B4: Chapter 8: A Goodbye, A Return

Chapter 8: A Goodbye, A Return

The first light of dawn painted Weath's thatched roofs in soft gold as I made my way to Antos's cottage. The familiar creak of his front gate welcomed me back to a place that had once been sanctuary. Willem answered my knock, his weathered face creased with concern.

"He's been awake since before sunrise," Willem said quietly, stepping aside to let me enter. "Been sitting in that chair, staring out the window. I think the reality of being home is still settlin' in."

I found Antos exactly as Willem described, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket, his thin frame dwarfed by the high-backed chair that had once seemed perfectly sized for him. The months in prison had stolen more than just his weight; they'd carved hollow spaces beneath his eyes and left his skin with a grayish pallor that spoke of too many days without sunlight.

Good morning, Antos, I said, settling my tall frame into the chair across from him. How are you feeling?

He managed a weak smile. "Like I've been trampled by a herd of oxen, but I'm breathing. That's more than I expected some days." His voice carried the rasp of someone who'd spent months in damp stone cells.

Willem poured steaming tea from a kettle, the familiar ritual of morning hospitality a comforting constant in this changed world. As he handed Antos and himself a cup, I decided it was time to share what I'd learned at the Redflight estate.

There's something you both need to know about the Duke, I began, watching their faces carefully. The man who ordered your imprisonment, Antos... it wasn't Barson Redflight who made that decision.

Willem's brow furrowed. "What d'ya mean?"

The Duke is suffering from dementia. His mind has been failing for years. When I confronted him, he thought I was his dead son Kolin. He spoke to his other dead sons as if they were still alive.

Willem's teacup rattled against its saucer as he set it down abruptly. "Dementia? But that means... all this time, he wasn't even..."

Wasn't even aware of what his underlings were doing in his name, I finished. The imprisonment order, the threats against Weath; those came from his advisors and lieutenants, not from him directly.

Antos leaned back in his chair, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. The news didn't seem to surprise him as much as it had Willem. "I wondered about that," he said slowly. "In prison, you hear things. Guards talk, prisoners gossip. Word was the Duke hadn't been seen in public for years. Some wondered if he was even still breathing."

Willem's face had gone pale. "If the Duke's not really in charge, then who's running the duchy? And what happens when word gets out that all three of his sons are dead?"

"That's what I'm worried about," Antos admitted. "Succession disputes have torn apart kingdoms before. If there's a power vacuum in Further Vale..."

The Duke still has a daughter, I said. Leilana. She's young, sixteen, but she's being prepared to take over when she comes of age.

Willem wrung his hands nervously. "Can we trust her to honor whatever agreements you made? To keep her family away from Weath?"

I thought of the frightened girl I'd left in her father's bedroom, writing release orders with shaking hands. I hope so. I made it very clear what would happen if her family continued to threaten this village. But she's young, and young nobles can be... unpredictable.

"Unpredictable," Willem repeated with a bitter laugh. "If she goes back on her word, we could all end up swinging from gallows. The whole village could be burned to the ground as an example."

The weight of that possibility settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. Antos shifted uncomfortably, his weathered hands gripping the edges of his chair.

Don't worry, I said, my voice carrying more confidence than I felt. I'm not going to leave Weath defenseless. I'll station some of my children here to protect the village.

Willem's eyes widened. "You have kids?!" he sputtered, nearly dropping his teacup again.

Antos chuckled weakly, the first genuine amusement I'd seen from him since his return. "About time," he muttered under his breath. "So… who's the lucky woman? Or is it lucky man?"

I sighed, standing from my chair. The misunderstanding was amusing, but this was too important for confusion. Follow me outside. I'll show you what I mean.

The two elderly men struggled to keep pace with my slithering strides as we stepped into the morning sunlight. Several villagers were already going about their daily routines. Emma was hanging laundry, Garrett had been hauling flour sacks from his mill, and some children were chasing chickens through the dusty streets. They waved cheerfully when they saw us, their faces lighting up at the sight of Antos upright and mobile.

Willem positioned himself beside me, his expression skeptical. "So where are these children of yours hiding? Under the floorboards?"

Instead of answering, I reached deep into Arsenal, my consciousness diving into that limitless dimensional space where weapons and materials waited in perfect organization. I activated Assembly, my enhanced abilities allowing me to work at speeds that would have been impossible before my ascension.

Steel flowed like liquid in my mental workshop. Gears meshed with clockwork precision. Joints articulated with mechanical grace. Within seconds, fifty complete forms took shape, each one a perfect replica of the body I'd once worn when I first came to Weath.

