The Zombie Knight

Man, the Library sure felt quiet, lately.

Well. Quieter, he supposed. It wasn’t like it had ever been particularly noisy to begin with it. At least, not in the conventional sense.

But there was definitely something different about it now, Ibai Blackburn thought. And it probably had to do with Gohvis, the Keeper of the Library, not being here for the first time that Ibai had seen.

He’d been trying to figure out the exact nature of the difference ever since Gohvis left, but it was difficult. What was a giant, sentient Library supposed to feel like, anyway?

Maybe it was apprehensive without its master around to protect it? Or maybe it was actually feeling uncertainty with the bit of freedom that it now had? Gohvis certainly had an oppressive presence when he was around, though most of his mutant followers didn’t seem to feel that way.

Gohvis had taken several of them with him, Ibai noticed, so that doubtless contributed to the quietude, as well. The refectory was emptier, as were the recreational rooms.

But it was really all the book rooms that made Ibai so curious.

So his current objective with his writing was to hopefully, somehow, gain some sort of clue about the curious puzzle that was this ancient Library of Erudition.

He’d been trying for a while now, writing original stories so that he might gift them to the Library and thereby gain its affection, and his first work had been a rip-roaring success.

Probably.

Okay, yeah, it was a little hard to tell if the Library had actually been pleased or not, but it definitely felt less hostile towards him, he thought. Why, just the other day, when he took a book off the shelf and started walking away with it, the Library waited nearly ten whole seconds before trying to kill him with a serpentine stream of ardor-infused, razor-sharp papers.

A few months ago, it would’ve only been five seconds. Progress!

So with this current story that he was writing, he was thinking that perhaps the narrative should in some way be related to his objective with the Library. Metaphorically, that was.

He’d decided to make it about two guys who were struggling to get to know and trust each other during a period of civil unrest under a despotic regime, where trusting one another carried even more risk than usual.

And he was just. About. Done. Putting the finishing touches on it.

Yeah.

In the end, true friendship won the day. The two men became lifelong buddies and took down the evil dictator oppressing the land.

Perfect.

Selena giggled but didn’t spout off another iteration, though perhaps not for a lack of trying. Judging from her expression, she was still thinking.

Hector had a feeling that this would keep going for quite a while if he didn’t change the subject first. “Have you had something to eat yet, yourself?” he asked.

That seemed to catch her by surprise. “Er, um, no...”

“Then why don’t you go grab something from the kitchen and join me?” said Hector. “Or you could have some of my steak, if you want.”

“What? No, I couldn’t possibly--I mean, I made that for you. It’d be weird if I--um--I don’t know if--that’s just--I mean, honestly, how could you even--?”

Hmm. Had that been a weird suggestion on his part? Maybe it was. She certainly seemed flustered by it for some reason.

He didn’t really get it. “Do you want some of my spinach, then?”

She took an abrupt break from her fumbling. “...I hate spinach.”

Hector couldn’t help snickering again. “It’s not for everyone, I guess. It’s pretty healthy, though, I think.”

“If it wants me to eat it, then maybe it shouldn’t taste like a bag full of lawn mower shavings.”

“I’m not sure it wants anything. It’s spinach.”

“I’m more of a carnivore,” she said.

“Oh, so you do want the steak.” He started cutting her off a portion.

“No, I--agh, if I want one, I’ll make one later! You just sit there and eat! I swear if you keep trying to give that to me, I’ll start to think you were lying before about it being good! That you’re just trying to find an excuse so you don’t have to finish it!”

Man, she sure was getting animated again. It was really strange how she could waffle back and forth between being so reserved and being so full of energy.

He was mainly just amused, though, and he did indeed go back to eating quietly as he waited for her to settle down.

Once she did, another bit of silence descended upon the table, though it felt decidedly less awkward than before. Instead, it felt more like they were both waiting for the other to make some sort of move so that they could try to counter it.

Or at least, that was Hector’s feeling, anyway. He smiled as he chewed.

“...Warm as a woolly mammoth,” said Selena.

Oh, goddammit.

Hector laughed again. “I promise I’m telling the truth,” he said. “But I will say that I’m not exactly a food critic, either. If you’re looking to improve on your technique, then you should probably be consulting someone else.”

“Oh, I think Lluis and Margot have that aspect of things covered for me,” said Selena. “It’s actually kinda crazy. They’re so sweet and gentle and kind the rest of the time. An idyllic old married couple, you know? But then you get them to start teaching you about food, and they turn into the some of the strictest disciplinarians you’ll ever meet.”

