Commerce Emperor
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Return

“We use a cannon to launch him into the sun,” Marika suggested.

I took a look at the Abbey’s records just long enough to exchange a glance with Selestine. The Priest appeared about as puzzled as I was.

“A cannon?” she asked. “I am not certain I understand your intent, Lady Marika.”

“We know from the accounts that Belgoroth can be harmed and killed,” Marika said. “He just won’t stay dead. Hence, if we throw him into the sun, he will burn for all eternity. It doesn’t matter if he pulls himself back together if he’s constantly melted down.”

“I appreciate your novel approach, Marika,” I said diplomatically. At this point, I welcomed all ideas, no matter how inane. “However, we already struggle to carry a shipload's worth of weight a few miles into the air. Can your power create a cannon that powerful?”

“I can try.” Marika’s jaw clenched. She didn’t believe in her own idea either. “How about a volcano then? What if we dropped him and his sword inside a volcano?”

“The closest active volcanoes are in the Fire Islands and the Stonelands, both of them hundreds, if not thousands of leagues away,” I replied. “Even if we restrain him, Belgoroth will free himself long before we reach either of them. He has Roland’s power, which means he wields the strength of a hundred men.”

“I fear Belgoroth might eventually claw his way out of the earth too,” Selestine added. “The records say the first Shaman summoned a flood that carried him away into the ocean’s depths. He reappeared a scant few days later to set the shore ablaze. No flame burns hot enough to damage his wicked sword either.”

I sank into my chair. I had invited my fellow Heroes to a reunion in between two sessions of work on our airship. Only Marika and Selestine answered me. Soraseo would rather meditate, and while Mr. Fronan had kindly lent us an office in his warehouses and space to build anti-demon devices, he, unfortunately, had to sit this one out. Trouble in the Arcadian Freeholds demanded his full attention.

The three of us had spent about an hour and a half sitting around a table, reviewing documents, bouncing off ideas, elaborating strategies, and vainly attempting to find a solution to the Belgoroth problem.

So far, results have been less than encouraging.

Defeating Belgoroth alone would be a tremendously difficult task; keeping him defeated appeared all but impossible with the means we had at hand. His powers made him too strong for any prison to hold him, and his immortality prevented us from considering more permanent solutions.

“How about we trap him in lime mortar?” I suggested, thinking of how Colmar had managed to imprison Florence. “We catch him in a trap, fill it with a quickly hardening substance, and freeze him in place.”

“Limestone won’t last long against him,” Marika countered. “Molten adamantine might work, but it cools off quickly. We’d need to lure Belgoroth into a forge or a special cage.”

Selestine immediately shot down the suggestion. “He can project his soul far enough to animate a golem half a world away from his prison. Restraining his body won’t do us good if he can find another to possess.”

Accounts of Belgoroth’s final clash with our ancient predecessors had faded into the realm of legends, but enough scraps remained to form a coherent picture of that particular battle. Thankfully, Walbourg’s Reformists owned copies of ancient texts dating all the way back to the Sunderwar.

From what I gathered from these texts and Eris’ own memories, Belgoroth’s immortality primarily worked by pulling back his body together. Severed arms reattached themselves. Ashes gathered back into layers of flesh. Broken bones fell back into place.

We at first considered dismembering and scattering his cursed remains across the land, but some tales made me doubt it would work. One story detailed how a soldier had claimed the Lord of Wrath’s sword, only to become his replacement, or how Belgoroth arose from a battlefield’s lake of blood. While we knew for certain the first account was likely false, it did suggest that Belgoroth possessed other ways of returning from the dead beyond reassembling his own body parts. Even vaporizing him to his last atom would only offer a temporary respite so long as his cursed sword held his soul.

I don’t see a clear solution to this puzzle, I thought. I wish Mersie was here. I doubted her power would work on Belgoroth, or else a previous Assassin would have slaughtered the Demon Ancestors, but a single additional Hero among our ranks would considerably broaden our limited options.

“Lady Selestine, can you recount the Sunderwar’s account one last time?” I asked. “Mayhaps there’s a detail we’ve missed.”

“If you wish.” The Priest opened an old dusty tome to an annotated page. By now, I suspected she knew the books’ contents by heart. “The Knight, the Mage, and their respective vassals confronted the Lord of Wrath amidst the ruins of his cursed kingdom, which he had reduced to a graveyard and now ruled from atop a mountain of corpses.”

