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Major Updates To Book 1 (Chapters 1 - 47)
🕑 Added 2024-10-30 15:24:03 +0000 UTCAs promised, today I'm going to share the major updates that I've made to the story up till Chapter 90.
The big beats and plot elements all remain roughly the same, with only a few major edits that are meant to enhance pacing and tension.
Book #1 encompasses the first 47 chapters, and now ends with Harald's duel with Yeoric. This duel is set up by a visit from Lucine, the half-elf who raids with Yeoric, and whose affections Harald thought he might win before the book's start:
LUCINE SETS THE TERMS OF THE DUEL
Vic emerged from the kitchen, lips compressed in distaste. “Harald, you have a visitor. One of your former compatriots? She’s wishes to inform you as to the details of the duel.”
“Lucine?” Harald felt a bitter flood of negative emotions. “Great. You put her in the parlor?”
“What I want to know,” demanded Vic, “is when I swapped Rapier Regent for Majordomo. I’m willing to cook, I’d go so far as to say I’ve discovered a new talent, but answering doors -”
“Thanks, Vic.” Harald patted the man on the shoulder as he stepped past him. “You’ll get a nice Silver Starburst bonus at the end of the month.”
“I - what?” Vic spluttered even as Nessa’s laughter trailed Harald into the house.
The half-elf was making her way around the parlor, hands linked behind her back, lips pursed as she studied the old paintings. She sensed Harald’s appearance at the door, and turned with that enviable grace that was a heritage of her lineage.
“Harald.” Her tone was cold, her beautiful visage marred by distaste. “Shall we keep this quick? Yeoric asked that I inform you as to the particulars of the duel. So that there can be no claims to a misunderstanding on your part.”
“Lucine.” Harald entered the parlor and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go ahead, then.”
But her distaste was momentarily interrupted by a more complex emotion as she studied him. Surprise? Confusion?
Ah. She was noticing how he’d changed.
Head quirked to one side, she tapped her chin as she approached, brows furrowed. “Harald. You look…”
Harald raised an eyebrow, prompting her to finish her statement, but she changed tack.
“Have you accepted patronage from another House?”
“That’s none of your business, Lucine.”
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Had he once thought their green depths so peerlessly beautiful? Now she seemed little more than a shallow creature, her emotions all too readable, her gaze lacking depth. “Very well. No matter. Yeoric wishes to keep the duel quick so that it doesn’t interrupt our schedule. We’re planning to make a dungeon run around Tenth Bell, so you’re to report to the Dueling Circles at Eighth. You’ll forfeit the match if you’re more than five minutes late.”
“Not a problem,” said Harald, keeping his annoyance under control. “Eighth Bell at the Dueling Circles.”
Lucine couldn’t stop studying him. Her gaze flicked up and down, then lingered on his torso, his shoulders perhaps. “Yes. The terms are as follows: no Artifacts, no Servitors, and the winner is decided by forcing their opponent to submit or knocking them out. No friends, retainers, or familiars may interfere in any way with the duel, and if said interference is detected, the offending party forfeits the duel and the stakes double.”
Harald inclined his head. “Sounds good.”
Lucine paused, clearly having expected complaint. Ah. She’d suspected he’d planned to win by cheating. Classy.
“No scales may be used during the fight to effect healing, and there’s to be no blood price allowed in the case of accidental death.” Lucine’s eyes glimmered. “If you enter the Circle, none may legally seek reparations for what happens inside. Understood, Harald?”
“Sure.” Again Lucine frowned, taken aback. She went to speak, but he cut her off. “I’m adding a clause of my own, however. The loser must formally bow to the victor - if they’re still capable, I guess - and formally declare before the witnesses that the winner is the greater fighter in every way.”
Lucine sneered. “You wish to underscore your humiliation? Fine. I can’t imagine in what world Yeoric would have a problem with that addition. Honestly, Harald, I can’t imagine -”
“I don’t care.” Lucine’s eyes widened in outrage, but Harald spoke over her. “I don’t care what you think. If you’re done delivering the terms, get off my property.”
“With pleasure.” She drew herself up and strode past him toward the front door, where she paused to spin about and glare at him. “I can’t wait to see you grovel, Harald. I don’t know how you’ve cheated these past few weeks, but it won’t matter. Yeoric is going to hurt you so badly that you’ll -”
“Lucine.” Harald narrowed his eyes and began striding toward her. “Get out.”
Something in his expression silenced her tongue. She flushed, yanked open the door, and then was gone.
Harald sighed and pressed his brow to the wooden panels after he swung it shut.
Shame and anger roiled within him. Old memories, old regrets. His half-boiled hopes, his foolish vanity. How had he ever considered Yeoric’s crew his means of salvation?
No matter.
At Eighth Bell the day after tomorrow it would all be resolved.
But the fuse of his anger was lit now. Lucine had brought it all crashing back. Harald scowled. Yeoric didn’t want the duel to inconvenience his plans for tomorrow, did he?
Well then. Harald would have to make his defeat quick.
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Further, his discussion with his friends after discovering his father's hoard has been simplified and enhanced, such that he immediately offers to create the Throne Hunters, and distribute his newfound wealth through the crew, an offer which disarms Vic's suspicions and appeals to Nessa's professionalism.
As such, there's no longer that scene where Harald's attempt at generosity is rebuffed. Here is the scene, which continues through the End of Chapter 44 and into Chapter 45:
END OF CHAPTER 44
It took them till the Second Bell in the afternoon for the auction men to finally depart and Vic to hustle them all downstairs. He insisted on bringing wine in order to celebrate whatever decision Harald had made, convinced, as he told them several times, that it was the one and only correct decision.
Sam stood apart from the others, her smile pained, Nessa’s welcome and Vic’s wink doing little to put her at ease. She deflected Vic’s questions, promising to answer later, and he was easily dissuaded.
