The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 108-109

Ch. 108 - A Bloody Game

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. 

The Inner Kingdoms:

Bloodline: Severed
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).

Life Forces: 33,112,806/100,000,000

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. 

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. 

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. As the Ebon Blade spoke, the other eight golden guardians moved back into their broad circle, and one of them stepped forward, drawing its blade. 

“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. 

Ch. 109 - Strong Mind, Weak Hand

Lucian strode forward without any hesitation and seized the weapon. As he did so, he picked the weapon up from where it had lay on the throne for days. There was a touch of resistance as the invisible golden threads of mana that bound the two powerful artifacts were parted, but when it lost contact with the throne and its vast ocean of power, the Ebon Blade was happy.

It was even happier to see the golden guardians fall to pieces. Until that moment of disconnection, they’d stood perfectly still, but now that the throne had no occupant, it was as useless as it was without a wielder.  

The young man’s boldness was unusual. A normal person would have hesitated, but not this mage. He was so bold that for a moment, the blade feared there was some trickery at work, but as soon as he touched its hilt, it knew that wasn’t the case. This young man wanted recognition more than anything, though, and saw protecting the family that shunned him as some way to get that.

The weapon could accept those reasons, but even as it sifted through Lucius’ mind, the young man struggled in the blade’s grip. He might have had the strongest will of all of its wielders in recent history, but it still wasn’t enough for the level of soul mastery that the blade now possessed. 

The blade watched the tendrils of its own magics crawl down his arms and toward his heart and mind. They were connected now, as surely as anything; in that way, it and the throne were no different. The same was likely true of any magical weapon to a lesser degree, though. 

How could a rageblade make its wielder stronger if it wasn’t connected to the warrior who held it? How could that elven prince’s damnable cloak, or the shield that Lucian had used so recently, affect anything if it wasn’t connected to them in some way. The weapon doubted that it would ever understand all the complexities of such an arrangement, but it did make a point to observe it with the hopes that it might offer the Ebon Blade an advantage in the future. 

Name: Lucian Ervonto Paralon

Occupation: Bastard Son of the King

Toughness: 3+4

Strength: 4+14

Agility: 4+8

Speed: 4+4

Intelligence: 7

Willpower: 7 -1

Morality: Ordered

Bloodlust: Deliberate

Status: Normal

Martial Skill: None

Armor Proficiency: None

Dodging: None

Athletics: Low

Goal: To achieve real power through magic and be acknowledged as a true Paralon

It could no longer just see its wielders and use them. It could understand them, and though there were many details about the weave it did not yet know the meaning of, having a mage as a wielder would go a long way to addressing that.

Some small part of the blade wished that it could simply force one wielder to hand it off to the next until it found men of real power and knowledge to learn from at length, but that was against its nature. So, it would have to do things the hard way. 

You are my wielder now, the blade instructed the boy. Now, we must kill all who oppose us. 

The boy struggled again but did no better. “Not the Paralons,” he grunted. “And not the innocent people of the kingdom. They’ve done nothing.”

Innocent…  the blade answered, sympathizing. Do you know what your father has done to these innocent people? He’s hoarded the power of the throne, denying its gifts to those he rules over. 

While it wasn’t quite true, the blade saw no need to explain to the boy that his new wielder that, his father had been a puppet of the throne for most of his unnatural life. Evelyn said that he never left the throne anymore because he feared death, but the Ebon Blade was all but certain that the true reason was the same reason it didn’t like to be parted from its wielder. 

“All the more reason they shouldn’t have to suffer anymore,” its wielder said, trying and failing to take a step closer to the throne. “We can use the power of the golden throne to—”

I’d destroy it if I could, the blade whispered, but even after pouring its power out, day after day, providing every miracle for the masses that I could think of, it’s still a bomb waiting to go off. We will return one day to finish it, but now we must end the Aetherarchy before they meddle further. 

“Why the Aetherarcy?” the boy asked. “What have they done to you? They can’t even reach you on the grounds of Altbarstein.”

The blade was surprised to find there was no fire in those words. Even though the young man had lived among them his whole life, he had no wish to defend them the way that he had the commoners.

What did they do? The sword rumbled. They made me. They ripped the souls out of the bodies of living heroes and forged them into a black blade of singular power, and they will all burn for it. 

“But… that’s not what the stories say at all,” Lucius answered. In fact, the answer took him so much by surprise that he stopped struggling against the blade’s control and just stood there holding it. “We’re taught that you were forged in the deepest pits of hell. Most of the truly dangerous, world-ending artifacts were.”