I suspected this version of events of being slightly embellished, but I did not interrupt.

“The heroes matched the Lord of Wrath in battle, but could not slay him,” Selestine read. “They fought for three days and nights, until the valiant Knight bested him in a bout at last. The Lord of Wrath lost his hand and sword to the Knight’s blade, while the Mage’s lightning struck the dead mountain. The Lord of Wrath was buried under his own victims, and with no one to kill, his hate-filled heart weakened. The Mage and his vassals entombed the dark lord in a seal of regrets. There he lays sleeping, waiting for the slaughter to begin anew.”

I crossed my arms and mulled over the text. “With no one to kill, his heart weakened…” I muttered. “That bit sounds important.”

“He is the Lord of Wrath, Robin,” Marika pointed out. “He is fueled by anger, either his own or that of everyone else’s. That is why a cursed weapon encourages its wielder to keep killing. Each death feeds to the blade the same wicked essence that animates its curse, strengthening it.”

“In that case, we must isolate him,” I said with a sharp nod. We had already determined from our last encounter that non-Heroes would not last an instant against Belgoroth. If his power fed on death, they might even prove a hindrance. “But nothing short of Roland or Soraseo can hope to match him in melee.”

The mention of Soraseo caused Marika to frown. “She still hasn’t recovered?”

I let out a sigh. “I could heal her scars with a signature, but I have no cure for despair.”

“Give her time, Robin,” Selestine encouraged us. “Your friend is strong, and your hopes were not wasted. You need patience.”

“It is not a question of patience, Lady Selestine,” I replied grimly. I had waited years to take down Sforza, but Belgoroth wouldn’t give us that long. “The clock keeps ticking down and we have yet to find a workable strategy.”

“Can’t we replicate the one our predecessors used?” Marika suggested, trying to lift my spirits. “Or at least adapt it to our current set-up?”

How? The Mage was on the other side of the continent, and we still didn’t even know where his vassals were. The Shaman and the Necromancer could be both a thousand leagues away. None of them could help us fight Belgoroth by the time he broke out of his prison.

Selestine remained skeptical too. “The original sealing spell worked because of the fear Belgoroth inspired in the hearts of all his victims. The current generation does not loathe the Demon Ancestors enough to fuel the magic.”

“I doubt Belgoroth will let him be positioned in a way that lets us seal him either,” I said. “He had centuries to stew on his first defeat. We will only win with surprise on our side.”

Marika scowled deeply. “Then we bomb him,” she suggested. “At the end of the day, the Demon Ancestors are little more than walking Blights. Both are fueled by a flow of negative essence. If Colmar’s plan of destroying the Blights by dropping vast amounts of positively-charged runestones into their core works, then the same tactic could disable Belgoroth.”

“There aren’t enough runestones in the world to quench all of his hatred,” I pointed out.

“I know,” Marika replied. “I tried to purify Belgoroth’s sword with a similar method and it failed. I’m not saying we can end the flow of anger… but we might disrupt it.”

That gave me pause. “Disrupt it?”

Marika nodded sharply. “Imagine it as throwing a rock in a river, with the positive essence being the rock and the world’s anger as the river. The latter’s flow will eventually push the rock out of its way or degrade it to dust, but it won’t succeed immediately.”

At long last, I felt the flame of hope reigniting in my heart. Dealing with the Demon Ancestors permanently required purifying their marks. Separating them from the flow of essence keeping them corrupted, however briefly, might let us achieve that objective.

“How long would the disruption last?” I asked.

“I can’t tell, Robin,” Marika conceded, much to my sorrow. “But whether it will keep Belgoroth down for hours or for years, it will at least give us time to adjust.”

“This plan meshes well with your other plan, Lord Merchant,” Selestine suggested. “If we can join the two, we might defeat the Lord of Wrath without the need of a seal.”

I remained skeptical. Optimistic, but skeptical. “My plan will require both Roland’s help, perfect positioning, and trust that my power will validate the trade,” I reminded her. “The odds that any of these outcomes happen are slim, let alone all of them at once.”

“As are our odds of victory at all,” Selestine replied. “Yet we must try nonetheless, for someone has to.”