I pulled them from Arsenal all at once.

Fifty mechanical warriors materialized in the street before us, their spears raised at identical angles, their shields gleaming in the morning sun. Each stood at five feet tall, headless torsos rising from digitigrade legs, four arms equipped with weapons and defensive gear. They snapped to attention with perfect synchronization, the sound of fifty metal legs striking earth echoing through the village square.

Willem gasped and stumbled backward. Antos clutched at his chest, his face going even paler than before.

"Sweet gods," Antos wheezed. "Stop doing things like that in front of me, or you'll put me in an early grave."

"What the hell!" Willem shouted, backing away from my creations until I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

Don't worry, I said calmly. These are my children. Many call them the Tireless. They'll protect Weath while I'm away.

Word spread quickly through the village. Curious faces appeared in doorways and windows. Children came running from every direction, their eyes wide with wonder. Little Derek pushed through the growing crowd, studying one of the Tireless with scientific curiosity.

"They look exactly like you!" he announced. "Well, the old you from when you lived with us."

The other villagers murmured agreement, recognizing the familiar four-armed design that had once been my combat frame's form. These mechanical bodies carried echoes of my past, reminders of who I'd been before godhood changed everything.

"I'm guessing they can fight," Antos said, his voice stronger now that the initial shock had passed.

I nodded. Each one is stronger than I was when I first came to Weath.

Willem looked skeptical. "What level are they? Fresh from creation, they can't be very powerful."

Level one, I admitted. But don't let that fool you. They're mechanical marvels, each one capable of feats that would challenge seasoned warriors.

I gestured toward the nearest Tireless. Willem, give them an order. As mayor of Weath, they're programmed to follow your commands completely.

Willem approached nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the imposing metal soldiers. He cleared his throat. "Uh... patrol the area?"

The response was immediate and precise. All fifty Tireless brought their upper right hands to their chests in perfect salute, the sound ringing like a bell across the square. Then they turned and began marching down the main street, their movements synchronized and purposeful.

At the road junction, they split into pairs, each duo heading toward different sections of the village. Some went toward the fields, others toward the forest paths, still others toward the main gates. Within minutes, they'd dispersed throughout Weath's boundaries, establishing a protective perimeter that would monitor every approach.

"Amazing," Willem breathed, watching the last pair disappear around a corner.

The gathered villagers buzzed with excitement, pointing and discussing this latest miracle. The children laughed and chased after the nearest patrol, much to their parents' alarm.

As the crowd dispersed, Antos spoke quietly, his voice barely audible above the morning bustle. "You've performed many miraculous things since you freed me from that cell."

I shrugged, trying to downplay the magnitude of what I'd just accomplished. I'm level one hundred now. Things are different.

Antos studied my face with those sharp eyes that had seen through so many lies and half-truths during his years as mayor. "What you're capable of goes far beyond what any level one hundred warrior could achieve. Far beyond."

He sighed, settling deeper into his blanket. "I won't press you for details. But if you ever want to talk about what you've really become, I'll listen."

I smiled down at this man who'd shown me kindness when I was nothing but a broken remnant, who'd trusted me when others saw only a monster. My hand found his shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure to his frail frame.

Ask Ludwig if you want the full story, I said simply.

***

The noon sun cast long shadows across Weath's square as I prepared to leave. Word had spread through the village, and people emerged from shops, homes, and fields to gather around me. Their faces bore a mixture of pride, sadness, and hope. These were the same expressions I remembered from my first departure years ago, though now tinged with awe at what I'd become.

Clarik pushed through the crowd first, his broad frame cutting a path toward me. The blacksmith's soot-stained hands found my shoulders, and he pulled me into a fierce embrace that would have crushed a normal person's ribs.

"Take care of yourself out there," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "And keep building things, you hear? Don't let all that level 100 power make you forget the simple joy of creation."

I returned his embrace carefully, mindful of my strength. I won't forget. You taught me that every creation, no matter how small, carries a piece of its maker's soul.

"Aye, that's the truth of it." He stepped back, his eyes bright. "Do the same, and remember where you learned it."

Emma Goodmak approached next, her weathered face soft with maternal affection. She'd lost her daughter Sarah to the same vicious attack that had taken Mallie, yet she'd never let grief poison her kindness.

"My Sarah would have been so proud to see what you've become," she said, reaching up to touch my arm. "Had she lived to see this day, she'd have been cheering louder than anyone."

The words struck deeper than any blade. Sarah had been among the first to accept me when I was nothing but a broken torso in a mechanical frame. Her friendship had meant everything during those early, uncertain days.

