Chapter 412: Legacy (Patreon)

A barrage of frost javelins flew straight and true to the pillar where Stryg dangled from. He kicked off the rock and landed on another pillar, narrowly avoiding the attacks. Orange mana flowed into his hand and quickly fired two flame bolts at the growing crowd of guards, before jumping to another pillar.

The sounds of another volley of frost javelins crashing into stone resounded behind him. A guard scrambled up the pillar he was on and reached out to grab him. Instead of fleeing, Stryg jumped straight down at him and slashed the relic sword through the troll’s body. Before the corpses had hit the ground, Stryg had landed and dashed low through the crowd. He slashed through their legs and waists, as many as he could, before jumping back onto a pillar with the power of his agility spell.

“Enough!” King Alok roared. The parallel magestones on his pauldrons flared and a wave of blue light exploded outwards from his armor.

Stryg swung his body behind the pillar. The blast echoed through the throne room, destroying the pedestals and damaging several of the encased relics. The blast brushed past Stryg, but the radiating cold still seeped into his muscles. His body seized up and he tumbled down. His body hit the ground with an icy crack and he groaned in pain.

King Alok stared lamentingly at the destruction he had wrought. The broken bodies of his guards were strewn about the throne room. “No…no…!”

Stryg staggered to his feet and glared at him, “Does it hurt? To have killed your own warriors? I thought betrayal came naturally to you.”

“I don’t care about them, they were going to die to you anyway.” Alok picked up a broken chalice from the rubble. “But my relics… Decades of rare collections… ruined.”

“Don’t worry, there are still plenty of relics around here, you can always smash them to bits too,” Stryg taunted as he tried to channel mana into his veins. The intense cold was making it difficult to stabilize his flow of mana.

Alok stared at his silver-blue gauntlet and clenched his hand tight. “I was only trying to aim my attack in your direction. I am still unaccustomed to Frostveil’s power.”

Why was he telling him that? Stryg wondered.

Was the troll king a fool for telling his enemy about his weakness or did it simply not matter to Alok because the outcome of the fight was already decided?

Stryg slowed his breathing and tried to calm his heartbeat. The only way he’d get out of this was with magic. Magic that was currently failing him. He had fought against plenty of enemies, many of whom had carried enchanted objects. And for all of Frostveil’s power, it paled in comparison to the power of Unalla’s orichalcum sword, Votum.

Still, when he had fought Unalla he had been able to run around her sword’s attacks and slowly set up the Standstill Curse to immobilize her. But Alok’s armor was nothing like he had ever seen. There was some sort of thin aura around the armor that stopped all attacks; spells slipped off it and even the relic sword could not penetrate it.

Even worse, the throne room was much smaller than Undergrowth’s coliseum. There was little room to move about and evade the King’s attacks. Stryg had tried to escape, but the King and his guards had blocked off the door.

Now the guards were all dead, but his orange mana was also running dangerously low. He needed a plan and quick.

“Are you done resting?” Alok asked.

Stryg couldn’t see his face behind the helmet, but he could have sworn the frost troll was smirking.

Alok suddenly flicked his hand out and another blast of energy shot forth. Stryg tried to move, but his body was too cold and sluggish, his reaction a moment too slow. The icy wave smashed into his chest and sent Stryg crashing into the wall. Blossom’s petals swelled and cushioned the attack, but Stryg felt his body growing numb from the cold. He could hardly hold his mana flow at all.

Alok whistled in admiration, “That cloak of yours is truly spectacular, is it fairy made? You should have been blasted to icy bits, but there you stand, or kneel should I say.” He clapped his hands together, “Come on now, try to get up. I can’t properly test Frostveil if you're lying on the ground like a beaten puppy.”

Stryg stayed on the ground where he was and closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

“Giving up already? I thought the guards of the Sylvan Emissary were supposed to be some of the toughest warriors in the realm. They never give up. The guards of the last Emissary certainly never died, not even when the skolguls began to eat them alive.”

“You bastard…” Stryg hissed quietly.

“What was that?” Alok tilted his head forward, from across the room.