“Wow, really? They always seem so laidback.”

She paused again, blinking as she perhaps rethought what she had been saying. “N-not that I’m trying to get them in trouble or anything. I love them both and am terribly grateful to them. I’m just complaining for, uh--for fun, I guess.”

Hector cocked an eyebrow, unable to conceal his smile. “For fun?”

“Yeah, you know? Talkin’ shit? So it’s no big deal. I just suddenly realized you might take me too seriously and go chew them out or something. And that’s the last thing I want. They really are too sweet for this world, when it comes down to it. They wouldn’t deserve that.”

“Okay, so first you were worried I’m too nice, and now you’re worried I’m too much of a hard ass?”

“Yeah, well, I’m still getting to know you, okay?”

“I feel like you might be too much of a worrywart,” said Hector.

“That’s quite rude. And not untrue. That’s actually something I’ve been trying to be better about, but it’s hard.”

Hector could relate. “Yeah, I’m... er, kinda the same way, honestly. It’s tough to not overthink things, sometimes.”

“Oh yeah?” said Selena. “But you always seem as cool as a cucumber. Are you telling me that deep down, you’re actually not cool or cucumber-like at all?”

“Heh, I’m afraid so...”

“Hmm. What would be the appropriate analogy for you, then? Warm as a trout?”

“What the--? Why a trout?”

“I dunno. I’m brainstorming.”

“Isn’t it supposed to, uh, start with the same letter? Like 'cool as a cucumber' does?”

“Oh, right, right. Maybe, then, um, warm as a wolverine?”

“Are wolverines warm?”

“Probably. They live outdoors with all that fur.”

“I’m pretty sure they can still get cold, though.”

“Warm as a waterfall.”

“Those aren’t really warm, either.”

“Warm as a warm waterfall.”

“You just used the word warm twice.”

“Warm as a warm spring.”

“You did it again!”

“Warm as a war with wizards.”

“I don’t even know what to say about that one.”

“No, hey, that one makes sense! Wizards cast fireballs, right? So it really would be warm! And it's fun to say!”

“I’ve forgotten why we even started talking about this in the first place.”

It seemed like Hector would have to be the one to revive the conversation, so he tried his best to think of something. Maybe he should’ve called Garovel over or just consulted him, but...

Hmm.

For some reason, he didn’t want to. For some reason, that seemed like it would be somehow inappropriate. Or disrespectful to Selena, perhaps.

What a weird feeling.

“...Is it something that you’re worried about?” tried Hector. “Or maybe something that you think I could help you with? Or... uh...?”

It took her few more moments, but she found her response. “I wanted your opinion.”

Well, that was a start. “Okay. About what?”

“About... ah...” She was hesitating so much that Hector became worried that she wasn’t going to finish her sentence again.

Man, was this what it had been like talking to him, not so long ago?

Wow.

She did manage to get the rest out, though. “About... your meal. The steak that you’re eating. What do you think of it?”

The steak? That had not been what he was expecting. Though, he supposed he didn’t even know what he’d been expecting. “Uh... why are you asking about that?” Then it clicked, and he blinked. “Did you cook this?”

Her eyes went a little wide, and then she nodded, meekly at first and then more vigorously. “Is it any good?”

Oh shit. He wasn’t exactly a food connoisseur. In fact, he’d only recently acquired a taste for steak, so he didn’t really have much to compare it against.

That didn’t seem like a good answer to give, though. In fact, it seemed like it might’ve been among the worst ones.

“Er, um. Yeah. It’s quite good, actually. I thought Lluis had cooked it, like the last few times.”

A smile arrived on her face briefly before disappearing into a look of abrupt skepticism. “Are you telling the truth? Or are you just saying that to spare my feelings?”

“No, I--”

“I won’t improve if you don’t give me honest criticism, Lord. Then every steak I make for you in the future will taste like shit, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself, you know.”

It was his turn to go a bit wide-eyed, and he couldn’t help laughing. She certainly seemed to have a way of catching him off guard. “I am being honest,” he said, still snickering.

Her eyes lit up again, but then she squinted at him. “Really? I don’t know if I believe you. You seem like the ‘too nice’ type.”

All of that had to have been made even more difficult, however, due to the current circumstances. With Zeff and so many other prominent Rainlords abroad, Hector couldn’t deny being a bit worried about Selena and Ojarea’s progress.

So to see her coming up to him like this certainly made him curious. “H-hello, Miss Cortes,” he said, setting his fork and knife down.

“Sorry to bother you while you’re eating,” she said, looking briefly like she was about to sit down across from him and then thinking better of it.