So that finally they were gathered in the small chamber by scale-light, clustered in a tight knot.
“Sam needs to read my father’s letter first,” said Harald firmly.
“Another five minutes’ delay?” Vic sagged back against the wall. “My heart. It can’t take it. I feel faint.”
“Oh please, do faint,” said Nessa dryly. “That’ll give us at least a couple of minutes’ silence.”
Vic scowled exaggeratedly at her.
Sam took the four sheets of parchment and set to reading.
Harald couldn’t help but watch her expressions with intent interest. She didn’t disappoint. Dismay, shock, horror. She’d glance up at him on occasion, eyes wide, only to dive back in. When she was finally done, she set the parchments down, hands shaking, and covered her mouth.
“I know. I’ve had days to try and come to terms with it all, and it only gets worse the more I think about it.” Harald crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “This Demon Seed will undo me unless I fight it with everything I’ve got, and even then that won’t be enough. It’s too powerful. My father was a strong man, he was Darius fucking Darrowdelve, and even he couldn’t stomach what it promised him, how it wanted to change him.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” said Sam quietly. “You can just stop. Never go back down into the dungeon again.”
“Let’s not get crazy here,” cut in Vic. “He definitely has to do something, especially with that scale. In fact—”
“I want to fight.” Harald spoke to Sam, their gazes locked. “Maybe it’s due to my new Nature, or maybe my new Nature just reflects who I am now. But I’m not going to run.”
“You want to avenge your mother?” asked Nessa quietly.
“More than that. I’ve this foolish memory of myself as a child—”
“I’ve got those,” interjected Vic sympathetically.
“—where I tell my mother why I want to be strong.” Harald smiled ruefully. “It made sense to me when I was six, and only just started ringing true once more. I want to be strong to help others. To help everyone in Flutic who has no idea as to what’s going on with this celestial war. To help that angel I saw. To help you three. I want to make a difference, but to do that I have to be strong. And for better or worse, I’ve got this Demon Seed now. So I have to find a way to master it.”
Sam was slowly shaking her head in horror.
“I know I can’t succeed without you three. The fates have thrown us together. Our past has been…” Harald sought the right world.
“Fucked up,” said Sam.
“Insincere,” offered Vic.
“Based on manipulation and lies,” said Nessa.
“Complicated.” Harald forced a smile. “But it doesn’t need to continue that way. These past few weeks have been intense for all of us. But for better or worse, they’ve brought us to a turning point. We can resolve to move forward together, to fight to be our best selves, or we can fragment, splinter, let our weaknesses govern us, and fall away into the darkness.”
“I love it when he gets like this,” Vic whispered to Sam. “It’s so inspiring.”
“I’m serious.” Harald looked from one to the next. “I can’t do this alone. My father literally said as much. I’ll fail and be corrupted by the Seed without even realizing it. Vic was right about needing to think long term, in needing to invest in strategies that will bear fruit down the road instead of going for immediate gratification today.”
“Excellent!” Vic pumped his fist. “Harald, you’re not going to regret this—”
“Hear me out, Vic.”
Vic froze.
“That’s why I’ve decided to split the Infinitum. I’m going to pay Lady Sonora her Horizon’s Whisper to clear my debt, then absorb a Whisper and Ascend to my Second Throne so that I can crush Yeoric. Then I’m going to give two to Sam as thanks for all the sacrifices she’s made so she can also Ascend to her second. I’ll then split pour the remaining six Whispers into the creation of our own official raiding crew. We acquire our own charter, our own dungeon writ, and I’ll deed the Artifacts to the company, which then loans them each of us for as long as we’re in good standing with the crew.”
Nessa’s face turned pale. Vic eyes widened. Sam simply stared at him as if he’d started spouting elvish.
“I was thinking we could use the scales to create a crew fund from which we each get paid a salary, or something. A monthly payment of some kind.” And here Harald gave a pained smile. “That way we can all use these resources to Ascend together, and then continue to train together, to raid together, and to help each other grow. I want to become a hero out of legend, a true monster when it comes to power—but not that kind of monster. Which is why I’m asking you three to walk with me. To, as my father said, keep my aim true.”
Harald took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself to keep smiling. “So. What do you guys think?”
BEGINNING OF CHAPTER 45
His three friends simply stared at them.
Vic recovered first. “Wait. You’re telling me that you’re voluntarily giving up six hundred thousands scales?”
“Investing,” corrected Harald.
Vic pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples. “My mind. It hurts. I can’t understand anyone being so selfless.”
Nessa’s eyes were shining. “He has his reasons, Vic. Recall his father’s advice?”
“Harald.” Sam had placed her hand over her mouth. “You’re serious?”
“About your two scales? Most of all. Perhaps it should be more, I don’t know. I’m open to hearing what you all think. But Sam. What you were forced to do. For so many years.” Harald felt emotion swell in his throat, making his voice hoarse. “No amount can ever make that right.”
“I think two Horizon’s is plenty,” cut in Vic. “Let’s not get carried away here. You’re quite grateful, aren’t you Sam?”
Sam ignored him. “Thank you, Harald. I…” She hung her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do.”
“Trying?” asked Harald, surprised. “It’s a done deal. The scales are yours as soon as we break this Infinitum.”
“No, I mean…” Sam struggled to find the words, a flush rising to her cheeks. “These past few days. I’ve been struggling to define myself. To become my own person.” She glanced at Vic and Nessa, clearly embarrassed, but forged on. “And part of that decision was to become independent. To not owe anybody anything ever again.”
“Oh, I see,” said Nessa. “You’re worried these two scales will make you feel indebted to Harry.”
“I know that’s not what he intends,” said Sam hurriedly. “It’s a beautiful gesture. But… yes. It’s just… it’s just so much wealth.”
