The following day, the King’s children started to arrive in ones and twos. Those were the ones who lived in the capital, and most of them were too old to be of any use. Though the man had hundreds of children, most of them were dead, and even the ones who stayed alive through life-extension magic were all but useless.
Some were too old or enfeebled to even lift a sword properly after they’d finished begging for mercy, but the blade showed them none, except in the cases where one of their younger children asked to be allowed to fight in their place. The blade didn’t need a wielder from any specific bloodline; it was just doing this to prune the poisonous tree of Paralon, who had done so much wickedness to the world.
Even as that family suffered, though, and the capital mourned the death and destruction that its earthquake had wrought, the rest of the Inner Kingdom slowly healed. In less than a week, its stats had already improved markedly.
Throne: Usurped (49% integrity)
Guardians: Juggernaut (slain), Golden Knights (9/9 remaining)
Altbarstein: Breached (78% intact)
Kingdom: Tumult (24% fear, 61% loyalty, 25% rebellion)
Ongoing Problems: Capital (sacked, panic spreading, partially leveled), Cities razed (3), Armies damaged or eliminated (3), corrupt nobles (36), bandit/rebel camps (9), goblin infestations (7) hardship (44).
The capital, the keep, and the throne were much weaker than they’d been at the start of all of this, but the rest of the nation was flourishing. The plagues and famines had vanished, and apparently, many of the most corrupt nobles had already met with tragic ends.
The blade thought they were both positive trends, and it hoped that both continued. However, it didn’t focus on either. Instead, it continued to savage the dead King’s line, winnowing them one at a time as it searched for a new wielder, and when those weren’t around, it sifted through the magical items that it had found on the premises, looking for one to replace its lost secondary power.
The Ebon Blade also considered upgrading its existing abilities but hesitated for now. Until it had slaughtered a few more people, it was best not to tap the throne as a source of power any further; there were already a few golden strands tugging at it from the cursed chair like cobwebs.
Most of the trinkets it found were related to power. Items that granted their owners the ability to command loyalty, enhance appearance, and determine the truth of a statement were all found on the bodies of various nobles. There were also broaches and rings that granted the ability to whisper secret messages, resist poison, and gain immunity to seduction. All of that told it a lot about the nature of the court that was kept here, but none of those powers would be of any use to the blade.
Besides those things, it found many martial items, including a few items that boosted strength and agility, even though it did not need them. Most of the rest were armor, which was Anethema to it, as well as rune blades that it had already mastered.
Still, those searches passed the time between challengers, which grew more boring with every encounter. Women too weak to hold a blade, men too old or too fat to do much more than that. While this had started out as a good idea, in the end, it was only good for gaining insight into the whole corrupt lineage. Updates are released by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⚑𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥
As long as it crossed swords with the nobles, it could feel their connection to the larger world simply by who held grudges against them. While the fights themselves were a complete waste of time, toying with the worthless creatures while it honed its other neglected abilities was interesting and valuable.
Still, it couldn’t linger here forever. The mages and whoever else was arrayed against it would find some new strategy, and it wanted to be out there, slaughtering men and taking down their towers before that happened.
In the end, the blade was considering telling the next member of the King’s shrinking family to return to Severin and come back with fifty ambitious orphans who might want to rule the world. That was when the young mage appeared.
At first, the blade thought the man was another thief or assassin who hadn’t yet learned his lesson and planned on slaughtering him the moment he stepped foot into the throne room. However, when he reached the threshold, he paused and lowered the hood of his cloak, instantly bringing him into view.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
The blade hesitated then, and when it reached out to the young man, it discovered he was, in fact, a Paralon, even before he made his own introductions. “I am Lucian Ervonto Paralon, known to the masters of the Golden Tower as Lucian Ervonto Dolen and bastard son of the King, and I have come here to end this sword, even if it costs me my soul.”
As he spoke, he took a long, disaffect look around the room at all of the mummified and moldering bodies without blinking. While he studied the room, though, the blade studied him.