Sarah was a friend I could never forget, I told Emma. Her kindness helped teach me what it meant to be human.

Emma smiled through gathering tears. "She always did have a good eye for people. Even the unusual ones."

Derek and Pippa bounced forward, their young faces bright with excitement. I knelt down to their level, placing gentle hands on their heads.

Be good while I'm away, I said. Listen to your parents and help around the village.

Derek's eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. "Can we play with the Tireless sometime? They look really cool!"

I laughed, the sound carrying genuine warmth. That should be fine, as long as you get your parents' permission first. But remember: they're warriors, not toys. Treat them with respect.

"We will!" Pippa chimed in, bouncing on her toes. "Can they tell stories?"

Ask Willem to program them for that. I'm sure he'll figure it out.

Willem stepped forward as the children scampered back to their parents. The acting mayor extended his hand, which I shook carefully.

"Come back and visit soon," he said. "Don't let the fact that yer famous and important make you a stranger to us."

Never, I assured him. This place shaped who I became. I won't forget that.

"Antos and I will watch over everything while you're away. The Tireless are impressive, but nothing beats local knowledge and experience."

I nodded appreciatively. Willem had proven himself a capable leader during my absence, and his dedication to Weath's welfare matched Antos's own.

The former mayor shuffled forward last, still weak from his imprisonment but determined to see me off properly. His handshake was firm despite his frailty, and his eyes held the same sharp intelligence that had first recognized my potential.

"I'm proud of what you've become," Antos said simply. "When I first met you, I saw potential. What you've achieved surpasses even my wildest hopes."

The crowd around us murmured agreement, voices rising in support. Someone shouted, "One of Weath's own!" Others took up the cry until it became a chant that echoed off the surrounding buildings.

You gave me a chance when no one else would, I replied. That debt can never be repaid.

"No debt exists between family," Antos countered. "You've more than earned your place here through your actions and your heart."

I smiled, touched by his words. Take it easy and focus on healing. You've been through enough.

Antos chuckled, a sound that held echoes of his old strength. "I've been through a lot, true. But you've been through more than any of us, and look how you turned out. I'll be fine."

I shook my head, still smiling. Take care of yourself, sir. Weath needs its wisest voice.

With the personal farewells complete, I moved to the center of the square. The villagers formed a loose circle around me, their faces expectant. I reached out with my consciousness, feeling for the familiar corridors of the War Academy.

My next destination crystallized in my mind: Kalder Reins's office, where I'd last spoken with Professor Harmony after the headmaster's suicide. I needed to inform the Academy of my ascension, though I suspected Casper had already arrived with news from the Central Hellzone.

I turned for one final look at the gathered villagers, these humans who had made me feel welcome when I was nothing but a broken remnant. Their faces reflected genuine affection and pride, emotions that still surprised me with their intensity.

My gaze drifted toward the temple and Ludwig's modest house beside it. Through Mind Sight, I saw the old priest standing at his front window, watching my departure with keen interest. When I smiled and waved, his weathered face registered surprise before breaking into a smile. He shook his head ruefully, then returned my wave.

With farewells complete, I focused on the task ahead. Several tendrils emerged from beneath my silk robes, their sudden appearance drawing gasps from the crowd. Some villagers stepped back instinctively, while others leaned forward with fascination.

The dragon-headed appendages shot forward, their massive jaws clamping down on empty air. Then they began tearing, ripping through the fabric of space and time itself. Reality parted like curtains, revealing a familiar austere office on the other side.

The crowd gasped collectively, though some began cheering and clapping at the display. The dimensional rift stabilized, showing clear passage to the War Academy.

I raised my hand in final farewell. I'll return soon. Watch over each other.

With that, I slithered through the tear in reality, my tendrils guiding me across impossible distances in the blink of an eye.

I emerged in Kalder Reins's office, noting immediately that the space felt abandoned. Dust had gathered on the massive desk, and papers lay scattered as if hastily abandoned. The last time I'd stood here, Professor Harmony had been struggling to maintain order after the headmaster's dramatic suicide.

A massive explosion shook the building, rattling windows and sending books tumbling from shelves. My tendrils whipped out from beneath my robes in response to the threat, coiling defensively around my form.

I extended Mind Sight through the office door, sending my consciousness racing down the winding hallways. Down flights of stairs, through corridors, until I reached the main entrance… where I witnessed a scene of utter carnage.

Knights in gleaming armor led troops bearing the colors of the Kingdom of Swords through the Academy's shattered gates. Bodies littered the ground; fallen guards, uniformed students, and civilians who'd had the misfortune to be present during the attack. Most of the corpses wore the brown uniforms of non-combatant students, innocent scholars who'd never trained for combat.