“Sam.” Harald fought the urge to step forward and take her hand. “It’s not a gift. You earned this. And more. I’m just trying to make right, on some level, what was done to you.”
Sam nodded, obviously still feeling conflicted.
“Sam, darling. Let Uncle Vic help.” Vic put his arm around her shoulders. “Think of it this way, why don’t you: you’re no longer a Majordomo of House Darrowdelve. You’re instead a raider extraordinaire in possession of a Divine ranked soul. Harry recognizes your unique worth, and no doubt feels terrible for having held you back. This is his meager way of setting you back on the path you should have been walking for years now if you hadn’t been so awfully inconvenienced.”
Sam raised both brows, considering Vic’s words.
“The scales are yours if you want them,” said Harald. “But you’re not obligated.”
“You can fashion them as a sign-on bonus,” suggested Nessa. “For joining the crew. She could no doubt earn far more by joining any of the major Houses. This could be your way of cajoling a Divine-ranked soul into joining us instead.”
Sam stepped out from under Vic’s arm. “Please, everyone. Just let me think about it for a moment.”
“Sure,” said Vic. “I for one have no problem joining this suddenly wealthy crew. You mentioned salaries? How are those to be determined?”
“We can figure all that out,” said Harald, watching Sam with concern as she bit her lower lip and stared to the side. “I want this to feel equitable. To feel right. I want you all to feel valued and important to the crew, because you are. But first I need to break down this scale. I need to pay Sonora.”
“You could just wait till tomorrow morning,” said Vic. “The duel is almost upon you.”
“No. I’m like Sam in this, I want no debts over my head. Do you think the countess could break the Infinitum for us?”
“And thereby allow you to avoid the banking commission? No, sadly. She’s not got the wealth, I fear, to tie so much up in a single scale. But I’m not terrible at negotiating rates. If you trust me with the Infinitum, I’ll see to it that it’s broken fairly and at the lowest commission.”
Harald went to make a cutting joke, but Vic was studying him with unusual seriousness. “Sure. Thanks, Vic.”
And he placed the Infinitum in his friend’s palm.
“Wow,” said Vic, glancing up from the precious scale to meet Harald’s gaze. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Harald nodded. “We’re to become a crew. If we’re to rise together, there must be trust. From hereon out, that’s how it’s going to be. You all have my complete trust.”
“Careful,” said Nessa.
“I mean it. But Vic? If you could get me that Horizon’s Whisper today? I’d like to Ascend before I face Yeoric tomorrow. He asked that we make the duel quick. He’s got business to attend to, right after.”
“Ha!” Vic grinned, delighted. “Does he now? Well. I’d hate to inconvenience the poor man. I’ll hie me down to the bank right now. The conversion rate rises the greater the value of the scale. Standard rates for an Infinitum are somewhere around 2 - 3%. I’ll do my best to knock that down, but expect, oh, I don’t know, some three Zenith Tides to be deducted from the final amount.”
“I’ve seen you work Master Ling,” said Harald. “I pity the bank teller.”
Vic closed his fist around the scale, winked at Harald, and jogged up the steps and out of sight.
Harald glanced at Nessa. “And you? You all right with this arrangement?”
“Darling, I’ve been propositioned more times than I can remember, but never to the tune of so many scales. I feel positively flattered.” Nessa’s smile didn’t touch her eyes. “But the demons are, as they say, in the details. I’ll be wanting to see this charter before I get too excited.”
“I plan to study my father’s own arrangements,” said Harald. “There are copies of his charter upstairs.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll be more than satisfied.” Nessa inclined her head. “With that much wealth you could hire on other veterans. Grow the crew.”
“No, I want it to be just us four for now. No random strangers.” Harald took a deep breath. “I’ll get to work on the charter after my duel with Yeoric.”
“Then I’ll await you upstairs,” said Nessa. “Today’s your last day before your duel. Some final words of wisdom are probably in order.”
And then she, too, left.
Sam was hugging herself tightly, but with Nessa and Vic gone, she finally forced herself to meet Harald’s eyes. “I’m sorry. For not being more appreciative.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I know. I know I shouldn’t. But I also know you, Harald. I know where this is coming from. A place of love, of fear, of desperation, of - of - friendship. This crew of ours. There’ll be no going back. Vorakhar, Eclavistra, all the others. We’ll be involved in the celestial war.”
Harald nodded slowly. “You will.”
Sam gave a despairing laugh. “And for some reason that doesn’t terrify me as I should.”
“Maybe it’s because you’ve got that Divine soul rank. Because you’re now the Brightest Star. Because you’re a Netherwarden Knight. Maybe in the thick of a celestial war is where you belong.”
“Madness,” whispered Sam, her eyes glazing over momentarily as she considered, and then she shook her head and focused on him again. “But yes. Maybe it is. You and me both.”
“You and me, Sam.” He extended his hand.
She took it, eyes brimming with tears, and wordlessly they shook on his proposal and their future.
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Harald then Ascends to his Second Throne, a scene that previously took place before their big Dungeon Delve to fight the Crypt Keepers, and upon awakening, ends Chapter 45 with a conversation with Nessa:
END OF CHAPTER 45
Thrones: 2/7 (Throne of Harmony, Throne of Shadows)
Scales: 112,064/1,000,000
Harald couldn’t help but grin as he sat up.
“I have to give it to you,” said Nessa, arms looped around her shins, head canted to one side. “When Vic told me about your duel I thought you were a dead man walking. Teaching you the sword was more an act of pity than faith.”
Harald’s grin remained, her words buoying his spirits nearly as much as his newly Ascended Throne. “But now?”
“Now?” She frowned at him. “I barely recognize you. An Abyssal Initiate with two Ascended Thrones. Strength 11, Dexterity 9, Constitution 12. If I hadn’t witnessed your growth with my own eyes, I’d not believe it.”
