Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

The following day, we gathered in the great hall to knight our new templars. Virtually all the time in between had gone to fixing the cube, which was now a pyramid to save on construction, both the interior and exterior studded with torches. Raum had spit fire at me, and talking to him had proved fruitless. Given the security risk his presence presented, I’d finished him off with the atreanum pick. It had done the job, and fallen apart shortly afterward as I examined the fresh cracks in its blade.

Broken tools didn’t provide me with any harvestable materials. That was the last of our atreanum.

Three candidates knelt at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne. Gastard had spoken with Garron about the idea of reviving the institution of templars, not that Dargoth had ever had any, and he had selected three men from among the garrison.

Two of them, Hurin and Thrund, had taken part in the fight with Bojack. The third, Yent, was the brother of one of the men who had died. Thrund was broader and darker than Hurin, with a shaved head and deep-set eyes filled with gravity. Yent was stocky and ruddier in complexion. I didn’t know if he looked like his brother or not, I’d never seen the man out of his armor. His expression was determined, serious, and when he looked at me, there was none of the anger or bitterness that I deserved. He wanted to be here, to serve the kingdom. Becoming a templar would allow him to seek vengeance for his brother, though the blame for that death rested more on me than on the demons.

Dozens of witnesses stood in the hall, mostly members of the garrison, but palace staff and scribes as well. This wasn’t something that had ever happened before, Kevin hadn’t been big on handing out accolades or special privileges to people he thought of as NPCs. Zareth had already said a few words about honor and duty and the empire, and I wasn’t sure how to follow it up.

We’d settled on starting with three because my orb and my experience put a limit on how much enchanted equipment I could produce. If we were going to be tasking these guys with defending Mount Doom from demons, I wanted them to be fully geared for war.

The silence stretched out, and I still didn’t know what to say. Being able to go without sleep was a demonic trait, and it was probably a good thing that it still affected me, but my hesitance was more than being mentally tired. Chances were, I was consigning these men to death or something arguably worse.

“Caliburn,” Esmelda held out her hand. “Allow me.”

Over the last few days, I’d noticed a change in her. She’d killed Gremory, and though Gremory hadn’t looked like the other demons, she had been one of them just the same. Esmelda hadn’t grown fangs or claws, but there was something different in her eyes. The pale gray of her irises had become more reflective, and her hair had lightened a shade. These weren’t bad things in and of themselves, but they were a reminder of what made this necessary.

I gave her the sword, and she descended the steps to rest it on Hurin’s shoulder. He gazed up at her with something close to reverence.

“In the name of Dargoth and its throne, I hereby grant you the title of Templar. A shield of the realm, and a bright sword held against the shadow that encroaches upon it.” She seemed about to say something else, but she paused, swaying slightly.

Ding.

The notification sound. I was accustomed to hearing it from my System, but this was fainter. It was hers. Instead of stopping to check her screens, Esmelda continued the ceremony, repeating the same words for the other two.

The ceremony was finished soon after. I gave each of them a diamond sword, the rest of their equipment wasn’t ready, but they needed to get something to mark their new status. They were going to be training personally with Gastard, relieved of their regular duties as guardsmen. In the short term, their main job was going to be watching Kevin, though one would go to Nargul when they were fully equipped.

Zareth thanked everyone for their attendance and cleared the hall, while Gastard took the newly anointed Templars aside to talk.

“Esmelda,” I said, “what happened there?”

Leto had stood by the throne during the ceremony, and now he rushed to get a look at Esmelda’s screens as soon as she activated them.

“What did you get?” He asked, crowding her.

Esmelda’s mouth quirked down as she read through the notification. “It appears that I have lost seven levels.”

“You what?” I focused on my aetheric sense for a moment to see if she felt any different, but it wasn’t sensitive enough to detect any change.

“See for yourself.” She clicked away from her Status and held out her arm so I could better read the System message.

<<<>>>

Achievement: Entitled to Titles (1)

The burdens of rulership are beyond any single soul. An Heir has the right to imbue their trusted servants with a small portion of their essence, thereby granting them an aetheric title. Those imbued in this fashion are bound to the Heir, though loosely, through ties of loyalty and essence both. Titles grant small bonuses for the bearer when in pursuit of their duty to the Heir.

While you are free to grant any title you can imagine, they are most effective when aligned with the profession of the recipient, and only one title can be assigned to any individual. You can access a number of different titles equal to your achievement rank.

