The air in the medical wing was a stifling as always.

  It stank of cleansing alcohol and death, and the white walls only brought back memories from his younger years better left buried.

  How many times did I pass out only to wind up in here? How many times was my body broken by an enemy, only to be healed so I could be sent out again?

  Baron pressed down on the tobacco in his pipe, staring down at the dried leaves. He knew the cost of being an Adventuerer. Probably knew it better than most.

  And yet I’ve made my new career out of sending young rankers to suffer the same fate day in and day out. Ha, maybe I really am a bastard.

  He lit the pipe with an essence flame, sighing as the smoke hit his lungs. Regardless of how he might feel, there was no denying that this year's batch of recruits was interesting. In recent years, it had seemed that natural talent was getting less and less common. Great families and noble houses producing heirs who were mediocre at best, unable to inherit their parents' strength and power.

  But this year… well, there had been a few noteworthy candidates. First, there was Ryu, a direct descendant of a saint. His potential had been high, and his physical prowess respectable. And then… then there was that boy.

  Baron had been a proctor for many years. He’d been an Adventurerer himself for long enough to earn himself a reputation and had seen quite a few famous talents come and go. But this kid… this kid was an unusual case.

  “You know, you really shouldn’t be smoking in here, Proctor.”

  Baron’s assistant came around the corner, a folder clutched in her hand. She was wearing civilian clothing rather than her guild uniform, but a green armband with the administration sigil still marked her as a member of the board’s administration.

  Baron lowered his pipe with a sigh.

  “Here to ruin my fun?”

  “On the contrary, I knew your charge likely wouldn’t be awake for a while, so I brought what you requested.”

  She tossed the folder into his lap, and Baron glanced down at it.

  “And this is everything?”

  She leaned against the wall, crossing one polished boot over the other.

  “Have you ever known me not to be thorough?”

  “No,” he admitted as he reluctantly stubbed out his pipe. His assistant propped open a nearby window, allowing the smoke to waft out into the street. Baron watched it go for a moment, lost in thought.

  “Taking down a would-be assassin and then killing the dungeon boss, all while classless. This kid really is something.”

  His assistant hummed her ascent.

  “I still don’t understand why we’re delaying action. We have enough evidence to take both that guild official and his employer into custody. Delaying justice is highly irregular, not to mention to board-“

  “What the board doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

  Baron stowed his pipe back beneath his coat as his assistant stiffened. He gave her a smile.

  “Relax, I have no intentions of withholding this information forever. You’re right, there is a protocol to follow, and one way or another justice must be dealt. Interference with the Emperor’s law, however minor, cannot be easily excused.”

  His assistant’s cheeks flushed with irritation.

  “Then forgive me, Proctor, but why aren’t we acting now? I see no reason to delay.”

  Baron yawned, stretching the stiff muscles of his neck as he gazed at the door across the hall. The door to the room that held a recovering Dean Thompson.

  “Because he asked me not to,” he said. There was a moment of silence as his assistant attempted to process this information.

  “He… the boy?” she asked, shaking her head. “But why…”

  “He came to me before the exam. Waited until all the others were asleep and knocked on the pole to my tent. He told me that he had been tipped off by a reliable source that someone intended to betray him, and he shared his suspicions on who and why. I, of course, intended to investigate. I was ready to call the guards, especially knowing what I know about him.”

  “But?” his assistant raised a brow at him. Baron chuckled.

  “But the damn kid beat me to it. He told me that he could take care of himself and told me he didn’t want me to interfere. He said his only reason for telling me was to leave a paper trail through the correct channels. Arrogant prick.”

  Baron was still smiling, and when he glanced over, he saw his assistant mirroring the expression.

  “You like him,” she said. “Never thought I’d see the day. I thought Baron Forsa hated everyone.”

  He snorted, shaking his head.

  “The kid is either stupid or mad, and right now I can’t tell which. Even so, there’s something about him that stokes my curiosity. That’s all there is to it.”