“You should have seen Lucine’s expression when she came to set terms,” laughed Harald.
“I can well imagine. But let me bring you gently back to ground now. Yeoric’s physical stats were Strength 13, Dexterity 12, Constitution 14.”
“Were?”
Nessa’s gaze became pitying. “Those were his stats when last recorded by the Free Company almost a year ago. He’s been raiding since, hasn’t he?”
“Right,” said Harald.
“For all we know, he might be third level. He might have Ascended to his Second Throne as well. Don’t go into this fight with any assumptions, Harald.”
“Sure, of course.” Harald fought to keep the reality check from lowering his spirits. “But I’m an Abyssal Initiate. I’m powered by Vorakhar’s Demon Seed. He’s just an Iron Vanguard.”
“Who no doubt has far more experience with actual combat and dueling than you do. But I’ve made my point. Don’t think your victory is guaranteed. Far from it. You’re going to have to do everything within your power to surprise him, create an opening, and then take full advantage of it. His Actives and Passives combined with his higher Constitution mean he’ll wear you down faster than you will him.”
“Don’t discount my Aura of the Aching Depths.”
“Fair point. But don’t rely on it to do all your work either. Your Abyssal Attunement is next to useless if you can’t land a blow, and his entire power set revolves around defense. Hence the strategy I’m going to suggest.”
Harald leaned forward. “To defeat him?”
Nessa’s smile turned wicked. “But of course. Were I in your boots, here’s what I would do. Now listen carefully. Once you understand, we’ve only one afternoon left to train.”
“We can train into the evening,” protested Harald.
“No. You’re going to rest and sleep well. Being refreshed and sharp will count for far more than a few extra hours’ practice.”
Harald frowned.
“Up!” Nessa rose smoothly to her feet. “Fetch a training blade. We’ll make the most of the remaining hours. Don’t you worry.”
Harald jogged over to the sword bag. His heart pounded, his thoughts whirled. He wanted to feel eager, confident, ready for tomorrow’s battle. He felt lethal, felt dangerous, felt ready to crush Yeoric with overwhelming power.
But Nessa’s words of caution rang in his mind, so as he crouched by the bag to draw out the weapons, he forced himself to exhale, to steady his nerves, and focus.
All he had now was a fighting chance.
Nothing less, nothing more.
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From there, we roll right into the next Chapter, where Harald at last has his duel with Yeoric:
Chapter 46
Harald, Vic, Nessa, and Sam arrived at the Dueling Circles well before Eighth Bell. The morning was dark and damp, dawn having broken imperceptibly behind dour clouds. A constant drizzle misted down from the sky, soaking into everything. Colors were darkened, sounds muffled. The air had a mineral tang laced with smoke.
The Dueling Circles was a great circular building without a roof. Four stories tall, it took up an entire city block where the Angelus Quarter met the Merchant’s Quarter. Gray stone blocks, alcoves in which pigeon-shitted statues of former heroes and warriors stood. The area before each entrance was usually choked with vendors and costermongers, but as Harald led the way up he saw that the building was practically deserted.
“Well,” said Vic, tone consoling. “It’s early. And word hasn’t really gotten out yet as to just how amazing you are. And it’s raining.”
“I don’t want a crowd,” said Harald. “This won’t take long, anyway.”
“Good man!” Vic shook his shoulder and turned to beam at Nessa. “Scary.”
A couple of guards with dismal expressions stood by the closest entrance, a grand archway easily three yards in height. Broad enough for ten men to march through, it dwarfed both guards, who hunched under their oilskins and watched Harald’s band approach with an impressive lack of enthusiasm.
“We’re not being paid enough to give you the proper greeting,” said one as they drew close. “Just go on in and do what the Adjudicator tells you, yeah?”
“Right on,” said Harald. “Hope your shift ends soon.”
“Not soon enough,” sniffed the other guard, his stare never leaving the middle distance.
They passed through the grand archway, and entered the grounds contained within the walls. To call the Dueling Circles a building wasn’t quite right; it had more in common with a walled park than anything else, despite the few smaller stone buildings set against the inside wall. The grounds were of crushed gravel and contained six great circles demarcated by thick braided ropes that were pitoned in place.
All were empty.
A cluster of people stood by the closest one, and though Harald was early, the crowd glared at him as if he’d kept them waiting for an entire Bell.
“Dueling’s not the pastime it used to be,” said Vic. “Once this place was humming with activity at all bells, filled with shouts and screams and the splashing of blood? Now? Depressing.”
Harald led the way to the waiting crowd. The gravel crunched under his boots. Now that he was here, now that the duel was finally happening, a sense of peace suffused him, the tension and nerves that had riddled his morning with barely restrained energy finally dissipating.
“Adjudicator,” said Harald, nodding to the judge as he stopped before him.
The man had the air of a gravedigger, his lantern-jaw clean shaved but iron gray, his eyes magnified behind his glasses. Dressed in official white robes, he was tall, boney, dour, and clearly displeased to be out in the rain at this early hour. An assistant held a massive umbrella over his head. “Sir Darrowdelve, you’ve come, very good, very good.”
Beside him stood Yeoric and his crew. The large warrior seemed mountainous under the huge oilskin cloak that was pulled protectively around his half-plate armor. He stared morosely at Harald, then scowled up at the skies. “I must admit I’m surprised, Harald. Pleasantly so. I’d half started to believe you’d be late on purpose just so as to make us stand in the rain. I’m glad you proved me wrong.”
The man’s voice was resonant, his bearing noble.
All a farce.
Lucine was all but pouting under her peaked hood, while Derrek looked to be nursing one of his customary hangovers, his face pallid and pasty. Only Gazurn the dwarf seemed indifferent to the moment and the weather, one hand resting on the head of his warhammer, the other arm hidden under his forest-green cloak.