“My First Mother said you were an honorable king. Yet there you stand, amidst a pile of corpses of your own people. You betrayed the Sylvan and left the last emissary and her retinue to die to the Skolguls.”

“Necessary sacrifice, I’m afraid,” Alok said, though there was no sympathy. “What do the Sylvan know of honor? When I groveled at the feet of your Emissaries was that honorable?”

“Maybe not… We could sit here and talk all day about the wrongdoings that have been wrought by our people to one another, but I don’t think any of that matters right now.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“You betrayed my tribe and put them in danger.” Stryg opened his eyes, his pupils as thin as razors. “No matter what you say, I am going to kill you.”

“That’s the spirit!” Alok laughed.

Stryg raised his hands, red sigils curling around his fingers. The sigils flared brightly and formed a small dome around him.

Alok cocked his head to the side, “What are you doing?” He pointed his outstretched hand at Stryg and fired off another blast of cold energy.

The dome shuddered for a moment, then the wave passed over with the dome still intact.

Alok crossed his arms thoughtfully, “Hm. Interesting, but that dome won’t last long—”

The ground beneath shook and the pillars in the throne room began to tremble. Chunks of rock began to break apart from the ceiling and crash into the ground.

“W-What are you doing!?” Alok stumbled back a step.

“If I can’t pierce that armor, then you’ll die trapped with it!” Stryg roared. He channeled all his green mana into the ground beneath him and weaved it into the pillars and ceiling, sending energy into every small crack and expanding them from within.

“You insolent—! We’ll both die!” Alok fired wave after wave of azure energy at Stryg.

The dome shook with each blow, small cracks appearing within the sigils, but it did not break.

Alok screamed a guttural noise of frustration and charged at him. The parallel magestones in his pauldrons flared brightly and its aura of protection burned a brilliant blue. Stryg closed his eyes and focused all his will on the stone spell. Blossom wrapped tightly around him and covered him from head to toe.

The armored troll smashed into the red dome with a resounding blast. The dome shattered into red motes of light and Alok tackled Stryg with all the force he could muster. Stryg’s world went black as his body went careening through the air and smashed into a pillar, tearing a large chunk away as his body ricocheted off it and rolled to the ground.

The throne room’s shaking stopped, though a few chunks of the unstable ceiling were still falling down.

“Hah…. you crazy bastard, you almost did it,” Alok shook his head.

Stryg coughed weakly.

“Oh…? You’re still alive? That cloak truly is remarkable,” Alok said. “I think I might take it as my own. It would serve as a nice cape.”

Stryg opened his bleary eyes. His vision swam in hues of red. A warm feeling bloomed down his head. He touched his temple with his numb hand and came away with scarlet-tinted fingers. He was bleeding and judging from the amount dripping on the ground, it was quite a lot.

Some part of him thought he should cast a healing spell to stop the bleeding before he lost consciousness, but his head was fuzzy and he rolled on the ground trying to stand. He reached out blindly, searching for some purchase to grab on. His hand brushed something cool to the touch and he realized it was the relic sword’s hilt. With a quiet groan, he pulled himself into a kneeling position, and stabbed the sword into the ground.

Stryg grabbed the hilt with both his shaking hands and leaned his head on the pommel, as he breathed in long tired breaths. He needed to stand. The troll king wouldn’t wait for long. He needed to stand. To find his friends.

Move, he told himself, but his exhausted body refused to budge. The green spell had drained him more than he realized or was it the heavy blow dealt by Alok. Stryg couldn’t tell anymore. His mind was beginning to drift.

Blood trickled down his forehead to the pommel, down his fingers and the hilt, and slid over the blade. The faded sigils on the blade darkened and became clear. His blood suddenly seeped into the sword and the blade blossomed a brilliant scarlet red.