Rank 1 (Assigned): Templar.

Rank 2 (Pending): Grant nine titles to advance.

Templar: A shield of the realm, and a bright sword held against the shadow that encroaches upon it. The recipients of this title gain slight protection against the influence of Discord, increased mental fortitude, and the Favored Enemy (Demon) trait.

Note that titles do not a Hero make. Mortals so imbued do not advance or accrue essence more quickly than they otherwise would, and the effect of the title is set according to the Presence of the Heir at the time of application.

<<<>>>

“That…” I said slowly, “is way more information than I have ever gotten about an ability.”

“I want one,” Leto grabbed his mother’s arm. “Do me next.”

“It would be beneficial,” Esmelda reread the entry. “A ‘slight protection’ is better than none.”

“If the power of the title is related to your Presence, it will be better after you hit level thirty,” I said. “And every time you use it, that goal is going to get pushed farther back.” Survivors spent experience on enchantments. Gastard enhanced his weapon. Now we knew that Heirs could kind of enchant people. It was useful information, but it also got in the way of her getting an assessment. Level thirty was when the System assigned an entity rank, it marked the solidification of a hero’s aetheric presence, their soul, and I wanted Esmelda’s soul to be as solid as possible.

Obviously, protecting Leto was important, but it wasn’t his job to fight demons. The best way to protect him was to keep him as far away from combat as possible.

“Perhaps,” she said, tabbing back to her Status. “The Favored Enemy achievements have enhanced my physical attributes, but my Presence remained unchanged.”

Leto made a dissatisfied noise, sensing the winds were not blowing in the direction of his being granted a title. “But if you gave me one, I could fight too. You wouldn’t have to worry about me so much.”

“It wouldn’t make you like us,” I squeezed his shoulder. “You’re staying out of the way of any monsters either way.”

He frowned but didn’t shift away from my hand. “Can I train with them, at least?” His gaze fell on the new Templars.

“That will be up to Gastard,” Esmelda said. “They may not want you underfoot.”

“I won’t be,” he promised, running off to get a closer look at the diamond blades I had presented during the ceremony. Like Gastard’s armor, the crystal weapons had a faintly bluish cast. They shouldn’t have been viable except as display pieces, but the System made it so. I needed to get to work on crafting the rest of their gear.

“I’ve been discussing diplomacy with Zareth,” Esmelda said, bringing me out of my thoughts. “We’ve let Henterfell sit for too long.”

Godwod, King Egald, it was all a mess. We didn’t have any recent messages from that side of the Wastes, so it was possible the city had fallen while we were off putting out other fires. As much as I wanted to exact retribution on Godwod myself, it would be simpler if the situation managed itself. Asmodeus was stationed in Henterfell, as well as a demon I’d never met.

“What are you thinking?”

“We should send messengers to King Egald, several, to be sure they arrive. The letters can explain that this is not the Dargoth he knew, and assure him that we are no longer backing Godwod or claiming any territory beyond the Wastes for this kingdom. If he is open to discussion, we could offer aid in returning Henterfell to his control.”

“I’d be happy to do it, but we can’t afford to have anyone go off on an adventure in the Free Kingdoms right now.”

“Perhaps not, but we will at least open the door to communication.”

“Hey, I’m not against it. Write as many letters as you want.”

“The letters will be from you.”

“Lady of Dargoth, you have my permission to sign my name to as many documents as you like.”

“Very well,” she waved to Zareth, “will I see you for dinner?”

“Absolutely.” I kissed the top of her head and set off for the forge.

My stock of useful enchanted books had dwindled to less than what I would need for a single set of armor. That meant I would have to craft more from scratch. Paper, leather, and gems weren’t hard to come by, but making the books required as much essence as enchanting equipment. More, because I couldn’t force the Enchanting Table to give me exactly what I wanted, and instead had to select from the options it generated. A quest reward had given me the ability to read the relevant runes, which would save on waste, but it was still going to be expensive.

If Hurin, Thrund, and Yent were going to defend Mount Doom in my stead, they needed to be as prepared as humanly possible. There wasn’t enough orichalcum to go around, but diamond was almost as good. The only worry there was that it would require more frequent repairs if Mending wasn’t applied to everything.

The Essence Stone was blazing with light, the looted spiritual energy of two demons, but as my pile of enchanted books grew, its inner fire dimmed into a few meager embers before going out entirely. That was my sign to move on. I was going to be digging into my levels to apply the enchantments, and the books I had were the books I had.