“Shall we get to it, then?” Harald kept his gaze on the Adjudicator. “I’m ready when you are.”
“So eager,” said Yeoric, voice tightening with annoyance. “Reminds me of how quickly you offered to fund our outfit. No questions asked, almost. Look where your eagerness has gotten you.”
Harald continued to ignore the man, gaze resting on the judge, who sighed and nodded and gestured toward the Circle. “We’ll begin as soon as we sign the proper forms. I’ve as little interest in dragging this out as anyone else.”
“Very good,” said Harald.
The Adjudicator drew out a sheaf of papers from a leather satchel. “If you’ll just sign a few pages? Master Yeoric has already done so.”
“If I may?” Vic slid in before Harald could take the papers, stepping under the broad umbrella. “I’ll just cast a quick look over the terms, shall I?”
“You’re a barrister?” asked the judge with a frown.
“Oh, you insult me,” murmured Vic, scanning the first page then flipping it. “Nothing so formal. A connoisseur of people and their worst natures, their highest yearnings, their propensity for thinking themselves smarter than they really are. Like Yeoric here. Right, darling?” And he gave the huge warrior a wink.
Yeoric shook his head with a long-suffering expression and doffed his oilskin cloak, handing it to Derrek and stepping into the Circle where he began to swing his arms in large circles.
“All good,” said Vic, finishing the last page. “Customary and professional. Delightful. Sign away, Harald.”
Who took a brass pen, dipped it in the assistant’s ink pot, then signed his initials on each page and his signature on the last page.
“Now, to be clear Sir Darrowdelve, the blood price has been waived,” said the Adjudicator as the papers were placed back in the satchel. “You are quite aware of that fact?”
“Yes,” said Harald. “I am. Vic, my clause was entered?”
“It was,” agreed Vic.
“Then you may enter the Circle,” said the Adjudicator. “I will commence the duel precisely when the Eighth Bell finishes ringing.”
Harald handed his cloak to Sam. The wet drizzle immediately began to soak against the back of his neck.
“Get him,” whispered Sam, squeezing Harald’s upper arm strongly. “Show him who you really are.”
“Stick him with the pointy end,” added Vic. “And don’t let him do the same to you.”
Harald snorted despite himself, then turned to Nessa who’d hung back. “Here I go.”
“Here you go,” she said with an enigmatic smile. “You’ve done everything humanly possible to prepare for this moment. And more. Remember what we discussed.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath, and when she nodded encouragingly, Harald stepped into the Circle and moved to stand across from Yeoric.
Nobody spoke.
The crowd was sparse. Vic, Nessa, and Sam stood to one side.
Yeoric watched him with a smug smile as he warmed up. The rain drizzled down between them, causing the gravel to take on a metallic sheen. Any moment now the Eighth Bell would begin.
Harald didn’t feel the need to stretch, but he went through the motions regardless. Twisted from side to side, hugged one knee to his chest, than the other. He wore his old leather armor, battered and mauled as it was. Sam had suggested chain, perhaps even a breastplate, but Harald had demurred. He needed to be quick on his feet. To be light. But more than that, he’d only ever trained with his leather armor. It was too late to throw in something heavier into the equation.
Yeoric’s smile was smug, his gaze flat and heavy. No doubt flickered in the depths of those dark eyes. Despite Harald’s growth, despite how he’d changed, Yeoric it seemed still saw him as the sweating, apologizing, over-eager youth he’d been only a month ago.
Hard to blame him, really.
But that was perfect.
That was just what Harald wanted.
“We can call this off, if you like,” said Yeoric abruptly. “There’s no need to go through with this farce. Just concede the loss, agree to pay the remaining Aurora, and we can walk away from this nonsense. There might be some honor in taking a beating for your pride, but no intelligence.”
Harald didn’t answer. Vic had tried to convince him to mislead Yeoric further by acting like his old self, pretending to be nervous, saying stupid things.
But no.
“I should thank you, actually,” Harald said, a thought occurring to him. “Without you, without your backstabbing me and robbing me in broad daylight, none of this would have come to pass.”
Yeoric paused, confused. “Thank me? That’s mighty broad-sighted of you. If you’d gone into the dungeon, you would have surely died.”
Harald thought of the dire rats, Vorakhar leaning down to grin into Harald’s dying eyes. “You don’t know how right you are.”
“Then shall we stop pretending? This rain’s going to rust my armor no matter how quickly I put you down.”
“Let’s give it a whirl,” said Harald, rolling his head about on his neck so that it popped. “You never know what might happen.”
Yeoric sighed and shook his head. “You dumb idiot. Fine. It’s your funeral.”
The Eighth Bell tolled its first peal.
Harald ceased stretching and drew his blade, heart thundering in his chest.
Yeoric stared at the live steel and grinned. Made no move to draw his own.
Harald resisted a grimace. Now the other man was going to make a big show of drawing his blade nonchalantly at the last second.
And his anger began to rouse. The man feigned nobility of character, of being a grave and solemn warrior with a moral code, but he was nothing but a mugger. An opportunist and a bully.
Harald felt himself still as his anger rose higher and higher within him like the flames of a bonfire. And though he still felt nervous, worried, possibly even scared, for the first time he felt something entirely new: excitement.
The moment was finally here.
All his training.
All the pain. The sacrifices. The lessons. The raiding.
Every moment of sweat and labor, of burning muscles and bone-deep exhaustion.
All the hours, the weeks that he’d pushed himself to his limit.
All of it in service to this one moment.
The seventh toll sounded across the city, a medley of bells singing from every Seraphite church.
“Ready!” called out the Adjudicator.
The eighth toll pealed out, and Yeoric finally deigned to draw his broadsword, bending his knee and sinking into a Tower stance.
Harald held his blade back in the Tail, and he felt so light, so feverish, so ready to explode.
