My first reaction was irritation.

  Ferrum Overlord had been a generated title, a convenient narrative label born from iron gauntlets, theatrical violence, and Anabeth’s chronic overcommitment to mythmaking.

  Yet the wording was precise. Resumed implied prior existence and continuity, which meant there had been an actual Ferrum Overlord. If so, why would Ceralis assume I had the authority to resume it?

  Was Ferrum Overlord not a random construct, but a dormant identity within whatever larger framework it governed?

  A soft crunch of gravel announced Anabeth’s return. I promptly collapsed the image before my eyes.

  “My lord!” Her voice chimed with barely restrained triumph. “I have found a potentially greater conduit for our stone summoning!”

  By our, she meant hers.

  She skidded to a stop beside Silvermane and held up a narrow glass vial between two fingers, as though presenting a jewel. The substance inside was nearly transparent, with only the visible filaments being weirdly algae-shaped. They moved without any obvious current, as if reacting to something deeper than motion.

  Anabeth beamed, clearly mistaking my scrutiny for approval. “Isn’t it exquisite? I detected a faint lithic resonance beneath the aetheric layer of invisible parasites.”

  She produced a scrap of folded paper and wrapped it carefully around the vial before pressing it into my hand. “This substance might be mildly toxic,” she added breezily, as though mentioning a draft. “So it’s best to handle it with care. Prolonged skin contact may result in nausea, vertigo, or… ah… temporary crystallization of soft tissue.”

  I promptly gave back the vial to her.

  The moment I lifted the vial, I realized the scrap of paper Anabeth had wrapped it in had somehow stuck to my gauntlets. I tried peeling it away, feeling the resistance like pulling honey chew.

  Anabeth commented helpfully, “Ah! That’s what happens when you wear unsuitable gauntlets, my lord. You should’ve had no trouble at all if you’d—oh, let me see—worn your original gauntlets, perhaps?”

  I gritted my teeth and finally peeled the paper free, expecting some kind of warning or alchemical note. Instead, it unfurled into something entirely different: an advertisement, printed in bold ink, slightly faded.

  No magic? This town really had a disdain for anything magic.

  Hold on. I stared at the final ‘Bonus’ line.

  Hidan Hahl…

  The name rang a bell. I’d seen it in old Raslan military documents. Unless this was someone who happened to share the name, he had been a guardian of the Raslan army’s special detachment—a unit trained in non-magical combat. Odd, I thought, given magic’s near-universal superiority, but I recalled mentions of volatile aetheric zones where casting spells could lead to catastrophic feedback. That probably explained their existence.

  A tournament under his tutelage could be… instructive. Maybe he’d have things to comment on my swordform, or maybe even teach me to wield a saber. And the prize money wasn’t exactly trivial.

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  I glanced at Anabeth, who was idly twirling the vial in one hand. “Well?” she said, wiggling her brows. “Do I sense a sudden desire for fame, fortune… or more practical training? Or is it too beneath you, my lord?”

  My mind already raced through strategies, combat potential, and whether I could justify breaking my own self-imposed rules against unnecessary exposure. I wondered what type of legitimacy I’d gain from triumphing in a tournament like this.

  The tournament would be held on the 9th, meaning I’d have three days to prepare. The monetary prize wasn’t outstanding, but I reckoned it was attractive enough to bring in actual interest from rather strong fighters. It was definitely time to check the Bounty Board and see if I could gain anything of use, and farm plenty of Aura.

  I opened the Bounty Board in my mind.

  Two days’ commitment, fully locked into this objective, meaning no Aura farming, no side experiments, no distractions. Not terrible, but not exactly efficient either.

  This one practically radiated danger. It’d only got sparse intel attached to it: a sketch, a few scars, and rumors of a loosely organized gang operating south of Branfield. How many? How well-trained? That wasn’t listed. Could be a handful of amateurs—or a few dozen knaves with knives in shadows.

  I exhaled, weighing the two tasks in my head. Suddenly, Anabeth excalimed beside me, “Oh! My lord! There’s… a B-tier quest given out by the Town Council! Simply delicious!”

  I immediately turned to her. How did she know I was thinking about the quests? Could she see my Ceralis?

  To my relief, she was just… excited at some scrap of parchment she’d found: a bounty quest notice, likely plucked from the same pile she’d taken the tournament flyer.

  Anabeth continued, “I heard these evil men—oh, they steal candies from children and loot forbidden tomes from abandoned libraries. I heard that one of them once even stole a cow. Truly, they are in desperate need of correction. Imagine the discipline required to straighten these fools out!”

  My silence didn’t seem to matter; Anabeth simply continued, undeterred. “And think of the chaos they cause! It is our duty to enforce order, justice, my lord. A few well-placed lessons… some firm hands… it would be most satisfying. And, of course, my lord, I can’t help but wonder how you would perform—oh, with such precision, such exquisite control! Imagine the delight of correcting them… and perhaps recovering something that could advance our stone summoning! Surely the townsfolk wouldn’t know whether to fear you or admire you first! And think, my lord, even a single slip-up by these wretches could give you a hint, a rhythm, perhaps something hidden in their movements… which, if I may speculate, could allow us to refine our technique further. Imagine what the tome might contain…”

  Every word dripped with her usual mix of charm and barely-contained obsession. I couldn’t ignore it, and yet I had to admit… the prospect of gaining an incalculable amount of Aura was compelling.

  It mattered not how skilled these bandits were in battle, nor how practiced their ambushes and dirty tricks might be. As long as my Intimidation Aura worked as it should, I was invincible against these scoundrels.

  “Very well,” I intoned. “Hear me well, Anabeth of the Quill. We shall vanquish these bandits. We shall subdue them, bind them, and drag their leader before the authorities of Branfield, that justice may be rendered according to writ and seal. They will be captured, or they will be neutralized, and either way, their operation will cease to exist as a concept.” Then I added, because I was already too far gone, “And if they have, by some unfathomable lapse in judgment, stolen candy from children—”

  “Ohhh, they have,” Anabeth breathed.

  “—then may history remember this day as the moment they learned that poor life choices carry… compound interest.”

  “Ohhh,” she said. “My lord… you do discipline beautifully. Maybe too beautifully… but that will be rectified in time. For now, though, I have taken the liberty of renting a room for us for the night. Would you like to inspect?”

  She was gone for less than ten minutes. How did she get so much done?

  I opted not to enquire. There were certain patterns in this world that rewarded scrutiny. Anabeth was not one of them.