“...Is something the matter?” he asked. Wait, should he have invited her to sit? Probably. Dammit.

“Oh, no, I was just--er--” She looked around. A few of the other Rainlords were watching them now. “I’m sorry. Is this inappropriate? It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’ll go now.” And she was already turning to leave.

“Hold on a second,” said Hector, more confused now than concerned. “Whatever it is, just sit down and tell me.”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes big and gray. Then she glanced around again and finally sat down without saying anything.

Hector waited for her.

But she still remained quiet.

Umm.

What the hell was going on here?

Girls had always been rather impossible for him to understand, but he had to admit that Selena here was consistently proving to be the most confounding one he’d ever met. He still remembered her jubilant, irreverent attitude when he’d found her having mounted a giant gun on that underground train. Compared to how he’d found her shortly thereafter, panicking and crying while Ojarea yelled at her, Hector didn’t know how to consolidate those two completely different versions of her in his mind.

Sure, maybe she’d just been full of bravado and hadn’t realized how much danger she was putting herself in. In fact, that was almost certainly the case. But he also had to wonder if that part of her was still in there, somewhere. Thus far, he’d yet to see it again, but... did people really change so dramatically so quickly?

She’d snuck away from her family during a deadly train ride in a foreign land filled with bandits and monsters. She couldn’t have been entirely ignorant of the danger, so that had definitely required some guts on her part.

Not that he actually wanted to see such recklessness from her again, of course. It just him made curious about her. About what kind of person she really was.

After all, he’d come to realize that he had some... different sides to himself, lurking within his mind. It only made sense that other people might have something similar going on, no?

Hmm. A queen with an obsession. A desire to restore her religion as the most prominent one of her kingdom. She converts her husband at a young age, and he quarrels with the court priests throughout his reign. Many call her a witch, a demon, a manipulative hag, and when her husband dies of pneumonia, they blame her.

But she has her faith. Her own priests. And a foreign papacy supporting her. Together, they call forth a host of holy warriors. The crown would normally pass to the eldest son, but he was born by the previous queen, the excommunicated one, and so he has no love for her, nor her for him. If she allowed him to be crowned, he would have her beheaded at the earliest opportunity.

And so there is war. Her sacred army proves victorious.

And there is no leniency in her heart. As would have been done to her, so she does to her enemies.

...Man, what the fuck? That was even worse than the last one. And how many of these memories ended with beheadings?

“Ah... Lord Goffe?” arrived a feminine voice.

He looked up from his ribeye steak and creamed spinach in order to see a familiar young woman standing on the other side of the large table in the Tower of Night’s refectory.

Selena Cortes was her name. Zeff’s niece. He did not, however, see her reaper, Ojarea, with her.

Hector was aware that those two had been working through some relationship troubles, which was a rather worrisome problem to have between a reaper and servant. It made him all the more grateful for Garovel, and yet he also felt in some tangential way responsible for them, too. Being the Lord of Warrenhold, where they were currently living, he felt like he needed to keep an eye on them.

He’d mentioned their troubles to Zeff a while back, who had apparently taken the direct approach toward trying to help the two of them repair things. Zeff and his sister, Joana, had confronted Ojarea and eventually arranged for strict regimenting of the time the two were allowed to see each other. And from what Hector understood, the other heads and reapers of both Houses Elroy and Cortes had been speaking with Ojarea regularly as a form of therapeutic engagement.

Which was an interesting concept, Hector had thought. Reapers, being immortal and so knowledgeable of the world, did not seem like the easiest subjects for therapy, but he supposed if he anyone could pull it off, it would be another reaper.

Given all that Queen Helen had said previously when Hector first broached the subject with her, it was clear that she wouldn’t be terribly pleased by this news of their expansion. She had, in essence, expressed concern that his bank might grow too powerful too quickly, and while Hector found that understandable from her perspective, he also knew that he had to do what was right by the people that were depending on him.

And if they didn’t expand into Lorent soon, then it wouldn’t be a matter of simply “slowing” the Bank’s growth. The Bank would begin to stagnate and even lose money, thanks to Atreyan regulations.

Or at least, that was his understanding of the situation. He did worry that perhaps these veteran bankers who were advising him were pulling the wool over his eyes, trying to make the situation seem more dire than it truly was so that he would be more agreeable about the expansion, but as far as he’d been able to tell, they were all being straight with him. He’d read the regulations himself. Learned about why they were implemented. And he’d consulted with several reapers and Rainlords who were knowledgeable about finances and politics.