Marika forced herself to smile. “What happened to the daredevil who challenged Belgoroth to repent? You ought to have more faith in us, Robin.”

She was right, I couldn’t let my doubts take over. As they said, fear was the mind-killer. I had to believe Soraseo would eventually emerge from her depression and that at least one of our desperate schemes would succeed in taking down Belgoroth. He had lost to a previous Knight, so we knew it could be done.

“I suppose you cannot petition the Artifacts for a winning strategy?” I asked Selestine, half-seriously. “I am willing to plead our case if needed.”

She smiled warmly at me. “If a perfect solution existed, we Heroes would not be needed. I suspect that the Four Artifacts understand our marks as much as we do. Much like a counterfeiter might duplicate a painting without understanding its message, they copied the Goddess’ work without uncovering its intricacies.”

Well, it was worth a shot.

“From our discussion, the bomb plan seems the best so far,” I resumed. “I still believe Colmar might find a way to adapt my own limestone idea, in which case we could probably combine the plans. We can bombard Belgoroth, trap him in one spot, and then proceed with my–”

I paused when I heard the office’s door open. Mr. Fronan walked inside the room with a handful of letters and a pale scowl of embarrassment on his face.

“I bear ill news,” he said. “I must return to the Freeholds with haste.”

His words hit me like a cold shower, and I felt the flame of hope inside me waver.

“You cannot be serious?” Marika looked fit to gag. “But Belgoroth will escape anytime soon!”

“I am afraid that the Lord of Wrath is no longer our only opponent.” Mr. Fronan handed the letters to Selestine. “I have been contacted by the Ranger through raven messengers. A slew of gruesome murders has struck the capital of Timberkeep. The Lord-Mayor, Lady Francine Desbois, was found dead with her face missing.”

“Her face?” I asked. A chill traveled down my spine as I put two and two together. “When you say missing–”

“Her face has become a mask of smooth skin,” Selestine guessed. Her brows furrowed the further she read. “Without eyes, nose, and mouth.”

Mr. Fronan nodded sharply. “You are well-informed, Lady Selestine.”

“When the criminal signs their deeds so brazenly, it is easy to infer the culprit.” Lady Selestine scowled in worry. “It seems that the Shadow has escaped their prison.”

“The Shadow?” Marika’s eyes widened in shock. “The Shadow of Envy?”

“Once happy to steal the riches of the powerful as the first Rogue, the Shadow now absconds with their lives and beauty,” Selestine confirmed. “The tales say that they had collected ten thousand faces by the time the Heroes jailed them under the Tower of Envy.”

The Tower of Envy; a pillar of smooth, ageless mirrors with neither doors nor windows. The place’s very name inspired dread in the hearts of the Arcadian traders I had exchanged words with. They said that those who dared to ascend its steep slope in search of treasures never returned.

I cursed our rotten luck. This event reminded me that while Belgoroth monopolized most of our attention, he was just one Demon Ancestor out of seven. His other allies hadn’t stayed idle, as Daltia’s own plotting could attest. At least the Shadow was said to be the weakest of the Demon Ancestors and forever resentful of that fact…

“Who is this Lady Francine?” I asked Mr. Fronan. “Why kill her?”

“She was Timberkeep’s Lord-Mayor, one of the most powerful parliamentarians in the Freeholds, my largest investor, and a friend,” Mr. Fronan recounted, his serene face straining with anger when he uttered the last word. “Her death will strike fear among the freeholders’ hearts and sow turmoil. Her family already accused her political rivals of ordering her murder.”

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“What the Shadow lacks in power, they more than make up for in cunning,” Lady Selestine countered as she returned the letters to Mr. Fronan. “I suspect that this murder is both a challenge to us and the first move of a larger plan.”

“The Ranger shares your opinion, Milady,” Mr. Fronan confirmed. “As her vassal, she requested my help in apprehending the Shadow. While it pains me to part ways with you, I intend to fulfill my duty.”

“That’s a shame,” I said with a grumble, though I did not push back. It would be highly hypocritical of me to ask Mr. Fronan to defend a foreign country from a Demon Ancestor when another already threatened his own homeland. “Your assistance would have made a difference against Belgoroth.”