These soldiers were slaughtering everyone.

I yanked the office door open and raced down the hallway, my enhanced speed carrying me faster than any human could move. My Mind Sight swept ahead, searching desperately for signs of survivors among my friends and former classmates.

The Academy wasn't defenseless as many Kingdom soldiers lay among the dead, proving the school's warriors had fought back fiercely. But the attackers had overwhelming numbers and the advantage of surprise.

My consciousness found them: a large group of students huddled in one of the spacious classrooms. Most wore brown non-combatant uniforms, but several black-clad combat students stood among them. They'd barricaded the doors with desks, chairs, and anything else they could move. The stronger students pressed their bodies against the improvised barrier as soldiers outside hammered against it with weapons and battering rams.

I activated Flight, soaring through corridors and down staircases at tremendous speed. The familiar ability, inherited from Kaldos, carried me swiftly toward the besieged classroom.

I landed outside the barricaded room to find thirty Kingdom soldiers led by a fully armored knight. The officer was shouting orders, directing his men to break down the doors and finish their grim work.

Stop! I commanded, my mental voice carrying divine authority.

The knight turned, his helm's visor reflecting my imposing form. He sneered beneath his faceplate.

"The Academy harbors too many monsters," he spat. "You're proof of that corruption."

He raised his sword, pointing it at my chest. "Kill the creature!"

Ten soldiers broke away from the door, lowering spears as they charged toward me. Their battle cries echoed off the stone walls, but I felt only cold fury at their casual slaughter of innocents.

My tendrils lashed out with devastating precision. Dragon heads bit through armor and bone, removing heads in single snaps. Other appendages wrapped around torsos, constricting until ribs cracked and organs burst. Some soldiers were simply lifted and smashed against walls with bone-shattering force.

The ten attackers died within seconds, their broken bodies painting the corridor red.

The remaining soldiers stared in terror, their confidence evaporating as they witnessed divine wrath unleashed. Several tried to flee, but I couldn't allow them to rejoin their forces and continue murdering students.

I drew the sword-lance from my back, the long blade gleaming with inner fire. In the blink of an eye, I was among them, my blade spinning in deadly arcs that cleaved through multiple bodies simultaneously. Armor offered no protection against a weapon forged from dragon parts and divine will.

The knight died last, my blade punching through his breastplate and emerging from his back. He looked down at the weapon protruding from his chest with disbelief before toppling forward.

Behind the barricaded door, I heard whispered voices, students calling out tentatively, asking if the attack had ended. I placed my hand against the wood, careful not to damage it.

It's safe now, I called out. You can open the door.

"Vardiel? Is that you?" The voice came muffled through the barricaded door, tinged with disbelief and hope.

My chest tightened with recognition. Eyarna?

The sound of scraping furniture echoed from within as desks and chairs were dragged aside. Moments later, the door cracked open, revealing a narrow gap through which a familiar face peered out. Large, circular spectacles caught the torchlight, magnifying dark eyes that widened upon seeing me.

Eyarna stepped into the doorway, her tall frame filling the space. The gentle orc enchanter I remembered had grown thinner during my absence, her green skin bearing stress lines that hadn't been there before. Her long black hair hung loose rather than in its usual neat braid, and her brown jacket was torn at the sleeves where she'd likely helped build the barricade.

Her gaze swept over my transformed appearance (the silk robes, the imposing height, the crown-like mask shadowing my features) before settling on my face. Fear flickered in her expression as she took in the carnage littering the corridor behind me. Bodies in Kingdom colors lay twisted at unnatural angles, their armor rent and blood pooling beneath them.

But then her eyes met the nine tendrils surrounding me, and recognition dawned. The terror melted away, replaced by wonder and overwhelming relief.

"It is you!" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you've changed so much! You're... different. Taller. More..." She gestured vaguely at my imposing form, struggling for words. "Does this mean...?"

She trailed off, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the huddle of students behind her. Two dozen frightened faces stared out from the classroom's shadows, mostly non-combatants in brown uniforms, with a handful of black-clad combat students among them. Their eyes reflected the same mixture of fear and curiosity that had greeted me throughout my time at the Academy.

Eyarna turned back to me, her unspoken question hanging in the air. She'd always been perceptive, quick to notice details others missed. The way she studied my face suggested she suspected exactly what I'd become, but she was too wise to voice such knowledge before strangers.

I nodded slowly, confirming her unasked question.