This needed to be done. He was convinced. Even if it made the Queen unhappy with him.

The more time went on, the more Hector began to wonder what would happen if he and the Queen ever had a true falling out with one another. He felt like his relationship with her was probably the most important one that he had, politically speaking. And after all she’d been through, all she’d done for him, he hated the idea of allowing things to break down between them.

Was there something he could do to help ensure that they remained on good terms? There must’ve been, right? Yeah, of course there was. He just had to think about it.

He could feel a few ancient memories from the Candle bubbling up, wanting to assert their relevance to his current line of thinking.

Hmm.

A kingdom in decline. A class of warriors raised to nobility generations ago, now being disrespected daily in the king’s court. Soon, the king himself begins to chip away at their political power, little by little. Near a decade transpires, and they are a shadow of their former glory, figureheads at best. Talk of civil war has been bandied about for years, and it finally becomes more than just talk, but it is far too late. They have not the influence nor the resources to succeed, and in the end, they are all beheaded.

But the war still cripples the kingdom. Makes it even more vulnerable than it already was. And another war soon breaks out as the neighboring king seeks to take advantage of the opportunity.

Conquest follows swiftly, and the kingdom in decline is a kingdom no longer.

Huh...

Well, that wasn’t very comforting. And perhaps a little biased. Maybe one of these other memories would be better.

Hector wanted to respond to each and every one, but half the time, he wasn’t even sure how. And there were so many. Dozens, already, from the just the past month or so. He had Ms. Rogers helping him sort through them all, but even with her assistance, he simply didn’t have as much time to spend on this as he would’ve liked.

He considered maybe trying to organize a small team to aid with it. Like a proper mail room? Hmm. Which tower would that go in? Ah, the Book Tower, of course.

Going forward, it seemed like Warrenhold was only going to get busier and busier. He didn’t even want to imagine how difficult this might become if or when the amount of real, heartfelt letters he was receiving in a single month began to climb into the hundreds. And when compounded by however much the spam and business letters might increase...

Yeah, a proper mail room might be a good idea, he decided. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure that Amelia Carthrace had set up a makeshift one right next to her office, but she wasn’t staying here at Warrenhold nearly as much, as of late. She was quite busy managing the Darksteel National Bank from its pair of office buildings in downtown Gray Rock.

Which was a whole other thing to worry about. While he might’ve been content to just let her handle everything involving the Bank, Hector knew that it would probably bite him on the ass one day if he didn’t continue making an effort to learn the trade, at least a little. He doubted he would ever become truly great at it, but hopefully, he could manage to avoid making a total fool of himself if he ever needed to show up to a board meeting on short notice or something.

And on the subject of expansion, the Bank was obviously key. For both Warrenhold and his new land in Lorent. That was a lot of heavy lifting, financially speaking, and the Bank was going to be carrying the brunt of it.

After discussing it more with the Madame Carthrace, they decided that they would indeed be branching out into Lorent with their operations, offering full services to all Lorentian citizens in Hector’s southern Jagwa territory. The intent was to eventually expand to the rest of Lorent as well, but they didn’t want to rush that when they knew that they were already on quite delicate footing here to begin with.

He didn’t want to lie to the kid or give him some generic platitudes that he didn’t even necessarily believe himself, so he had to think about his answers to those questions for quite a bit longer than he probably should have, considering how much other stuff he had to do.

He found himself mulling his answers over and over while taking care of other business. And oftentimes, he realized that he wasn’t even using a background thought process, either. He was just thinking about it normally while on autopilot going around Warrenhold.

In the end, this was what he decided to write back:

Dear Mr. Caleb Hammerwell,

Thank you for the letter. Your questions have given me a lot to think about. It seems to me that bravery is a funny thing. You say that I’m brave as if it’s an obvious fact, but I’ve never felt very brave at all. The things I’ve done that you might say were brave, I would instead argue that those were just things that had to be done. Because if I hadn’t at least tried to do them, then something bad would have happened.

So I think that’s my answer to your questions, Caleb. Don’t worry about being brave. Just focus on figuring out what the right thing to do is--and then doing it whenever you can. It might be really hard, sometimes, so don’t worry too much if you mess up. A good friend of mine once told me that we shouldn’t respond to failure with sadness. We should respond by becoming better, until our best is good enough to succeed.

Sorry if that wasn’t the answer you were looking for. And congrats on turning seven.

Best wishes,

Hector Goffe

If only all the letters he received were like that. He wouldn’t have minded writing up responses to them all day long.