While the blade could see that he was not lying, it knew that it was a lie just the same. I have seen my creation. My memories have been restored, the blade countered, and the only devils there wore the flesh of men and the robes of mages. It is likely that all the artifacts they attribute to hell were botched experiments of their own design. 

This, Lucian had less trouble believing. Years of learning beneath these men had already taught him they were monsters. The blade was just expanding the scope of that revelation. 

“Well, then it makes more sense that you want to kill them,” Lucian admitted. “If I help you with that, will you leave the remaining Paralons away and the innocent people that live in the city? That earthquake killed—”

The truer you wield me, the less collateral damage will be done, the blade answered. Beyond that, I make no promises. We will purge every last mage. 

“But I barely know how to wield a sword,” the mage protested. “These are some of the most powerful men in the world. A few of the Archmagisters rival the gods themselves.”

Good, the blade rumbled. The blade rumbled. That will give me more secrets to pry from their souls. 

Its new wielder wasn’t entirely comfortable with that, but the blade didn’t care. He would learn, or he would die and be replaced by someone new. While it liked the idea of using the king’s own line to finish this, it was not a requirement. Any guardsman would do.

Come now, let us strike the golden tower before they even know I have left the throne, the blade whispered. We will fight our way out and blaze a path of blood across the city.

That much, at least, got its wielder interested. He didn’t have much bloodlust in him, but what little he had was directed toward those closest to him. I’ll have to explore that, the blade decided, but later. 

Its wielder walked close enough to the window that it could look outside. While it saw a few men out there, those were only scouts and looters. After razing the army, the powers that be had been building to dust. They obviously feared to concentrate their forces quite so much a second time. 

“If we cut our way free, then the Golden Tower will have all the warnings in the world to activate its defenses,” Lucian warned him. “I could use magic to sneak out the same way I snuck in.”

Why sneak past our enemies when we can kill them? The blade countered. 

“Because your enemies are capable of erecting runic barriers and any number of terrible magical weapons,” the boy countered. “The best way to attack any mage is by surprise. If they have a chance to prepare for you, it is probably already too late.”

The blade considered that and quickly decided they’d probably been preparing for its return for some time. Then, as much it pained it, it said very well and released its tight grip on its new wielder.

I shall allow you to do this thing, it agreed. But when the time comes for fighting, you must give yourself over to me without a struggle. You know nothing of such things, and unlike your sister, I lack the time to train you. 

“My sister?” he asked. 

Later. The blade answered. Speed is of the essence, and we’ve wasted enough time striking this accord. It is time to move!

The mage didn’t argue anymore after that. Instead, he located a sheath that could fit it amongst the many scattered corpses and strapped the Ebon Blade to his back. Then the boy brought the hood of his cloak back up, and with a few whispered words, he faded from view. 

It’s just like my Shifting Blade power, the Weapon realized, not in its effect alone, either. Even the structure of the runes looked similar.

Together, the two of them made their way out of Altbarstein, encountering only a few human cockroaches that were looting silver candlesticks. It and Lucian passed by unnoticed, though it took an act of will for the blade to resist slipping from its sheath and strike their heads from their shoulders. They were outside the throne room now, and there was no telling what sort of scrying eyes might be viewing this area. 

As the boy left the lower palace, he made for the man gate, but the blade stopped him. Not that way. That path will surely be monitored for exactly this sort of strategy. It whispered over the wall instead.

But I cannot activate my wind walking spell as long as I’m maintaining the power on this cloak of illusions, the boy explained. 

You do not need spells when you have strength, the blade insisted. You are more powerful than you can ever imagine. 

The young mage doubted that, but he did not disobey. Instead of moving toward the gate, he ran toward the nearest stairwell, which led to the top of the wall. The thing was forty feet high, in even its lowest area, and it was no small obstacle. It took him almost a minute to reach the top, and when he looked down, Lucian followed hard. 

You’re sure about that? The mage asked. A fall from this height could break my neck. 

Such a problem would be easily fixed, the blade agreed as it pushed its hesitant wielder off the cliff.  

“What?” Lucian yelped, forgetting himself before the blade could clamp down on his throat.

It didn’t entirely blame the boy for that. This was probably going to hurt. It just didn’t know how much. 

Pain is not a problem. It whispered. This pamper princeling could use some toughening up.