  Baron’s proximity awareness tingled, and he turned his head as a man in doctor's robes emerged from the room. He shut Dena’s door behind him, and Baron rose to his feet to greet him.

  “Well?” he said without preamble. “What’s his condition? Is he awake?”

  Healer Atos rubbed at his face, his lips drawing into his usual deep frown.

  “Dean Thompson will make a full recovery, though it’s likely the barb injury will leave a scar on his shoulder and chest. He’d lost some blood, but it wasn’t enough to cause anything serious, at least this time.”

  The healer’s frown deepened as he glanced from Baron to his assistant, his eyes landing on the band of office at her sleeve.

  “Listen, if you’re from the board, I’ve already lodged my complaint. This boy has suffered enough as it is, forcing him to manifest at a time like this..”

  “Nobody is forcing him, doc,” said Baron, patting the man on the shoulder. The healer’s eyes bulged with irritation, but when he saw the gold badge pinned on Baron’s chest, he hesitated.

  “If Dean wants to take the next steps now rather than later, it’s up to him. It’s my responsibility to offer him the choice. The gods know he’s earned it.”

  Healer Atos clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he nodded stiffly, stepping aside.

  “He’s been awake for about an hour now. I only request that you not stay for more than an hour, Proctor. The boy needs his recovery.”

  Baron nodded, tucking the folder into the inside pocket of his coat as he pulled open the door.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t intend to stay for long.”

  The room was small, with a single bed and a nightstand in the corner. The window at the far end was open, allowing in a soft breeze. Dean sat up in bed, propped on pillows and holding a ceramic cup in one hand. He looked up when the door opened, and Baron saw the boy visibly relax when he recognized his visitor.

  “So,” said Baron, folding his arms across his chest. “You're finally awake.”

  “Proctor, I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Dean drained the contents of his cup and set it down. His white shirt slipped down, revealing tightly bound bandages around his chest and shoulder. The kid was sporting several bruises, and two of his fingers had been taped together. But other than that, it seemed he’d gotten off easy.

  “Don’t be. It’s my prerogative to keep an eye on all trainees who tested under me, as well as to congratulate them.”

  Dean’s eyes widened slightly, and Baron nodded.

  “That’s right. You acquitted yourself well, kid. Better than I’d have imagined. Therefore, by the rules of the board and the allied guilds, I have something that belongs to you by right.”

  Baron reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small drawstring bag. For a moment, he held the bag in his hand, wondering against his instincts if there was something he could do. Something he could say to prevent the boy from following the path he was on. But when he looked up he saw the look in Dean’s eyes. The same look that he’d had all those years ago.

  Some things never change.

  Baron tossed the bag on the bedsheets, the weight of it making a soft thump.

  Dean reached for it and then paused, glancing up at him.

  “No tricks?” he asked. It was a peculiar question, but the seriousness in the young man’s face told Baron he wasn’t joking.

  Baron shook his head, and Dean opened the bag, lifting out the metal token within. The Iron rank badge was at least three times the size of a silver or gold coin, and it was surprisingly heavy. Its outside was thicker, with a raised rim inscribed with the Empire’s emblem, engraved on it. Around its edge was the Adventurer’s oath. A promise made by the first saints centuries ago when they forged the first guild of the empire.

  “No tricks. This is the real deal, Dean. What you hold in your hand was forged in Heaven’s Forge at the behest of the Divine Family itself. It carries with it the weight of authority and responsibility that every essence wielder holds. Understand that you have a choice in this. You can walk away and lead a normal life. One where you can live without the constant fear of death or danger. Men and women in this profession find it hard to raise families, as we are required to travel constantly, and there is always the risk of dying in the field. I want you to know this before you make the decision to manifest. Before you commit, I need you to understand what it is the empire is asking of you.”

  “I understand.” The answer was so abrupt that Baron felt a flash of anger.

  “Tell me,” he said. “What is it about adventuring that draws you? If you wanted to be strong, you could have chosen life as a soldier or a watchman. Trained in a combat class and risen through the ranks. Started a family, even. Does none of that appeal to you?”