Mr. Fronan lowered his head in shame. “I am deeply sorry, my friends. I swear to you that once the Shadow has been apprehended, I shall travel with haste back to Archfrost to assist you.”

“We shall return the favor once we emerge victorious,” I replied with all the optimism I could muster. The loss of the Druid would greatly diminish our strength.

I wondered if that was the Shadow’s intent. For them to strike now of all times, and so brazenly… the timing appeared far too fortuitous. I would need to assume that the Demon Ancestors could coordinate their actions from now on.

“It’s a shame, Fronan,” Marika said, crestfallen. “You will miss the Vernisla’s maiden voyage.”

“I suspect that will become one of my life’s greatest regrets,” Mr. Fronan replied with a sigh. “Nonetheless, I shall fly with you in spirit.”

For perhaps the first time since I met her, Selestine’s eyes lit up with what could pass for childish wonder. “The Vernisla is ready?”

“It is,” I confirmed with a proud smile, though it paled before Marika’s. “I took the liberty of adding a soundstone-based surprise for our guests.”

Mr. Fronan chuckled in amusement. “A great regret indeed.”

“I will promise you this much, Mr. Fronan,” I said with a hand on my chest. “By the time we meet again, your invention will have changed the world.”

“I wish as much, Robin.” Mr. Fronan took the time to shake my hand. “Fortune favors the bold, and of all the men I have met in my life… you might be the boldest yet.”

I prayed to the Goddess that we would both live long enough to meet again.

“It is unsightly to make a Duchess wait, Lord Merchant,” Griselda lightly chided me. “Not to mention half the lords of her realm.”

“I assure you, it will be worth the wait,” I replied calmly. My eyes looked up at the clouds above the city. “It should arrive any minute now.”

Duchess Griselda sighed in impatience, though a few hushed words from Selestine calmed her down. A delegation of half a hundred lords, ambassadors, diplomats, and Reformist priests from all corners of Walbourg had gathered on the cathedral’s plaza with their baggage and servants. No other place within Walbourg was large enough to accommodate the Vernisla.

None of them arrived with horses, as I had asked. I could tell a few of them wondered how they were supposed to reach the capital in time for the coronation on foot. Their questions were soon answered by the soft, graceful noise of wind runestones echoing from above.

The fruit of our long weeks of work and witchcrafting emerged from the shadows of wandering clouds.

The Vernisla sailed the sky sea with a swan’s grace, its hull of painted steel and brass shining under the sunlight. An oval balloon of rich, essence-reinforced Alfland silk bound by metal rings buoyed it aloft above the ground. The ship itself rivaled a carrack in size, with a burning furnace at the back and pristine wings of cloth sails keeping it moving in the right direction. Metallic chains, pillars, and other contraptions connected the deck to the balloon. An effigy at the ship’s helm, crafted in the shape of the late Vernisla, and a series of banners at the back completed the picture; we had tastefully chosen a mix of designs incorporating both Archfrost’s royal heraldry and that of Walbourg to symbolize the country’s reconciliation.

The ambassadors erupted into a chorus of astonished shouts, whispers, and laughter. Duchess Griselda herself covered her mouth in surprise, her eyes so wide I wondered if they would fall out of her face.

The Vernisla’s descent attracted an amazed crowd of passersby, who were hardly kept in check by a cordon of soldiers and city watchmen. Families rushed to their homes’ windows to listen to the airship’s buzzing melody of metal planks and fluttering wing sails. I personally paid more attention to the portholes and the hidden compartments on the hull’s base. Our trump card against Belgoroth.

“Dear lords and ladies of Walbourg!” I shouted at the assembly with all the bombastic energy of a showman. “Today, you shall sail over mountains and conquer the horizon!”

By the Goddess, I had spent weeks choosing my words!

Planning this dramatic entrance took a great deal of coordination. I had the Vernisla rise in the middle of the night for a test flight, so few would see its ascent, and then scheduled everything down based on the weather forecast.

It saddened me that Mr. Fronan wouldn’t see it. He had already left the day before in a hurry for the southwest. I hoped he would find the Ranger to be good company.

The Vernisla hoovered down into the plaza, its massive size narrowly fitting in between the stands and buildings. Its hull opened to reveal a ramped staircase of finely crafted metal. A soundstone connected to the captain’s cabin by an elaborate system of drums and wires shone above the entrance. Marika’s voice came out of it.