I tried to keep the three sets of armor relatively even, they each got a few copies of Protection and Unbreaking. Mending went to the chestplates, as those pieces tended to take the most hits, and there ended up being an uneven distribution of Thorns, Fire Resistance, and Feather Fall. They wouldn’t be as well off as Gastard or me, but it was sufficient to give the Templars a fighting chance.

“When were you planning on telling me?”

“Gah!” I dropped the stack of medallions in my hand, and one of them went rolling perilously close to the edge of the platform and the lava below. Esmelda stopped it with her foot. She’d snuck up on me, or else this was a warning that I needed to be more aware of my surroundings while I worked. Being on my knees to pick up dropped coins put my head relatively on the level of Esmelda’s.

“Tell you what?” I asked.

“Gastard brought up your intention to venture into Bedlam with Kevin as your sole companion.” She did not look happy. “I believe he was under the impression that we had already discussed it.”

“Next on my list,” I said, “Sorry.”

She put her hand against my cheek, it felt cool in the heat of the forge. “My answer is no,” she said.

“No?”

“You can’t go alone, not again.”

“I wouldn’t be alone.”

“Alone with an enemy,” she snapped, pulling her hand back, “that’s worse!”

“He’ll be oathbound,” I said, getting up. I’d been dreading this conversation. “And he’s going to see it as being in his best interest to cooperate.”

“Madness, absolute madness. What kind of guide could he be? How could you trust anything he told you when every step you take in that realm could place you in a trap?”

“I’ll make sure he steps first.” It was a flippant response, and she didn’t like it. As her face darkened, I rushed on. “We need the atreanum, and we need him to find it. I know it’s not ideal, but these are the tools we have to work with.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go alone.”

“We have people to protect here, we can’t all go.”

“Is that not why we dubbed the Templars? They can hold the wall while we are gone.”

“What about Leto? He can’t come with us. Do you think those three are enough to keep him safe?”

She turned her back on me, her dress swirling, and stalked to the edge of the platform to look up through the opening of the caldera far above. A clear sky, an impossible sight not so long ago. Her voice was a small thing in a vast space.

“Gastard can remain.”

I came close enough to reach for her, but didn’t. “There could be another time sink.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“If we both go, we could both be caught. If it’s just me, Leto still has you.”

She went quiet, and the pit sizzled beneath us.

“Take Gastard.” The words seemed to be pulled out of her.

“I think you should both stay.”

“You’re wrong,” she faced me, the light at her back, an uncanny luminance shining in the rings of her eyes. “It has to be both of you, or not at all.”

“What if we don’t come back?”

“Then it will be one hero against the shadow, as it was before we received our blessings. I will name a hundred templars, call upon the warriors of Atlan, and the Free Kingdoms, and we will fight together to overthrow Gundurgon.” She was so small, so fierce, and I believed her.

We could do that now. Forget Bedlam, bury Kevin somewhere the demons would never find, and let him starve. Let others land the killing blows, and spread the taint of Discord among many instead of few. I almost said it, almost promised I would stay and that we would find a way to finish this without relying on the resources of an alien realm.

Esmelda saw something in my face, and her gaze softened. “Are you alright?”

My stomach somersaulted, and I took two steps away from her before vomiting all over an anvil. Black, acrid liquid spilled out of my mouth, and a sudden wave of dizziness nearly caused me to fall. Esmelda caught me, though there was no way she could have carried me if my full weight came down.

“Goddess,” she swore, “what is this?”

The dark soup that had splattered the anvil contained traces of white thread that for a dull moment my mind interpreted as spiderwebs. It wasn’t though, it was mycelium. The roots of nascent fungus. That was new.

“Corruption,” I said. “It’s working its way through me.”

“What about your potions?”

“They won’t help,” I wiped the foulness from the sides of my mouth, “I’m not hurt.”

“What about milk?”

That made me smile. Milk had been enough to save Leto from Fladnag’s poison, and I’d had the same thought after the Taint started making me feel nauseated. “Had some this morning. It doesn’t do anything.”

It wasn’t just atreanum that we needed. Kevin was the only one who could teach me how to use runes, and burying him wasn’t going to get him to talk. Even if I never killed another demon, I was going to get worse.

“I’ll take Gastard,” I said. “You can hold down the fort while I’m gone, like you said.”

Esmelda didn’t respond, her gaze wide and worried, both her hands knitting tightly around one of mine.