  Dean set down the badge, and his blue eyes went dark. For a moment, Baron was unsure if the boy would answer.

  “It’s not that it doesn’t appeal to me,” he said. “It’s more, I feel a sense of duty and obligation. I have things I need to do, Mr. Forsa. Things that I can’t leave undone. Maybe one day in the future like you I can retire. Live a life that’s calmer and simpler.” The boy clenched his fist, and Baron could see the steel in him as he met his gaze.

  “But now isn’t that time, and I can’t rest until my work is done.”

  There was a pause where they stared at one another. The boy and the man who saw his younger self reflected in those iron eyes. Then Baron laughed.

  “Relax,” he said as Dean stiffened. “I’m not laughing at you. Just… you sound a lot like someone I used to know.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Listen, I can’t stay for long. But I have two orders of business I need to discuss with you. The first is about that assassin you located in your dungeon.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “She was hardly an assassin,” said Dean. “She didn’t intend to kill me, only subdue me. And she failed on either account anyway.”

  Baron nodded.

  “But she broke board rules. Attempts to interfere with natural selection may seem minor to some, but it is an infraction that the board takes quite seriously. Put simply, if we allowed anyone with influence or power to manipulate the outcomes, then the board loses it’s value entirely. Our only job is to monitor and regulate adventurers independently of the guilds. We answer only to one authority, and that is the divine family itself.”

  “That’s not very impartial of you,” said Dean, frowning. “If the board answers to the Divine family, then they aren’t exactly without bias as they claim.”

  Baron's assistant let out an incredulous huff.

  “You dare-“

  “Peace, Ain, Peace. The boy has a point, however reckless it was. The board operates independently of the guilds themselves, but I won’t pretend they are without biases and influence of their own. The roots of politics run deep in this business, but you’ll find that’s true throughout the empire. However,”

  He tilted his head, allowing a little essence to rise to the forefront. Immediately, the pressure of his aura flared, and he saw Dean’s throat bob.

  “I’ll have to kindly remind you to watch your tongue, ranker. While your statement might have been objectively true, had you delivered it to anyone else, you might have found yourself in a world of trouble.”

  Dean didn’t look cowed, but after a moment, he nodded once, conceding the point. Baron released his hold on his essence, letting the internal flow retreat.

  “What will happen to her? And what about Cole?”

  “What about him? Unfortunately, Maxim may be young, but he isn’t stupid. He’s managed to cover his tracks well enough that it’s difficult to pin this on him. The evidence we have is limited to hearsay and wouldn’t hold up before a tribunal. Besides, I suspect that the father of his would make trouble if we were to drag his son in without adequate proof. No, the board intends to make an example out of her. Accepting bribes, interfering with a sanctioned examination, and attempted murder are no simple crimes. She might avoid the noose, but the sentence won’t be light.”

  Dean was silent for a moment.

  “And what about the official? The one that helped her set it up.”

  Baron tilted his head.

  “That depends on him. If he’s willing to talk, then he might get off with a lighter sentence. A few years of indentured labor and a blacklist from all guild work, most likely.”

  Being blacklisted from the guilds was no simple matter. In the Empire and even beyond it, many industries and workforces merged with Adventuering. Whether it be commerce, craftsmanship, trade, or goods and services. Being blacklisted would prevent most people from finding good work. Dean grimaced, and Baron knew he understood the implications.

  “It’s their choice,” he growled. “Nothing to do with you. So don’t you go feeling guilty.”

  “I don’t,” Dean weighed the iron rank badge in his hand a moment before looking up. “Other people's decisions have nothing to do with me. Actions have consequences, and if there is one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s a traitor.”

  A traitor? Baron almost snorted. What could a kid his age hope to know about betrayal?

  And yet the anger in the boy’s eyes wasn’t faked. Baron wondered at it for a moment, but in the end he decided not to press the issue.

  “When can I manifest?” The question caught him off guard.

