he’s gone?

Her father was gone? Alaire wondered whether or not to believe it. She thought she would feel something at the realization, like anger, relief, or sadness. Instead, a deep emptiness filled her heart.

His demise had changed nothing. It happened too soon, too swiftly.

“Lady Eris… I am relieved to see you again…” It hurt Alaire’s throat to speak, yet she pushed on. “But… why?”

“I came to check on our new Cavalier.” Eris winked at her. “I had a feeling it would be you.”

The Cavalier? She wasn’t making any sense. Yet Alaire sensed a strange warmth between her eyes. She sensed a thin scar when her hand brushed against it, too sharp and clear for a burn. Could it be?

“Who was that fiend?” Eris asked as she watched the bonfire. A sinister golden coin remained burning amidst the ashes, alongside Alaire’s sword. “This seemed… personal between you.”

“He was no one,” Alaire replied gloomily as Silverine licked her wound. “A ghost.”

No one worth remembering.

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The ship soared through Archfrostian skies.

It didn’t surprise Alaire all that much. If a horse could fly, why not a ship? At least this one was large enough for Silverine to land on its deck. Her pegasus looked over the railarm at her side with curiosity.

The other Heroes—it felt like a dream for Alaire to think these words—had gathered on the airship’s deck to welcome her. The group included both old and new faces. Alaire had very much missed Marika, Soraseo… and Robin.

Robin most of all.

“When did this battle take place?” Soraseo asked.

“The night my predecessor died, when Belgoroth escaped in Walbourg,” Alaire replied. She had grown convinced that her father approached her on that day because Snowdrift’s resurgent Berserk Flame would keep Colmar occupied. “I’ve worn a headband since. Eris thought it would be better if we kept that incident under wraps to fool the Knots.”

“I still can’t believe Eris didn’t tell us,” Marika complained. “Why did that tattletale not say a word?”

“Eris keeps everyone’s secrets,” Robin muttered before gathering his breath. “Alaire, that thing you’ve killed–”

“Was my father, I know,” she interrupted him, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve indirectly killed both my parents.”

Mother because of her bastard birth; and her father because she helped drive a sword through his head.

“No, you haven’t,” he insisted, trying to lift her spirits. “It wasn’t your father, only his sins and flaws made flesh. You and Eris have slain a demon with his face, no more.”

“What difference does it make which part of him I slew? He is dead now.” Alaire shook her head. “I do not regret it, Robin. He was a monster and it had to be done.”

It angered her to recall how he had cracked Mother’s tombstone. For all his talks of loving her, he had no shame in despoiling her resting place.

Robin seemed to understand she didn’t want to speak of her late sire further. He was sharp enough to realize she felt no guilt nor remorse for putting down a monster, even one that brought her into this world.

“I see,” he said, his scowl easing up. “Whatever, I am glad to see you safe and sound. That could have turned ugly.”

“It could have,” Alaire conceded. Her head injury might have killed her had Silverine not brought her back to Colmar in time. “It is good to see you too, my friends.”

Robin smirked at her. “So you did miss us.”

“Yes, I did.” Alaire crossed her arms. He had that infuriating way of annoying her at the worst possible times. “Do not get used to it, Robin.”

“I am deeply sorry for what you had to go through, child,” Lady Selestine said. She took Alaire’s hands into her own, her fingers warmer than a forge. “Know that you may count on my support, should you need it.”

Alaire only had her Class for a few weeks, but she had quickly come to grasp its powers and limits. The Cavalier’s mark let her command any beast that she mounted, whether a horse or a monster. Wild deers who had never tolerated a man’s touch became docile the moment she jumped on their backs. Moreover, her mark immediately informed her what counted as an eligible mount wherever she touched them.

Alaire’s mark burned on her forehead.

My power counts this woman as a monster to be ridden. Something that had yet to happen with any other human. Could she be a beastman in disguise?

“Thank you, Lady Priest,” Alaire said as she hastily removed her hands. She knew Lady Selestine meant well—though her crimson eyes bothered her, that woman didn’t seem to have a fiber of spite in her body—but emotional displays always left Alaire unsettled. “However, I come today to support you, not the other way around. I have received dire news from the north. A beastman army has gathered near the border.”

“The servants wait for the master to rise,” Soraseo muttered darkly. “The Knots will strike then. The final battle is at hand.”

“I doubt Sebastian’s death will harm the Knots’ efforts,” Robin noted. “The cult probably replaced him the moment he became a demon enslaved by his own desires. His death does remove a loose end though.”

“Roland will be saddened,” Marika said. “He wanted to kill Sebastian himself.”