Her shoulders sagged with relief, and she pressed one hand to her chest as if steadying her racing heart. "Thank the ancestors," she murmured in Orcish, then caught herself and switched back to the common tongue. "I was so afraid when we heard the explosions. When the soldiers started breaking down doors..."

What's happening here? I asked, my mental voice gentle despite the fury burning within me. Why is the Kingdom of Swords attacking the Academy?

Eyarna clutched her hands together, her knuckles white with tension. Fear crept back into her expression as she recalled recent events.

"A few days ago, the King issued a royal decree," she said, her voice trembling. "He declared that the Kingdom of Swords was taking direct control of the War Academy. Said it was necessary for 'national security' and 'proper oversight of military education.'"

She paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "Headmaster Harmony gathered the senior professors and they departed for the royal palace immediately. They intended to protest, to tell the king that only the God of War could lay claim to the Academy."

Her voice dropped to barely audible levels. "But they never returned. No word, no message, nothing. We waited, hoping for news, but..."

And then the soldiers came, I finished grimly.

"This morning. A full battalion bearing the King's colors appeared at our gates, demanding immediate entry. When the guards tried to explain that they needed to wait for the headmaster's return, the soldiers attacked." Tears gathered in her eyes behind her spectacles. "They're killing everyone they find, Vardiel. Students, faculty, servants; it doesn't matter. They're treating this like an enemy fortress."

My tendrils writhed beneath my robes, responding to the cold rage building in my chest. The Kingdom of Swords had declared war on the Academy without provocation, slaughtering innocent students whose only crime was seeking education.

What about the others? I pressed. Annes, Copelan, Genta, the rest of our friends. Are they safe?

Eyarna's face crumpled, and she shook her head sadly. "I don't know. I was attending a history lecture when the attack began. Professor Kellins barricaded us in his classroom, but we could hear fighting throughout the building. Screaming. Explosions." She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "When some combat students found us and led us here, I hoped... but I haven't seen any of our friends. I don't know where they are or if they..."

She couldn't finish the sentence, but I understood. In a building under siege, separated groups faced terrible odds of survival.

I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, careful not to let my full strength show. Stay here with the others. Lock yourselves in tight and don't open this door for anyone except me or someone you absolutely trust.

"I understand," she said, straightening her spine with familiar determination. Despite her gentle nature, Eyarna possessed an inner strength that had always impressed me. "But Vardiel... be careful out there. These soldiers aren't just following orders, they're zealots. They believe they're cleansing corruption from the Academy."

I smiled, though the expression held no warmth. Don't worry about me, Eyarna. I'll make sure our friends are safe. You have my word as founder of Gutter House.

The reference to our House name brought a brief smile to her face. "Our little band of misfits," she murmured.

Never forgotten. Always family.

She nodded and stepped back into the classroom, already calling for the other students to help rebuild their barricades. I heard desks scraping against stone as they reinforced their defenses.

I turned away from the secured door and slithered down the corridor, my enhanced senses sweeping ahead. Mind Sight expanded outward, flowing through walls and around corners, searching for any trace of my missing friends.

The Academy's halls bore the scars of violent conflict. Bodies littered intersections where defenders had made their stands. Scorch marks from magical attacks blackened the walls, and broken weapons lay scattered among pools of blood. The Kingdom soldiers had shown no mercy, cutting down anyone who resisted.

But they'd paid a price. Academy guards and senior students had fought back fiercely, their training evident in the tactical nature of their defensive positions. Many Kingdom corpses lay beside fallen defenders, proving the attackers hadn't achieved their victory easily.

My consciousness swept forward, racing through familiar corridors until it found what I sought: the sound of ongoing battle several intersections ahead. Steel rang against steel, punctuated by shouts of pain and fury.

Through Mind Sight, I witnessed two junior professors making a desperate stand at a T-junction. Professor Kellins, the same historian who'd protected Eyarna's class, wielded a conjured sword of blazing energy. Beside him, a younger instructor I didn't recognize threw bolt after bolt of crackling lightning into the advancing enemy ranks.

They were protecting a group of fleeing students, perhaps twenty young people racing down a side corridor toward what they hoped was safety. The professors' magic carved bloody swaths through the attacking platoon, but Kingdom reinforcements kept arriving to replace the fallen.

Both men bore wounds from the prolonged fighting. Kellins's robes were torn and bloodstained, while his companion swayed from exhaustion as his mana reserves dwindled.

I activated Flight and raced forward, my divine speed carrying me through the corridors faster than any human could move. The familiar ability felt natural now, as much a part of me as my enhanced strength.

The battle for the War Academy had begun in earnest, and I intended to ensure only one side survived it.