  “As soon as you’re discharged, but you’ll want to recover befo-“

  “I can go now.” Dean stood from his bed, and the extent of the bruises on his body became evident. There were claw marks along one side, and several grapefruit-sized black and blue bruises wound there way up beneath the linen of his bandages. Still, the boy wasn’t shy. He stood tall, reaching for the pack and sword that rested against the wall.

  Baron sighed again, rubbing a thumb over his lips. Then he nodded.

  “Alright. I’ll inform the Temple grounds that you’re coming. Be advised that you’ll be expected to undergo the full ritual. You cannot eat anything eight hours before you attempt manifestation, and the process itself can be quite grueling. You’ll be taking a risk by making your first attempt still injured.”

  Dean’s expression didn’t waver.

  “I’m ready.” He said. “I just need to pay the medical wing.” The boy grimaced as he opened his half empty coin purse.

  “Ah,” said Baron. “That was my second order of business. You friends requested I let you know that they paid your expenses in full when you first arrived. The half-elf, Finnegan I believe was his name, wanted to thank you for your assistance and bravery in the dungeon. They asked that I give you this,” he reached into his coat and pulled out a letter, which he passed to Dean.

  The boy took in gingerly, his eyes still wide with shock.

  “They paid in full? For everything.”

  Baron nodded.

  “Good friends you’ve got there. My guess is they would have told you themselves had they not left in such a hurry.”

  Dean’s eyes snapped up to his.

  “They left Haven?”

  Baron tilted his head, his eyebrows drawing together.

  “Well, yes. They manifested days ago, and their guild is located in the valley. It’s a dangerous road to travel these days with all the unrest in that area. My understanding is they wanted to start early.”

  Dean’s jaw worked for a moment, and Baron noted with mild amusement that he’d never seen the boy speechless before.

  “But if they manifested… Proctor, how long have I been here?”

  Baron scratched his chin.

  “Did nobody tell you? It’s been exactly three days since the exam. You’ve been recovering for almost half of a week.”

  “Three days?” The youth’s eyes went wide, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Baron thought it made him look somewhat unhinged.

  “If that’s the case, then there’s still time.”

  “Time? Time for what?” But the boy was already heading for the door, his sheathed sword still clutched in his hand.

  “Dear gods,” said Baron, shaking his head. “And now I know that boy really is mad. Healer Atos is going to kill me.”

  ***

  The training hall was still packed when Dean finally entered. He could see many of the trainees he’d trained with loitering near the stairs to the VIP area. Now that they’d earned their badges, they were allowed to mingle with the Adventurers on the first level. But true VIP access was only for rankers who had manifested.

  Dean dropped his pack on the ground and began stretching his arms, windmilling and testing his movement. He could still feel a slight twinge in his shoulder, but it wasn’t anything that would significantly hinder his mobility.

  Alright he thought, bouncing from foot to foot. I’m healed enough. It’s now or never. If I don’t try before I ascend the steps to the temple in the hills, I’ll never forgive myself.

  “Thompson!” The smooth, deep voice was unmistakable. Ryu was striding towards him, a new cloak flapping about his boots. The enormous ranker wore a badge pinned to his chest, but more than that, there was a presence about him. Not a presence, Dean realized. An aura. And it hadn’t been there before.

  Power radiated from the ranker and Dean’s mana sense felt it.

  He’s manifested.

  “I was wondering when you’d wake. The healer said you would be out of commission for the next few weeks, but I know you better than that. A fighting spirit like yours won’t be quelled so easily.”

  Dean could feel the presence of the essence now flowing within Ryu, from his very core and through his veins. To his surprise, Dean felt a tug in his own core, as if his body was responding in challenge. He shook out his shoulders, trying to ignore the feeling.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Though I appreciate the concern.”

  Ryu smirked, dark eyes glinting as he looked Dean over.

  “There’s something different about you,” the warrior mused. “You haven’t manifested yet that much is clear. And yet…”

  He trailed off, and Dean gave him a look.

  “There was something I needed to do first,” he said. “Something important.”

  Ryu’s thick eyebrows rose.