“If you would kindly climb onboard,” she said in between noises of muffled laughter. She clearly had fun playing captain. “Our staff will take care of you on our trip to Whitethrone.”

Protocol dictated that Duchess Griselda and her retainers would climb aboard first, but Selestine clearly couldn’t suppress her curiosity. Her fingers fidgeted with excitement, her once-serene lips stretching as if to suppress words she feared would sound childish.

“Would you like to climb first, Lady Selestine?” I asked with amusement.

“May I?” she all but begged.

“Of course,” the duchess replied graciously. “A Priest’s retinue trumps a noble’s one.”

“Thank you kindly, Lady Griselda.” Selestine immediately stepped forward and climbed the ramp with enthusiasm. Her Reformist followers, who had been slightly apprehensive at the idea of entering a flying machine, found their courage soon after and swiftly followed.

“I hope you are happy with our creation,” I told the duchess. “Its construction wouldn’t have been possible without your support.”

“This was money well-spent,” Duchess Griselda conceded. “Though we could have rode to the capital just as quickly.”

“Someone of your experience understands the value of symbols, Lady Griselda.” I waved a hand at the fruit of our labor. “A balloon made of Arcadian silk, a ship built by an Archfrostian Merchant and Riverlandian engineers, funded by Snowdrift’s own company and yours truly… all of western Pangeal contributed to its creation. There is no better view to inaugurate a new age of prosperity between Archfrost and Walbourg, I’m sure you agree.”

“I do.” The Duchess allowed herself to smile. “This is a modern miracle, and my people need one.”

Indeed. My eyes wandered to the city’s scorched suburbs, which still bore the mark of Belgoroth’s passage. While donations flowed to finance the reconstruction and Marika’s power more than quickened the process, it probably would take another year to rebuild completely. The lives lost that day couldn’t be recovered either. I’d heard the Duchess planned to build a monument to honor the fallen there, including her faithful Cavalier.

I wonder who will replace Vernisla, I thought as the duchess and the ambassadors climbed aboard the airship. Eyewitnesses saw the Cavalier’s mark fly north towards Archfrost, but it could have ended in the northern, beastmen-infested lands for all I knew. Whoever they are, I hope we can count on them. Roland will need all of his vassals.

Once the duchess and Walbourg’s ambassadors climbed inside the Vernisla’s belly, I remained behind, waiting for a friend.

“We are ready to launch, Robin,” Marika informed me through the soundstone.

“Captain Marika, how good to hear that you are safe and sound!” I shouted back at the loudspeaker. The device—developed thanks to Soraseo’s understanding of sound and Marika’s own ingenuity—should send my own voice back to the main cabin. “Had any dashing adventure on your way here?”

“I saw a dragon, but it didn’t stay for dinner,” Marika joked back with the same bemused tone. My, I’d rarely heard her in such a good mood. “I am years too early to be a sky pirate.”

“Give it time, we will make it popular,” I replied. “We’ll wait a few more minutes.”

Marika waited a moment before answering, “You think she will come?”

I have to hope so. I heard a slight commotion near the plaza’s entrance and turned my head in its direction. Seems I was right too.

A familiar black warhorse passed through the security cordon, a red knight guiding it by the reins while on foot. A few of Soraseo’s burns and wounds had healed over the course of the last few days, but she still wore an Iremian’s mummy worth of bandages under her armor. It astonished me that she could walk straight at all.

“You were waiting for me,” she noted. Her voice sounded weak and raspy, but I detected a hint of genuine warmth in her tone. Of gratitude.

“We were,” I confirmed. The sight of her brought a smile to my face. “Have you reconsidered?”

To my happiness, she nodded back. “I have given much thought to your words, Robin.” She glanced at the Vernisla, who we had named after a lost ally who perished saving her. “You were right. I do owe a debt to the dead. To my mother, and… those who died for me.”

I felt a little ashamed about guilt-tripping her this way, but my words seemed to have given her focus and a new lease on life; at least for now.

“My goal remains unchanged,” Soraseo said. “I will go to the Deadgate and ask them for forgiveness. Until then, I shall not die. Vernisla perished fighting Belgoroth, so I shall complete her mission in her stead. That is my word.”