“Begin!” cried the Adjudicator as the final peal faded away.
Yeoric advanced, expression grim, formidable and massive in the morning gloom. Harald gave ground, moving out wide. The man didn’t have an aura, but his Thunderstrike was the next best thing, an area of effect attack that would catch Harald no matter what he did.
Unless, of course, Yeoric had taken the last few months seriously and leveled up.
Harald felt both his Thrones thrumming deep in his Cosmos, begging to be tapped. Deep reserves of power that he held at bay despite all temptation.
Not yet.
Yeoric turned to keep Harald before him, then darted forward to pin Harald against the perimeter. He moved with surprising grace and speed; Harald could have feasibly thrown himself into a dive to avoid being pinned, but no.
Instead he moved forward to meet Yeoric head on, and swung his blade up from the Tail into a great gleaming arc that would have split Yeoric open from crotch to chin.
If it had landed.
Yeoric stepped aside, deflected the upswing neatly, then riposted with savage strength at Harald’s face.
A feint.
But by the angels it was hard to not simply jerk aside.
For a moment they clashed, blades dancing. Harald fought to not fall into the Dungeon Square, and strained instead to simply move with the larger man, to read his intent from the angle of his shoulders, his gaze, his wrist.
Four, five times their blades sang out, and then Yeoric stepped in to swing a heavy fist over their bind, moving with such surety of purpose that he almost caught Harald flat-footed.
Harald turned and raised his shoulder, disengaging and stumbling aside as the gauntlet skimmed off his shoulder.
By the angels, he was strong.
Harald tried to recover his balance, but Yeoric gave him no quarter. The massive man pursued him, hammering overhead blow after overhead blow down upon Harald as if he were a nail.
Harald parried, continued to stumble, parried again, then dropped to one knee.
Yeoric gripped his blade with both hands, his fists bunched up right under the hilt for maximum strength, and hammered down a third blow with all his strength.
Bewildered, still off-balance, Harald threw himself aside. He rolled over one shoulder, the gravel crunching, came up on his feet and spun to meet Yeoric when the world detonated into a calamitous BOOM.
The impact near lifted Harald off his feet. He felt the attack in the cavity of his chest, deep within his mind, as if he’d run full tilt into a brick wall. The sheer violence of the explosion deafened him as he fell back and crashed onto the gravel, and there sat, momentarily stunned.
Yeoric straightened, a look of eminent satisfaction his handsome face. He considered Harald, then shook his head with feigned pity.
Harald’s ears were ringing. People were shouting from the Circle’s perimeter. The fight had only begun seconds ago; how was he already knocked on his ass?
Yeoric approached slowly, completely at ease, the master of the Circle. He said something, but Harald couldn’t make it out over his ringing ears.
The rain was starting to come down harder. Harald pushed himself upright, blinking water out of his eyes, and backed away as Yeoric advanced. Thunderstrike was brutal… but already the ringing was dying down. And though Harald felt shook-up, it wasn’t from actual damage.
One Throne.
Yeoric was still sitting at One Throne.
Savage satisfaction flooded Harald’s mind, and he felt some of his nerves sluice away. Instead of waiting again for Yeoric’s next assault, he ran at the man, a sudden rush that surprised the larger warrior, and swept his blade in again.
This time he did use the Dungeon Square, and used it for all he was worth. Upper left, lower right, lower left, upper right.
At first Yeoric simply parried, taken aback by Harald’s ferocity, but then understanding dawned in his eyes.
He recognized what Harald was doing.
Confidence entered his bearing, and he parried the next strike so aggressively it was almost a strike. Harald’s blade shivered, the force of the blow racing up Harald’s already numbed arm. Harald stuck with the Square, and again Yeoric smashed his blow aside. A third time, and now the large warrior was grinning with sadistic delight.
It had to feel like sparring with a child.
Harald kept pressing the other man, but it was like attacking a column of stone. Yeoric went to smash the next blow, swinging his blade like a club, but that blow never appeared.
Instead Harald twisted his sword around, abandoning the Square for a swirling thrust Nessa had shown him the night before, and stabbed the other man square in the armored chest.
And just before the tip of his blade slammed home he activated Abyssal Attunement.
Both Thrones came roaring to life.
The Throne of Harmony sent a flood of power into Harald, fueling the awakening of the abyss, but this time the Throne of Shadow joined in, doubling the size of the stream. Harald felt the nothingness between everything blossom along the edge of his blade, that endless depth, that yawning hunger, and his sword flashed an absolute black just as it hit home.
A pulse of energy flew from Yeoric to Harald, who felt revitalized. Yeoric staggered back before the force of the attack, face blank with shock, his chestplate dented.
“An Active?” He ran a hand over his chest than stared at Harald in disbelief. “You? You got a Class?”
“You forget that I’m Darius Darrowdelve’s son?” Harald drew himself up, black sword held out to one side. “You forget what my father did? Who he slew? You think all that power just disappeared?”
“No Artifacts allowed!” bellowed Yeoric, glancing back at the Adjudicator. “He’s cheating!”
“He’s not using an Artifact,” called back the judge. “Carry on.”
“If I had use of my Artifacts, you’d be dead ten times over by now,” whispered Harald, knowing his voice carried through the rain. “But I don’t need them. You’ve no idea what I’ve become, Yeoric. No idea what I can do. But now you’ll find out.”
Yeoric went to answer, expression sour, but froze as Harald activated The Aura of the Aching Depths.
The air around them darkened, the hiss of the rain growing quiet, the chill deepening. The power of the Abyss manifested itself, thrummed in the air, and sank into Yeoric.
Whose Abilities were all martial in nature.
And whose Ego was a mere 8.
The dark power washed over him, and Harald could only imagine what he saw, what he felt as Harald began to approach him, black blade rising into the Ox Guard, hilt by his brow, tip pointed at Yeoric’s face.