  “Oh? Something you needed to do before going to the temple? And what, pray tell, might that be?”

  Dean didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he stepped past the ranker, striding towards the center of the training hall. His naked sword blade was propped on his shoulder, and Dean could feel the steady pulse from the enchantment within.

  The conversation in the training hall ground to a halt as people turned to stare at him.

  “Thompson!” called Ryu, his voice carrying a tinge of annoyance. “Are you mad? You can’t fight the banshee in your condition. And unarmored? Do you have a death wish?”

  Dean didn’t slow. When he reached the center of the floor, he lifted his head to stare up at the banshee. The room had gone deathly silent, but now Dean could hear the beginnings of a cheer.

  “Dean Thompson’s going to fight the banshee unarmored!” someone shouted.

  But Dean didn’t need the armor. Not for this. Most who faced the banshee did so armed to the teeth in heavy to medium-sized gear. Over the past month, Dean had watched eight trainees try and fail to beat it. What he’d learned had been simpler than he would have thought.

  Strategy was only part of it. He’d observed the automaton’s movements long enough to glean a pattern, but more than that, he’d realized one simple thing. If one wanted to disarm the banshee, they needed one stat more than all the rest. Agility and the speed it provided.

  So Dean kept his armor in his inventory, instead gripping his sword in both hands as he faced down the challenge before him. As if sensing his malice, the banshee awoke, its wooden head clattering at it turned to face him. Beneath its dark hair, Dean could see a pair of carved eyes. They seemed to glow with power as the runes on their multiple limbs flared to life.

  Dean didn’t waste any time. He charged the automaton, dodging the first few swings of its limbs with ease. From the center of his being, he felt it: that emotion that seemed to eclipse even fear. It was powerful and it felt a lot like…

  Pleasure. Thought Dean, as he bared his teeth in a manic grin. The joy of the fight. That’s what I’m feeling. Pressure, high stakes, and no turning back. This is what I live for.

  And so he charged the banshee with everything he had. Later, the trainees in the hall would describe what they’d seen for years after. How the mad classless trainee had come from the field, injured and beaten the banshee head-on. They’d say that he looked like a whirlwind, yelling like a man possessed. He was struck only once, and although the blow was strong, it hadn’t been enough to stop him.

  That day, Dean Thompson joined the ranks of the hall of fame, going down in history as the second classless in history to ever do so.

  They say that when the Grand Duke learned that his record had been matched by a lower city boy from the Riverlands, he was so shocked he declined to speak for hours. Certain it was a fluke, the Dean sent a message to the guild that ran Haven’s training hall, only to receive word via messenger that there was no fluke. The boy had indeed matched his record, and he’d done so with flying colors. The Duke had stewed in silent anger, crushing the letter in his hand. It wasn’t until his second son entered the study that the Duke looked up.

  “Father,” said Isaac Alarin, his tone holding the same emptiness that his eyes had always seemed to. “You summoned me?”

  Gavin Alarin threw the letter down on his desk and nodded.

  “I think it’s time you began training again. You’ve ascended to diamond rank, and your skills are those of a master Adventurer. There is only one thing left for you to do.”

  Isaac smiled, and the expression never reached his eyes.

  “You want me to vie for sainthood?”

  “And why not? The great noble houses have struggled for power for untold generations. It is we and we alone who are descendants of the first saints, and we carry with us the power of our bloodline. I’ve been too soft on you, son, even softer than I was on your elder brother. And look how that’s turned out for me.”

  Gavin rose, his aura darkening the room. The books on the shelf behind him shifted as the force of his power shook the very room. All the while, this display of temper didn’t seem to faze Issac. His second son merely stared at him, his expression cool. Gavin breathed in deeply, seizing control over the very power that always roiled within him. He was its master, not the other way around. And so he lowered himself back into his leather chair and nodded.

  “You will begin training tomorrow. I will arrange things at the estate, see to it you are not late.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Gavin glanced up at his son, a smirk playing across his lips.

