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Chapter 105 - Dreadborne Harbinger
🕑 Added 2025-03-30 05:01:40 +0000 UTCWithout prompting from Klarion, Redrek continued explaining, “The Savage Wilds is the name given to the rest of the pocket plane beyond the walls of Bastion. It is wild, dangerous, and filled with monsters that have no business existing so close to civilization.”
“More than that,” Valdre added, “the Savage Wilds are unstable. In many places, the terrain itself shifts over time, as if everything beyond Bastion is never truly settled. And it isn’t.”
Klarion frowned at that, having a difficult time visualizing what Valdre was describing. “What do you mean?”
“The Savage Wilds is not some distant province or a wild frontier on an Imperial world. This is a pocket plane.” He gestured vaguely around himself. “Beyond the stability of the Academy and Bastion, the nature of this place is change. New territories appear, old territories vanish. And it’s not just the land itself. It is the same with the monsters too. Some are remnants of old worlds. Others?” He tilted his head. “Abominations. Things that should not exist. Things that defy reason.”
“The worst are the Voidborn.” Redrek shuddered at the word. “They don’t have a fixed form. Not truly. Sometimes, they resemble humanoids with stretched limbs and too many joints. Other times, they take on the shapes of beasts—wolves with eyeless faces, serpents with gaping maws where their torsos should be. They are shadows given form, nightmares given flesh.”
“And these things just… appear?”
Redrek nodded. “They are rare, but from what my father said about his time here, they are one of the more common things to emerge when the periphery of the pocket plane shifts. Especially when, sometimes, it pulls in a piece of something it shouldn’t. Entire regions blink into existence for a time—fragments of lost worlds, broken pieces of places that no longer exist. And from those places, Voidborn are some of the things that crawl out.”
Klarion took a drink, considering what his friends were telling him and what it might mean for his efforts to unlock Essences and to get the materials needed for his class. One potential issue came to his mind before any other. “If the land is always shifting, how do maps work? How does anyone navigate?”
Redrek let out a dry chuckle. “They don’t. Not reliably. But everyone, especially the Expeditionary Hall, tries. Each mission you accept at the Expeditionary Hall comes with access to relevant records and the most current map. Some regions stay stable for years, even decades, especially the closer you are to Bastion itself. Weeks away, deep in the Savage Wilds though, places out there might only last a week before vanishing entirely.”
Valdre nodded. “And then there are the dungeons.”
That caught Klarion’s attention. He had nearly died in one already, after all. Yet, despite the danger they posed, they also were filled with opportunities and the chance to get better gear and levels.
“Dungeons?”
“Oh yes,” Valdre said, his grin returning. “More of them than you’d expect. The nature of the pocket plane makes them more common than on other, terrestrial worlds.”
“So let me get this straight,” Klarion said, crossing his arms. “Beyond the Academy, beyond the walls of Bastion, the land itself changes. Monsters unlike anything seen in most settled Imperial worlds roam freely. And dungeons appear, offering both riches and death in equal measure.”
Valdre inclined his head. “That about sums it up.”
“And this is where scions are expected to venture?”
Valdre chuckled, shifting in his chair from excitement. “Most scions do more than venture into the Savage Wilds. They actively seek. Because—for all the horrors lurking in the dark—the Savage Wilds hold the potential for greater power and wealth than one can obtain almost anywhere else at the early levels of our classes. Essences have a higher chance of being unlocked, more so than in the controlled environments of the Academy. Ancient artifacts, rare materials, and even inheritances might all lie buried in forgotten ruins or Dungeons, awaiting the right hands to claim them.”
Redrek smacked his clawed hand against the table, his excitement making their drinks jump. “And that’s where the Expeditionary Hall comes in. The missions posted there aren’t just things that others are requesting help with—they’re opportunities. Each mission is a test, a proving ground, and a chance to rise above the rest of your competitors at the Academy.”
Klarion sat back. He had been so focused on the Academy itself—on its courses, its rigid structure, and the power he needed to claim—that he had ignored even looking into the existence of anything beyond the campus itself. He had thought the Academy was the crucible where his power would refined, but now he was beginning to understand: the Savage Wilds was likely where it would be truly forged.
“And the nobles take these missions willingly?” he asked, arching a brow. “I ask because it’s been my impression so far that there are more than a few scions looking to simply drift through their classes, not doing anything beyond what is required of them.”