Robin scowled. “Believe me, it’s for the better that he didn’t.”

“Difficult days await us, but I have faith,” Lady Selestine said with a kind smile. “Soon, the Knight and his vassals shall stand against the Lord of Wrath once more, as they were meant to.”

I am finally where I should be, Alaire realized. Fighting demons on Silverine’s back at my friends’ side. This is my place.

She understood now. All her life, she had let others decide her fate. She had danced to the tune of her grandfather’s approbations and her father’s scheme, surrendering her freedom for the sake of duty and family honor.

Her Mother never desired any of it. She had wanted to take Alaire away from this nonsense so she could be free to make her own decisions.

And her daughter would honor her wish. She would live her life, not as a Countess or a Brynslow, but as Alaire. She would for Archfrost’s people as a knight. As herself, on her own terms.

However, she had one last mission to deal with before she could face the future.

“If I may…” Alaire cleared her throat. “I have a request.”

All eyes turned in her direction. “A request?” Robin asked.

“I have decided to abandon the title of Countess of Brynslow,” Alaire declared. She felt lighter the moment the words escaped her mouth. “Once I do, I intend to travel to the Deadgate.”

“You want to become a commoner?” Marika asked, surprised. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” Alaire confirmed. Her fight with her father had only solidified her decision. “I do not wish to uphold my grandfather’s bloodstained legacy. I intend to let the people of Snowdrift elect their ruler and shape their own destiny, as will I.”

“But first, you must make peace with the dead,” Soraseo said sharply, her eyes full of sorrow. “With your mother.”

Alaire nodded slowly. If her mother’s soul truly awaited beyond the Deadgate, she wanted to speak to her one last time.

“Well, we intended to journey to the Deadgate ourselves,” Robin confessed. “You are welcome to come with us after you settle your affairs in Snowdrift.”

His calm reaction bothered Alaire. He had spent so long helping her secure her spot as Countess of Snowdrift; she would have expected him to be disappointed by her intent to renounce the title.

“You are not mad at me?” she asked, astonished.

“Why would I be?” Robin offered her a warm, sly smile. “I told you I would support your decision, whatever it would be.”

Here it showed up again. That sincere, charming smirk that made it so difficult for Alaire to dislike him, even when his flighty attitude and smooth talk got on her nerves. When it came to his friends, Robin Waybright wore his feelings on his sleeves without a care in the world.

Alaire had hated it once. She used to resent how he could express himself without fearing the judgment of others.

Now?

Now she realized she had possessed that strength in herself all along. Alaire didn’t need anyone to tell her how to live her life. It belonged to her after all. No one would live it for her.

Still, her friends’ unconditional support warmed Alaire’s heart.

“Thank you,” she said from the bottom of her soul.

“You are welcome,” Robin replied, his arms crossing. “Something bothers me, however. Your father’s demon mentioned the Devil of Greed forging a crown.”

“If I remember correctly, you mentioned that she was feeding souls to an entity of some kind,” Lady Selestine said.

“She did,” Robin confirmed, much to Alaire’s unease. The thought of her father returning in one form or another disturbed her. “The more I think of it, the more I wonder if there’s a connection with her experiments on Soulforged Adamantine.”

“The thought crossed my mind too,” Marika added. “Maybe Daltia created the Devil’s Coins and Belgoroth’s sword as prototypes for a more powerful weapon?”

“Not a weapon,” Lady Selestine said. “A tool.”

Robin raised an eyebrow in her direction. “A tool?”

“Think about it, Lord Merchant,” Lady Selestine said. “The Devil of Greed considers herself the Goddess’ equal. Her first miracle was to create the world of Pangeal, so Daltia seeks to imitate her.”

The Priest glanced at Mount Erebia. The first of the world’s mountains stood high across the horizon, its peak hidden by the clouds. There the Goddess descended with her four Artifacts to create Pangeal.

Alaire’s heart froze in her chest, as the magnitude of the Devil of Greed’s mad ambition suddenly became clear to her.

“I believe that you have guessed correctly, Lady Alaire,” Selestine slowly. “What did the Goddess use to craft this world?”

“An Artifact,” Robin replied, his face grim with stark terror. “The Devil of Greed is forging an Artifact.”

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Next Chapter 

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A/N: I originally wished to only write the first part in Alaire's POV, but then I realized we've never seen Robin from somebody else's POV. Hence I thought it would interesting to see how he behaves through the eyes of another.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I'm pretty sure I'm going to end the current volume around chapter 45 (with the next ones covering the final clash with Belgoroth and then an epilogue to the Archfrost saga) before taking a pause off the story.