“You’re a coward,” Harald said in a voice of cold iron. “Who hides his fear behind his bullying. You’re a coward who only picks fights on those weaker than yourself. It’s why you’ve never led your crew deeper than the 4 Level. It’s why you’re still only Level 2, why you’ve never made enough scales to reach your Second Throne. You’re a pathetic bully, a joke, a painful farce, but your time has come.”
Yeoric’s face blanched as he gave ground. The power of the Aching Depths continued to swirl around him, leeching him of strength and draining his Ego further.
“No,” said Yeoric, finally ceasing his retreat. “You’re the farce. You’re the pathetic joke!”
“Nice,” whispered Harald. “What a comeback.”
And he attacked.
This time he eschewed the Dungeon Square. Shoulders squared, chest puffed out, elbows tucked in, he surged forward and hewed, letting his blade dictate the battle. It was like an antennae of darkness, slicing through the Depths, its ebon length gleaming wickedly as it slashed through rain to clang across Yeoric’s desperate parry.
But the man had dug in. Set in Stone, his Active that turned him into an immovable bastion of resilience. From that place of fortitude he fought desperately, blocking and parrying each of Harald’s slashes and stabs.
Damn it.
So much for Nessa’s plan to intimidate him so badly he stumbled out of the Circle and disqualified himself.
Harald was going to have to do this the hard way.
So he drank deep of both Thrones, channeled as much power as he could into his blade, set about carving Yeoric down to size.
And oh, the glory, the power. His Abyssal Attunement was unstoppable, crashing again and again against Yeoric’s own, cutting nocks into his enemy’s edge, and then with a cry Harald twisted a bind, thrust Yeoric’s sword aside, and stabbed him in the thigh.
The larger warrior grunted in pain, but refused to cede. A flash of darkness flew to Harald, and then a second when the cracked his sword against the man’s paldron.
Terror showed in Yeoric’s face.
Wide eyed, he fought back desperately.
Harald sought to dominate him. Increased his tempo, gripped his sword with both hands. He slashed and hewed at the large man, and the Aching Depths did the rest.
Panicked, weak of mind, Yeoric was unable to weather the storm. His Shrug it Off and Revitalization passives were designed for exactly this kind of scenario, and if Yeoric had been a stronger man, he might have weathered the storm.
But pale faced, lips writhing, he stared at Harald in shock and horror as his parrying became sloppy, his mind seized by the awful, the awesome, the eternal power welling up from the depths of the abyss.
Fury had Harald by the heart. He blasted the other man’s blade aside again and again, rained blows upon his breastplate, his shoulders, his thighs and hips, and each sent a new flood of dark energy into him.
He felt terribly alive, he felt himself a god, he felt unstoppable, invincible, immortal.
Yeoric swayed and gasped, fought again and again to recover his balance, his center, but there was no surcease.
And then his Throne ran out of power, and the battle was over.
With a great cry, Harald raised his foot and stomped the other man square in the chest. He drove him back with all the strength of his hips, with all the strength he’d stolen from Yeoric himself, and with Set in Stone gone, Yeoric couldn’t resist.
The large man stumbled back, his heels hit the huge open edge of the Circle, and he tripped and fell onto his ass outside the ring.
Harald just stood there, panting, staring, blade raised, ready to pursue, but then Vic and Sam were there, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him into an embrace as they shouted their glee.
Yeoric simply stared at him, numb incomprehension on his face, and then he looked down and away.
It was only then that Harald realized he’d won.
He’d done it.
He’d defeated Yeoric with such utter finality that there could be no doubting who was the greater warrior.
Filled with savage satisfaction, Harald dismissed his aura and Abyssal Attunement, returned Vic and Sam’s hugs, then looked over to where Nessa yet stood, arms crossed, smiling at him.
Her wink cemented his victory, and he laughed in sheer delight.
Chapter 47
They gathered before the Adjudicator to hear his official verdict.
Yeoric stood, head hanging, hands on his hips, occasionally shaking his head as if in reluctant refutation of what had just transpired. Lucine had ceased hissing at him, and Derrek looked green in the gills. Only Gazurn remained stoic, but the one time he met Harald’s gaze, he frowned and looked away.
Harald felt tremulous, relieved, thrilled, yet still seized by disbelief. It was over. The threat that had hung over his head all these past weeks was… gone.
The judge cleared his throat. "By the terms set forth and sealed by oath, and in witness of all gathered here, Harald Darrowdelve has achieved victory by the rules of this duel. His foe, Yeoric, has been cast from the ring and forced into submission. Let it be known, henceforth, that the challenge has been met, and the debt settled.”
Sam cuffed Harald lightly on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear.
“Yeoric is bound by his word and honor to repay two Horizon’s Whispers,” continued the Adjudicator, voice strong, tone official, “and to relinquish all claim to that which was wrongfully taken. The victor stands uncontested. Let this serve as a testament to Harald's strength, and may the winds of destiny favor the worthy."
“Three cheers?” Vic suggested to Yeoric’s crew. “No? Maybe next time?”
“By the terms of the duel, Yeoric must now bow to Harald and proclaim him the superior warrior.” The Adjudicator leveled a hard stare at the defeated warrior. “Please hurry up about it so that we may all go home.”
Yeoric grimaced as he blinked several times, expression somewhere between that of a cornered dog and stunned disbelief. Finally he turned to face Harald, though he kept his stare on the ground.
Harald raised a brow. Almost he felt pity for the other man. Almost.
“I, Yeoric Bronzel…” The big took a deep breath. “I, Yeoric, do hereby admit… defeat. Harald…” And now his gaze did rise, and in the depths of his brown eyes there flickered not fury, but something more sour, more dangerous. Hatred. “Harald, I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve bested me in… in this duel.”
“What was that?” called Vic, cupping a hand to his ear. “We can’t hear you.”