“Your oath, you mean?” I asked with a small chuckle. My hand traveled under my coat and brought out a small document. I tossed it to her, alongside a quill already dipped in ink. “You will need this.”

“What is this?” Soraseo squinted as she read the document. “A contract?”

“Dozens of civilians and soldiers agreed to each take on one of your burns and wounds,” I explained. “I actually had to turn down a lot of volunteers to keep everything on one page.”

“Turn… down?” Soraseo stared at me in disbelief. “So many asked to bear my burden?”

“You saved their lives, so bearing those marks seemed like a cheap way to pay you back,” I replied warmly. “Stand proud. You’ve done good in this world.”

I couldn’t see Soraseo’s mouth under her helmet, but from the way her cheeks strained she was probably smiling underneath. She signed the contract with a stroke of my quill. Her charred skin regained its smooth, porcelain exterior in an instant. Her eyes healed from the smoke-induced blindness, her raven hair flowed out of her helmet, and her posture straightened.

“Let us go, Robin,” Soraseo said. “I stand ready.”

Our Monk had returned.

Soraseo guided her horse inside the ship. I climbed after her. The ramp closed behind us and Vernisla lightly shook beneath us as it took off for Archfrost.

The airship’s insides felt alive to me, its brass pipes pulsating with steam and essence, its polished metal corridors lining up like the innards of an impossibly great beast. The portholes offered me a brief glimpse of the world outside. Walbourg had swiftly shrank to the size of a speck of dust amidst serpentine rivers and valleys. Days worth of journey on horsefoot would pass within the span of hours.

Marika, Mr. Fronan, and I focused on utilities over luxury when we developed the airship, though we made a central atrium to accommodate our important guests. I hoped they would find the carpets, refreshments, and the splendid view of the sea of clouds outside a pleasing experience. The Vernisla was no flying House of Gold, but Walbourg’s diplomats should have no reason to complain about the services onboard.

Moreover, I had set a surprise for them: a soft, soothing biwa melody echoing through the ship. Soraseo immediately recognized the tune. “That is my song.”

“A set of pipes amplifies a soundstone’s music across the ship,” I explained. “With luck, a few of our guests will commission more for themselves.”

I intended to use this trip to gather some capital if I wanted to further develop the soundstone project.

“You’ll earn some royalties off the sales, of course,” I told Soraseo as I guided her below deck under the soft light of runestone lamps to a small animal box meant to house a dozen horses—the few we had space enough to transport. “We couldn’t have built this system without your advice.”

“I need no gold.” Soraseo’s hand moved to her sword’s hilt, her eyes closing in contemplation. “Listening to my homeland’s song is reward enough.”

We moved Soraseo’s mount to its pen—which it would share with my dear Mudkeep—and then moved deeper inside the Vernisla. I wished to show her something.

I heard the central furnace thrumming not so far from our position. The rooms and corridors appeared suffused with elemental essence to my magical sight. Most traveled up to fuel the balloon to keep us afloat, while the rest fueled helixes that moved the ship forward when the wind proved insufficient.

“I have no words,” Soraseo said. She kept looking through the portholes, taking notes of the places we rode across on our way to Walbourg. “I see birds.”

“Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” I asked with a chuckle. The ship was built with Walbourg and Archfrost’s resources, so I suspected it would become the country’s flagship in the years to come. “I’ll have to commission another for myself.”

“I am not certain you’ll have the funds for a ship as big as this one,” Marika’s voice echoed behind me. Our ship’s captain had left her cabin to greet us personally. “Welcome back, Sora.”

“Thank you, Marika.” Soraseo took Marika’s hands into her own. “For believing in me.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Marika replied warmly. “I overheard your discussion outside, and… an idea crossed my mind. We could easily reach the Deadgate with this ship. It should resist the northern cold.”

“It would spare us a long and arduous journey,” I confirmed. Sᴇaʀᴄh the NovᴇlFɪre .ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“Us?” Soraseo frowned at me. “You would come with me?”

“I’ve thought it over, and I intend to leave Archfrost after we deal with Belgoroth.” One way or another. “I would like to make peace with a few people before that.”

“I understand,” Soraseo replied. “I will gladly travel with you, my friends.”

“Where would you go afterward, Robin?” Marika asked with curiosity, though she didn’t appear surprised by my decision. “The Fire Islands?”