  “Even you, Isaac, are not that stupid. I am head of this household, and it is my divine right to dictate what happens inside the walls of my estate. The gods gifted you great power, boy, you should be grateful to be given such a boon. Had I received my power as young as you, no doubt I would have surpassed many of the saints long ago.”

  “And yet, you didn’t,” said his son smoothly. “Inherit power as great as mine, I mean.”

  Gavin crossed the room in seconds, drawing his diamond sword from its sheath in the blink of an eye. Isaac didn’t flinch, even as the blade hovered less than an inch from his throat. The magic in the enchanted weapon pulsed as the blade began to hum.

  “You arrogant welp,” Gavin breathed, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Do you think of challenging me? You may be a natural talent, but you lack the experience, and your technique requires refinement. If you think you can best me, then by all means, go ahead. Perhaps it’s been to long since I’ve shown you what I’m capable of.”

  Isaac was silent for a long moment, so long that Gavin wondered if he’d say nothing at all. But the boy’s aura retreated, and he swallowed.

  “Forgive me, father. I spoke out of turn. I was just.. caught off guard, is all.”

  Gavin lowered his sword, raising his chin to study his son.

  “Good,” he said. “You’re bold but not as driven by emotion as your brother. You’ll need to sharpen your steel if you’re to become a saint.”

  He stepped back, sheathing his sword and smoothing the front of his shirt.

  “Forgive me as well. I acted thoughtlessly. It was not my intention to stir trouble between us. There have just been… matters that have troubled me lately.”

  Isaac’s eyes flicked down to the crumpled letter and narrowed slightly.

  “What matters?”

  Gavin waved a hand, forcing a false smile unto his face.

  “Oh, nothing to concern yourself with. Come, how about a game of chess with your old man? I can have the servants bring us wine and refreshments.”

  “Of course,” Isaac peeled his gaze reluctantly from the crumpled letter and followed Gavin out the door to his study. In the hall, two dozen servants stood at attention, bowing as the Grand Duke passed. His wife caught sight of him as he made for the drawing room, and she paused, curtsying deeply.

  “Your Grace.”

  Gavin waved a hand at her as he passed, and she rose from her bow, turning to watch him go. Gavin twisted the signet ring on his finger as he walked, his mind going a mile a minute. Since the death of his first son, Isaac was his second and most capable heir. The boy was powerful without a doubt, but he lacked the manners and charisma that a Duke required.

  There is something broken in that boy, he mused as he made his way into the drawing room. I sense something in him.. something that gives me cause for worry.

  A servant had been cleaning the windows, but he turned to bow deeply as the Duke crossed the room and lowered himself into his chair. The man came to his side, and the Duke nodded, granting his servant permission to speak.

  “Your grace, may I offer you refreshments from the kitchen staff?”

  Gavin nodded.

  “And wine, bring a good vintage. I want something with a little flair.”

  The servant’s eyes lit up.

  “An excellent suggestion, your grace. And may I ask what the occasion is?”

  Gavin smiled, crossing one brown boot over his knee as Isaac took the seat opposite him.

  “My son is going to ascend,” he said. “And earn his right to the family name.”

  After all, what is the point of power if it can be wielded by just anyone? The first saints were the precursors of our age. They alone had the blood of the gods and wielded their power without reserve. It is we, their successors, who have been granted the responsibility of that same power.

  He released a breath, his smile spreading as he set the pieces on the board. It had been a while since he had played this game. It had always been with Clovis, and though the memory of losing his firstborn still pained him, Gavin knew better than to show it. Nobility was made of steel. It doesn’t bend, it doesn’t break. That is what his father had taught him.

  And afterall, what harm can some classless welp really cause? He’s a nobody, unaffiliated and unremarkable. Not even the guilds want anything to do with him. What a farce.

  “Father?”

  It took Gavin a moment to realize his son was staring at him. He blinked, glancing down at the board.

  “It’s your move.”

  “Right,” he said, pulling at the corner of his mustache. “Remember your lessons boy, and impress me. Who knows, you may even find yourself promoted to heir above your siblings. Now, let us begin.”