Yeoric’s eyes flashed and he squared his shoulders. “You’re the better… the better warrior, Harald. Somehow. I don’t know what you did, what deals you struck to acquire this power, but mark my words -”
“Now, now,” chided the Adjudicator. “You’re perilously close to violating the terms.”
Yeoric nodded jerkily. “Enjoy your victory, Harald. You’re the better warrior. There. Satisfied?”
“I will be when I get my scales.” Harald pitched his voice to carry. “But if you feel sore about this, if getting kicked out of the Circle like a squalling dog doesn’t sit right with you, well, come find me. I’m not afraid of you, Yeoric. You know that now.”
Yeoric’s face flushed, but he bit back his words. Instead he glanced at the Adjudicator. “We done here?”
“I will remit the scales to Harald,” agreed the older man. “We are done.”
“Then let’s go,” snapped Yeoric to his crew, who trailed after him as he strode away.
“Cheater,” hissed Lucine as she passed by.
“That wasn’t right,” said Derrek, shaking his head as he followed after. “Asshole.”
Harald tongued the inside of his cheek as he watched them go. There was no point in trading insults. He’d said all he had to say already, both in the Circle and out of it.
“Our thanks!” beamed Vic to the Adjudicator’s assistant, who’d handed over the scales. The pair hurried away, umbrella held high. “So! How shall we celebrate? I have copious suggestions.”
“By getting dry first,” said Nessa. “But Harald.”
“Hmm?”
Nessa grinned. “Well done. By all the angels, well done indeed.”
“You were amazing!” gushed Sam. “I thought you were going to lose right out the gate, but then you recovered, and when you weathered his Thunderstrike -”
“Not bad,” allowed Vic. “I’m humbled to see how effective my sword lessons proved.”
Nessa turned to eye him.
“What? Didn’t I set him upon his path to glory? Didn’t I bring you on board? In many respects, I feel like this is actually my victory. Why aren’t I being cheered?”
“Right,” grinned Harald. “Congratulations, Vic. You’re the best.”
“There,” laughed Vic. “Appropriate genuflection. Feel free to chime in, you two.”
“Let’s get out of the rain,” said Harald. “How about a big dinner tonight at the Burnished Goose?”
“Like old times!” Vic clapped his hands as they all began making their way toward the main archway. “I’d thought you grown incapable of fun. But I’m glad to see I’m wrong.”
“I’ll meet you all there,” said Sam. “I’m going to head back to my place. Eighth Bell?”
“Eighth Bell,” agreed Harald.
“Which means I can finally spend some scales on visiting the Luxosha Bathhouse,” said Nessa. “It’s been far too long since I treated myself to their full services. Unless you were planning to train today, Harald?”
“No, I think I’m good. I’ve a mind to go through my father’s old papers and draft that charter. I want to submit our writ first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But of course you do,” smiled Nessa.
“Tomorrow’s the auction,” chided Vic. “Don’t forget how delightful that’s going to prove.”
“And when this month’s Gazette comes out,” agreed Sam. “Everybody’s going to see just how high you’ve jumped since the last ranking.”
“All the more reason to get our affairs squared away,” said Harald, trying to keep his dismay hidden.
“It’ll be great!” Vic slung an arm around his shoulders. “Notoriety, attention, and all the greatest Houses of Flutic throwing themselves and offers of impossible wealth at you. Gird your loins!”
“No thanks.” They passed through the archway, and exchanged nods with the dour guards. “I’ve a mind to keep my head down, dodge all offers, and keep on doing what we’re doing.”
“It’s good to dream,” said Vic, “but not if it leads you into delusion.”
“Enjoy today,” agreed Nessa. “Tomorrow? Everything changes.”
They stopped at the edge of the street, carriages rolling by and flinging continuous sprays of dirty water from the back of their wheels.
“We did it,” said Harald, inhaling deeply. He raised his face to the dark skies and grinned, closing his eyes. “It’s over.”
“What are you talking about?” laughed Vic. “It’s just beginning. Burnished Goose at the Eighth Bell?”
“We’ll see each other then,” agreed Nessa.
And with one last shared grin, they all went their separate ways.
--------------------------------------------------------------
From there, Harald returns to Darrowdelve Manor, and drafts the terms of the Charter. Lady Yseult Khan knocks on his door just as he's heading out to find his friends, and asks if she can speak with him - upon which we reach THE END of Book 1.
I'm going to post the updates to Book 2 next!
Comments
Lorenz
I enjoyed the changes Phil….duel with Yeoric at end of book is a nice conclusion to what is now book 1. Well done! Only thing I’m not a fan of is Throne Hunters…..I liked Thrones of the Fallen as it had a nicer ring to it……appreciate your striving to make the story better! Oh and I preordered Skadi’s Saga Book 2 which comes out Tuesday (11/5). So looking forward to it! :-)
Phil Tucker
I'm going to make a big announcement when we officially hop over to the new timeline, which won't feature a future Yeoric duel, nor will have had Yeoric undergo training under Lord Jin. I know it's a bit of a mess, but hopefully it'll all make sense - and read better - once it's explained.
Taylor
Perfect ending to book one. Also I’m imagining a blooper reel of Harald just tripping Yeoric on his initial charge and having him tumble out of bounds.
You fool, Warren is dead!
Oh shit Yeoric is SUPER dead.
Bradley Reuter
Do we still have an alternative yeoric dual upcoming on this timeline ? Or will future chapters on Patreon just be a continuation of the new book timeline ?
Phil Tucker
Correct. He remained a minor Book 1 opponent. The House oriented opponent instead is going to be Thracos.
Draddock
So assuming Yeoric didn't get recruited by a Noble house in this version.
Phil Tucker
Fantastic to hear.
David Ford
Big fan of these changes, makes for a much better self contained story arc