“Willingly or not, they will have to at some point. If not here, then after they graduate,” Valdre said firmly. “Part of being one of the nobility is to fulfill this duty. Every scion who graduates to become a full-fledged member of the nobility will be required to go on missions for conquest, exploration, or securing vital resources for the Empire. After all, the strong protect and expand the Empire. ”
“Then I suppose it’s time I pay a visit to the Expeditionary Hall,” Klarion said standing up. “Since you have been there before, would you mind coming with me to show me the way?”
“Of course,” Valdre nodded, Redrek voicing his agreement a moment later. The half-frost elf continued, “We should see if there are any new missions that fit our needs as well.”
The three of them left the parlor, each moving with purpose. As they made their way to the front of Blacksword Manor—where his friend’s bodyguards had stayed behind to talk with Hatsune—Klarion’s mind was already turning over his next steps. But before he could take more than a few strides, a familiar voice cut through the air.
“Scion Blacksword.”
Klarion paused, glancing over his shoulder. Solivair stood down the hallway, his posture as composed as ever, his expression schooled into his usual mask of calm efficiency. And yet… Klarion thought that he caught something different in the old Vilborn’s eyes. A flicker of hesitation. Perhaps concern.
Valdre paused at Klarion’s side, arching an eyebrow. “Your steward?”
Klarion nodded, already turning back. “Go on ahead. I won’t be long.”
“Alright,” Valdre said as both he and Redrek continued on. “Don’t take too long. We’ll be waiting out front.”
Klarion turned back to his steward, approaching a more comfortable distance for the kind of conversation he expected Solivair wanted to have.
“What is it, Solivair?”
Solivair wasted no time. From within the folds of his coat, he retrieved a small but weighty pouch and extended it toward Klarion. “For your trip,” he said, his voice even, measured. “You will need supplies, and it would be poor form for an Archducal Scion to be found lacking.”
Klarion accepted the pouch, rolling it lightly in his palm. The weight of the gold inside was substantial enough to cover expenses for weeks, if used well. He knew that because it was the same pouch he had given the steward earlier to use to begin fixing the manor. Quite a bit lighter now, it still felt like there were at least twenty coins inside. “You almost sound as if you expect me to waste it.”
“I expect you to spend it wisely,” Solivair corrected, his sharp eyes locking onto Klarion’s own. There was an intensity to his gaze, one that carried layers of meaning beyond the words spoken. “And, if possible, return with more than you left with.” He reached into his coat again and pulled free a pair of heavy cloaks, which he had held folded against his side. “You and your bodyguard should wear these over your armor while traveling beyond the Academy’s grounds. You both will draw attention as it is—best not to make yourselves too obvious.”
Klarion took the cloaks, noting the fine craftsmanship. Though they appeared simple at a glance, the material was durable, meant for harsh conditions. “You had these prepared in advance.”
Solivair gave a small incline of his head. “After learning a bit more about the campus myself, I anticipated you would not waste much time before seeking the Expeditionary Hall. And I would prefer you not walk into the unknown wholly unprepared. Now come, there is more we must discuss. In private.”
Klarion didn’t ask what Solivair wanted to discuss. Instead, he simply nodded and followed along as the Vileborn turned on his heel and led the way through the manor’s halls, until they reached Klarion’s personal chambers, and he pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside. The room was as Klarion had left it earlier in the day—dimly lit, orderly, the scent of oiled steel lingering in the air from the weapons and armor racks now positioned near the far wall. His fieldplate armor awaited him there, freshly polished, prepared for the trials ahead.
Solivair closed the door behind them, ensuring their conversation remained unheard. “You should change,” he said, nodding toward the armor. “We will speak while you do.”
Klarion set the pouch and cloaks on the nearby table before approaching his armor stand. Piece by piece, he began the process of equipping himself, starting with the underlayers—padded gambeson and fitted leather that sat comfortably over his school uniform, all of which would lie beneath the heavier plates. He moved with rough efficiency, his relative lack of practice making the process slower than he wanted it. Like so many things here, he would simply have to keep at it until it became second nature. Only when Klarion began strapping on the gauntlets did he finally speak to his steward, having guessed what the old Vileborn wanted to talk about.
"You’re worried," Klarion said, his voice low but steady. He reached for the helmet, holding it in his hands for a moment before tucking it under his arm.