The world blurred and Stryg lost sight of his surroundings.

~~~

Where am I…?

Stryg looked around, but all he could see was darkness. It reminded him of when he had been lost in the Dark Fringe, but no, this was different. This wasn’t the cold numbness of loss. He hadn’t forgotten who he was. This wasn’t the edge of the Dreamscape. This was different.

A warm light bloomed behind him. Stryg turned and found himself standing atop a tower. The world was blurred, as if in a painting, save for the two men standing at the edge of the tower, overlooking the realm beyond.

The two men wore heavy armor over and were wrapped in cloaks of dire bear fur. Their eyes were scarlet and their fangs were revealed every time their mouths moved. They were speaking, but Stryg could not hear what they were saying.

Then the elder of the two vampires’ voice became dim, a whisper in a storm. Slowly it grew stronger until Stryg could make out the words. He wasn’t speaking in the common tongue but somehow Stryg could understand them.

“...Look around, Veres. We have conquered the lands as far and as wide as we can see and yet… there are tens of thousands of more enemies waiting for us beyond these mountains.”

A Veres? Stryg wondered. Was the younger vampire a relative of Callum? They hardly looked similar, save for the scarlet eyes. This vampire’s eyes were cold and piercing. He had dark bags beneath his eyes, but there was no sign of exhaustion in sight.

“Our enemies abound, Veres. We are surrounded by them. They will never stop, not until the greed of the rest of the Ebon Lords is quenched.”

“You and I both know that will never happen, my lord,” said the younger vampire.

“Yes, I suppose not,” the older vampire smiled wryly. “War is coming once more to our lands, our enemies draw near…”

“Then I shall kill every single one who dares set foot in our lands.”

“Veres,” the elder vampire placed his hand on his shoulder, “I know you are still grieving the loss of your— friend. I understand you wish for vengeance, but if I challenge the other Ebon Lords this war could be unending, you do know this?”

“I know that I will end it,” he said with bitter determination. “Let the Ebon Lords unleash their armies, let them come with all their glory and pride. I will dye the land with their blood until even the Ebon Lords are dead.”

“Blood… hm,” the elder vampire smiled. “Blood is what binds us, Veres. Blood is the one thing that echoes through time. You are married to my daughter. Your son carries both our blood. Is this the world you wish for him to grow up in? A world of bloodshed and war?”

“It is the only world the Ebon Realm has ever known. It is the only world you and I deserve to be in, my lord,” he said softly. “If my son could have a different life, it would only happen if we fight.”

“Yes… you’re right. But magic will not be enough to win this war. If we are to win, to win against all the other Ebon Lords, then I will need your brilliant tactical mind at every war front, guiding every battle and strategic position. Can you do that? I’d never ask anyone for such a monumental task, but you aren’t like anyone this realm has ever seen. Can you manage to command all the Frost Legions at once?”

The younger vampire nodded solemnly, “Give me the command and I will show you victory.”

The elder vampire smirked, “I was hoping you’d say that.” He reached underneath his cloak and drew a long sword. Its silver blade shined brilliantly in the dying light of the sun.

“My lord, what happened to your sword? Why is the blade silver?” he asked in surprise.

The blade looked oddly familiar to Stryg, it seemed almost like… Stryg felt a shiver run down his spine as he recognized the blade as his own.

The elder vampire admired the sword with a smile, “When I built this sword all I could think of was trying to surpass my master. It was my will that brought this blade into existence. It is my final legacy to the Ebon Realm. In my hands, it would serve me well, but in yours, it shall change the world.”

“My lord, I cannot accept—”

“Kneel,” the elder vampire said solemnly.

The younger vampire kneeled, albeit reluctantly.

The elder lowered the blade slowly over the kneeling man’s head. “Will you swear to cut down our enemies and protect our bloodline from all who would do them harm?”

“Lord Koval, I swear to you, I will be the sword of our blood and the bane of our enemies. Be it monster or man, I shall end them all.”

“Then rise Lord Veres, First of your name, Commander of the Frost Legions, and take hold of your future. From this day forward, this sword shall be bonded to our bloodline and ours alone.”

Veres stood to his feet and pressed his thumb over one of his fangs. Blood bloomed on his thumb and he smeared it over the blade. The sword drank the red liquid greedily and turned a scarlet red.

Lord Koval took a step back and nodded, “I entrust you with my legacy, Veres. My greatest masterpiece. My will reborn in steel. My Bloodfang.”