“I’ll go where my words and deeds will have the most impact,” I replied with a shrug. Maybe I would go visit Mersie, the Fire Islands, or the Everbright Empire as Therese suggested. I could also go to the Arcadian Freeholds to help deal with the Shadow. So many places in Pangeal needed the Merchant, whether to fight demons or improve their infrastructure. “I feel I need a fresh start, if that makes sense.”

“I get you,” Marika said, her hand scratching the back of her head. “I need one too. I’ll probably tag along if Beni agrees to leave Snowdrift.”

“It’s a deal,” I replied. I wondered if Colmar would be open to the idea of a trip. The four of us Heroes traveling, changing the world with one hand and saving lives with the other… now that would make for an adventure worth remembering.

Afterward, we descended to the secret armory. A set of six cannons lined up the room, three on each side mounted on swivels to aim with precision. Their steel barrels were better polished than mirrors. Intricate lines of fire runestones woven in the metal glowed with a bright orange light; enchanted grates at the weapons’ backends would absorb the recoil of their projectiles. All of them faced walls of brass designed to move and expose the hull’s flanks once the Vernisla entered battle.

The beastman merchant Aiglemont was keeping watch over them, as fascinated by their design as he was frightened to touch them.

“Lord Heroes,” he said upon noticing us. “My apologies, I could not resist checking them more closely. I had never seen one so close…”

“No harm done,” I replied with a smirk. I reacted the same way when Eris teleported back to our warehouse with those engineering wonders. “I hope you are enjoying our flight.”

“It is an honor to participate in this maiden voyage, Lord Merchant,” the beastman replied with a hint of embarrassment. “However… is it wise for me to come? Your friends in Archfrost might resent you for bringing a beastman along.”

“If they do, then they were never my friends,” I replied confidently. “Archfrost will need to make peace with beastmen, one way or another. This airship wouldn’t exist without you, so you are entitled to a spot on its crew.”

“That silk of yours let us increase our planned payload twofold,” Marika added. “The whole kingdom needs to know.”

“I can ask for no better publicity than this flying ship,” Aiglemont agreed. “My suppliers in Alfland will be very pleased.”

Soraseo crossed her arms as she examined the cannons. “I recognize them,” she said. “These are Iremians rune cannons. My people’s warships feared them more than storms and thunder.”

“Eris purchased them for us on Archfrost’s behalf, and my power transported them to Walbourg,” I confirmed. “The Vernisla should possess more power than any warship now.”

“Iremian canons can shatter castle walls in a single shot, or so I was told,” Marika said. “With our airship’s altitude advantage, we could fire down on a landbound target without fearing retaliation. No catapult can reach us above the clouds.”

With luck, these cannons would prove a decisive weapon against Belgoroth. Once we received the Mage’s latest delivery of essence-charged runestones, we would use most to destroy Archfrost’s Blights and keep the rest as projectiles to hit the Lord of Wrath with.

Some might consider the wisdom of using cannons to hit a single warrior. I personally found six of these weapons far too few for that purpose. A shame that Irem didn’t have enough of them in stock to sell us more.

A voice echoed through the pipes. “Captain, our escort is coming from the east.”

Soraseo frowned in confusion. “Our escort?”

“Mankind hasn’t waited for ships to conquer the sky,” I replied while taking steps toward the porthole. I glanced at the horizon and swiftly noticed small shadows coming from Archfrost’s lands. “An old friend is coming to say hello.”

A squad of immaculate pegasi riders flew straight at us from the eastern mountains, with a familiar friend leading them. Archfrost’s royal banners fluttered in the wind in her strong hands.

Alaire never failed to look fierce.

Her mount Silverine had fully recovered from the wounds she suffered in Snowdrift. In fact, she appeared to have gained in speed and quickness. The pegasus outpaced the rest of the escort and swiftly caught up to the Vernisla.

Then it struck me like a lightning bolt.

That unmistakable sense of familiarity radiating from my mark.

Alaire must have sensed it too, for she had Silverine fly right next to my porthole. Brynslow’s countess faced us without a helmet, her braid floating in the wind behind her, a silver symbol shining between her eyes: a stylized wheel holding a hoof in its center alongside the Erebian numeral for seven.

The mark of the Cavalier.

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