“Of course I am worried,” Solivair said, baring his fangs momentarily before recovering himself. “There are only four things in the Multiverse I care about, and three of them are scattered around Blacksword Manor, shoring up its security as we speak.” Solivair’s voice did not increase in volume, but there was an unmistakable edge, something sharper, more cutting. "You are a scion of House Blacksword, and I—we— swore our service to you. But the truth, Klarion, is that you are a scion of a house that lacks the strength of many of the others here at the Academy. You are isolated, surrounded by enemies who see you as nothing but an obstacle. Worse, you have no meaningful allies. Not yet. And the other houses—the other scions—will not hesitate to destroy you if it means strengthening their own positions.”
Klarion felt that same heavy weight that had settled in his chest some time ago when Jezeri had provided him with that list of the enemies conspiring against him. He knew the scions of the Academy weren’t just ambitious—they were predators.
Solivair’s voice softened, but only slightly. "I have made a life for myself through subtlety, through manipulation. I know what it means to have no power but your wits, to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground you gain. But this—" He gestured toward Klarion’s armor, to the human who was only fresh into adulthood, yet had been thrust into a world of power struggles. "This is different. And I will not sit idly by while you play the game by their rules.”
“You are right about the dangers I face,” Klarion responded after it was clear Solivair had said his piece. “But you’ve made a mistake."
Solivair’s head tilted, his gaze still steady as he waited for Klarion to elaborate. The silence between them was thick, a challenge, a subtle invitation for Klarion to continue. It was as if the older Vileborn man were testing him, measuring his resolve. Which, given what he could guess about the Vileborn’s time as a crime lord, was only to be expected.
Klarion met Solivair’s gaze with a quiet intensity. The fire in his eyes burned with conviction, something stronger than the uncertainty that had defined him during the first week of his time at the Academy.
“You’re worried about me surviving, which is perfectly rational. I won’t sugarcoat it. There is a long, winding road of violence in front of me — and I am concerned myself.” Klarion shook his head, raising a finger in the air as he did so. “But if you think I’ll just play the game they want me to, you haven’t been paying very much attention to me these past few days.”
Klarion’s jaw set as he moved to finish strapping on his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, each piece of the fieldplate clicking into place like the assembling of a weapon. His gaze never left Solivair, and with each word, his voice grew colder, more determined. "I’ve been on the defensive, fighting off the attacks they’ve already launched, protecting my back every step of the way. But that changes as soon as I unlock my Essences and my class. Once that happens, I won’t cower and wait for their moves. I’ll go on the offensive. I’ll make them regret ever coming after me."
Solivair didn’t respond immediately, his face unreadable, but Klarion could feel the shift in the air between them. He could sense Solivair waiting for him to explain further—waiting to see if the scion truly understood what it meant to seize control of his fate and, more importantly, how far he was willing to go to protect himself. And to protect those around him.
Klarion’s hands tightened within the gauntlets, his knuckles cracking as he looked directly at Solivair. "I’ve seen the other scions. I’ve felt the whispers behind my back, the schemes they’ve woven. Alliances, deals—every one of them trying to bring me down. They see me as nothing more than another son of an old and weakened House, another figurehead for them to target in a game they’ve played for decades now. But they don’t know what I’m capable of."
The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with the promise of something darker, something more lethal. For the most part, Klarion knew he was still the same person as he had been back on Earth. His memories of his old life were as sharp as ever. He could still recall the way he used to think, the way he analyzed problems, the way he handled conflict. He had never been one to start fights. He had believed in fairness, for the most part. Though even then, he hadn’t been naive—far from it. He had understood the necessity of power, the reality that strength dictated outcomes, and that control was the difference between survival and failure.
But here, in the Empire, that understanding had evolved into something sharper, something colder. Even in the brief few weeks that had passed since leaving Earth, he had come to know there was no room for hesitation or idealism. From the moment he had learned what it meant to bear the name Blacksword, he had realized that survival alone would never be enough. This new existence he was living was not like his previous one back on Earth. The rules were different. Here, power was not merely an advantage—it was everything. And power without the will to wield it was just an invitation to be crushed.