If he’s a child of the King, then why couldn’t I detect him before? The blade wondered. Is it something to do with the tower itself?
The blade liked the attitude at least, but the physique of the young man, as well as his general demeanor, left much to be desired. He was a scrawny, bespeckled, rail-thin youth who seemed far more comfortable with books than fighting. That became even more clear when he picked up the smallest blade near the door and needed both hands to hold it properly before tossing it aside.
“What are the rules then?” he asked. “I won’t stand a chance against all nine of these things. You’ll cut me to pieces.”
As the door closed behind the young man, the blade answered, You will fight one, and if you do not fight well, you will find your death.
“Okay,” the boy nodded, as he squinted his eyes in thought, “And what weapons am I allowed to use?”
Any that you are strong enough to wield, save myself, the blade answered as it strode toward the boy with its champion. Enough talking. Now, fight for your life!
The young man reached into his cloak, but it was not a sword that he drew or even a dagger. He pulled out a wand and started to mumble a few words as he cast a spell. That did not surprise the blade, but would make him pay for such arrogance.
The golden guardian strode forward, seeking to deliver a lethal blow, but before it could land, one of the larger swords near the young mage’s feet shot into the air and parried it. It didn’t fall away immediately spent, either. Instead, as the boy concentrated, it lashed out in two wide slashes that would have knocked the knight’s helmet from his shoulders if it had not stepped back.
Interesting, the blade whispered as it started to dig into the young man’s mind and his connections with the world around him. He might not have any strength, and in some ways, he’d be an even poorer wielder than Evelyn, but he had guts, and boldness was among its favorite personality characteristics.
While it kept one eye on the windows and side entrances, concerned that this might be another Aetherarchy trap, the blade fought the young mage more or less on autopilot as it teased what it could from the fabric of the man’s mind. While it found much anger directed toward his father and some directed toward the mages, it found very few grudges directed against the young man which spoke well of him.
Before it could dig much deeper, though, Lucian enacted the next part of his plan when he dashed toward the throne, around the warrior. At first, the blade thought that he was coming for it, and it nearly ended his life with a burst of lightning. Instead, the mage dove for the collection of magical items that the blade had piled up over the last few days, dining a sword and a shield even as its golden guardian turned to fight him. Both weapons glowed with the red light of rage, and as they activated, the reed-thin mage suddenly became as strong as an orc.
No, stronger. He had no skill, but strength could sometimes substitute for that, and in this case, it did nicely. While he kept the golden blade of his foe at bay with his shield, he hammered the guardian with his hexblade over and over, hard enough to dent the metal.
First, the thing’s head came off, and then its right arm. It was an impressive performance for someone who had absolutely no skill in fighting, but he wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. Both of those enchanted items siphoned the strength of their user, and the Ebon Blade could see that Lucian’s strength was already flagging in both his heavy breathing and the way that the colors of his soul began to dim and gutter.
The Ebon Blade let the fight continue for another minute until the young man grew pale and uncertain. Then, it promptly disarmed him, knocking the shield to one side and the sword to the other. The mage didn’t spring back, draw his wand, or any other trickery. He just stood there, waiting for the death that was poised at his throat.
“Well, I had a good run,” he said with a smile.
Why do you want to wield me? The blade asked finally. You are no warrior.
“You mean besides, so you stop killing all of my relatives?” Lucian asked. “Power. I’ve been an embarrassment my whole life. I was tucked away into the tower so no one would ever find me, but with Magister Ludin’s Nightshawl, I escaped because I wanted a chance at greatness, and now that I’ve had that… Well, you can kill me. At least I outlived my dad.”
The blade did not strike him down. Instead, it let the golden guardian fall to pieces in front of the young man. He hadn’t won in any real sense. Despite all of his tricks and plans, the golden guardian still would have killed him.
Still, it had decided on a new wielder. For now, it would be Lucian who held it. Even though he was a mage, the weapon sensed no duplicity in him. It was not deceit that fueled him but anger, pride, and resentment, and the blade could work with all of those things.
Step forward, then, the blade bid him. Step forward and claim your destiny.