His enemies had wasted no time in reminding him of that truth. Even before he had fully understood the dangers of the position he was in, others had already moved against him, seeking to kill him before the year had even really started. He had spent these past days reacting—surviving threats, avoiding open conflict, trying to gather information before making any reckless moves. He had tried to be careful, and yet, despite his caution, the attacks had come. The scions who wanted him dead weren’t waiting for him to grow stronger. They weren’t giving him the time to find his footing.
If he stayed on the defensive, he would die.
The Klarion who had lived on Earth would have hesitated. He would have questioned whether it was right to strike first, whether it was necessary to be ruthless. He would have weighed his options, looked for the most measured, strategic path forward. But the Klarion who stood here now, wearing fieldplate that would have once sent him to his knees under its weight, knew hesitation was a weakness he couldn’t afford. This new existence of his didn’t reward restraint—it rewarded dominance.
No, he wasn’t different, not truly. He was still the same person—his core beliefs, his sense of purpose, his need to protect those who stood with him. That part of him hadn’t changed. But what had changed was his willingness to do whatever it took to ensure his survival and the survival of those who swore themselves to him. If that meant being vicious, he would be vicious. If that meant being ruthless, he would be ruthless. He would not let sentimentality be his downfall.
"When I unlock my class," Klarion said, his voice steady, "when I take that power and wield it as my own—I will not hesitate. I won’t wait for them to make the next move. I’ll strike first. Hard. And it will start with Chadwick who will be dead before the year is out.”
Solivair’s gaze narrowed, his fingers tracing the edge of his coat, but his face had returned to being impassive, likely to cover his reactions to his words. Even still, based on how fast those fingers were now moving, Klarion could tell that the old Vileborn was intrigued, waiting to hear how far Klarion’s resolve truly stretched.
“And after Scion Copperhand, how do you plan to make them regret coming after you?” Solivair finally asked, an unmistakable curiosity in his voice now. "How will you turn the tables on them?”
Klarion took a slow breath, his fingers drifting down to check straps one last time, the metal creaking under his grip. He could feel the weight of his resolve, the certainty that had settled in him like a core of steel. He looked Solivair directly in the eyes, his voice colder, but no less determined.
“I’ll play their game better than they can,” Klarion said, his voice sharp and deliberate. “And when I do, I’ll rip the ground out from under them. I won’t wait for an opening—I’ll carve one into their flesh. I’ll destroy what’s theirs, piece by piece. Their power. Their influence. Their allies. And at the same time, I’ll build my own strength. I’ll make them regret every move they made against me.”
Solivair watched him in silence, his expression still the same as before, but now there was a look of approval in his eyes. Solivair’s lips curled into a thin, approving smile. The Vileborn man nodded, his approval for what Klarion had said clear.
"Good," Solivair murmured, his voice steady. "That’s what I needed to hear. A scion who knows that survival is not enough. It’s about domination. And you’re starting to understand that."
With the conversation that he wanted to have done, Solivair quickly updated Klarion on the progress of repairing the manor, after which he ended with a request that he return with more gold if at all possible to continue the efforts they were making to get Blacksword Manor back in order.
Once the Vileborn had left, Klarion threw on his new heavy cloak and grabbed the heavy pouch of coins Solivair had given to him, securing it as best he could. Then, his gaze fell on the greatsword resting near the weapon racks—Rolfun’s parting gift. He lifted the massive blade, testing its weight more out of habit than anything. He then grabbed his harness for it and left his bedroom, going to the front of the manor.
Hatsune was already there, standing tall in her armor. Her silver-tipped ears twitched slightly, sensing his approach before she even turned to look at him. She was already armed, her own sword resting at her hip.
Klarion stopped in front of her and held out the other cloak. "Wear this," he said. "Solivair suggested we keep a low profile outside the Academy."
Hatsune took the cloak without argument, inspecting the material briefly before securing it around her shoulders. It was well-made, durable—practical for travel. Klarion then handed her the greatsword.
"Hold onto this for me until we leave the campus.”
“Of course,” Hatsune nodded, taking the weapon and harness from his hand to equip it herself for now.
With that, Klarion led them outside, where Valdre and Redrek, alongside their bodyguards, were clearly beginning to become impatient to be off. Seeing that Klarion and Hatsune were finally ready, they started walking without another word.
The path finally set, Klarion couldn’t wait to see the Expeditionary Hall.
Comments
Dr.Awkward
Let's go! I'm excited for the next leg of the journey. I'm hoping for a class that is unexpected!