Unfortunately, while there were some letters in a similarly innocent vein--such as one from a particularly precocious little girl asking him to marry her when she grew up--there were also some that left him with a bit of heartache after he finished reading them.

One little boy wanted him to come beat up some mean kids at his school. Another wanted him to bring the family cat back to life. And still another wanted him to make his mother stop drinking.

‘Don’t beat yourself up too much,’ said Garovel privately. ‘And most importantly, don’t let this experience dissuade you from doing things like this in the future. It’s impossible to know how someone is going to react, but that doesn’t mean you should stop trying to do nice things for them.’

He supposed the reaper had a point. And it was still true that the rest of the Blackburns seemed to like it. He just hoped he hadn’t made things worse, somehow.

He’d have to check in on them later.

In the meantime, there were more things to see to. He could’ve started showing off the shrine to the other Houses, but after that disaster, he wasn’t much in the mood for it. Maybe he’d ask Ms. Rogers to do it for him. Or just wait until the rest of the Rainlords got back from Vantalay.

He had a mountain of mail to go through. That was one thing that Ms. Rogers had indeed been helping him with, but he wanted to handle some of it himself, at least. If nothing else, it was interesting to see all the random things people were sending.

There was food. Lots and lots of food. Cakes and pies and bread and cookies. Oh, and a big, insulated box full of frozen meats from a family farm out in Lorent. Apparently, they wanted him to pay them a visit and give him a tour. That was a new one.

Then there were the letters, of course. So many letters. But it was usually the handwritten ones that caught his eye. There was something about those that just seemed that much more important. Because the others often turned out to be veiled--or even not-so-veiled--solicitations from businesses or lords. They always wanted to set up some meeting or another to talk about some “opportunity” or another.

While it did feel a bit rude to ignore all of them, he just didn’t have the time or inclination to think about such things, right now.

But yeah. The handwritten ones. Those always felt a bit more special, even though they occasionally turned out to be no different by the time he got halfway through the first paragraph. All the good ones made up for that nuisance, though.

A little boy had written to him. Age of seven, according to the kid’s own declaration in the very first line. Apparently, he wanted to know how Hector had gotten so brave. And he wanted advice on how he could become braver himself.

Talk about hard questions.

He tried not to stare at the Lady Nere, but it was hard not to pay extra attention to her reaction, since she was the one he was most concerned about.

And he could see her slowly gravitating toward the cabinet with that somber gaze of hers.

‘This is magnificently thoughtful of you, Lord Goffe,’ Sentsia was saying over his shoulder. ‘Words can hardly express how much this will mean to not just House Blackburn but to all of our kin. In fact, perhaps we should...’ She trailed off as she presumably began to notice Nere as well.

Along with everyone else.

The small crowd parted for her as she moved toward the Ismael statue, eventually reaching for it with both hands. She picked it up gingerly and brought it closer to her face.

The statue was about equal in size to her head, and the sharp suit that Ismael was dressed in had been replicated from a photo that Hector had been given. As far as he’d been able to tell, the features of the man’s face had been recreated fantastically well.

And perhaps the lady thought so, too, because she soon began to cry. And slump to the ground.

The Blackburns closed in around her again, putting hands on her shoulders or trying to help her back to her feet.

But then her crying turned to sobbing, and she was abruptly not so quiet any longer. The shrine started to fill with the choked sounds of strained voice and disjointed breathing.

Then she started moving again, trying to wriggle away from her family members, who were now attempting to help her a bit more forcefully onto her feet.

She shouted something incomprehensible and threw herself away from the others, all but collapsing at Hector’s feet.

He knelt down to help her up himself, but she pushed him back and scrambled away, still with the statue in her clutches.

Her cries were more like wails now as she fled the room and disappeared from sight.

Sentsia was the first to give chase, but the other Blackburns were not far behind, leaving Hector there flat on his ass, alone but for Garovel hovering next to him.

‘Well, that could’ve gone better,’ said the reaper.

‘Fuck,’ said Hector, picking himself up off the floor. ‘Now, I... I’m not even sure what I was expecting to happen.’

‘You were expecting she would be happy, I imagine, no? Or perhaps sad but in a still-mostly-happy sort of way, hmm?’

‘Yeah, but, I mean... ugh, I don’t know. I feel like an idiot.’

With one last look at the awaiting Blackburns, Hector put the notion out of his mind and began pulling the tarps down from the room’s far corner.

What was revealed was a gargantuan cabinet with a few small statues and plaques dotting its shelves.

“I know it’s still a bit empty-looking,” said Hector preemptively, “but I thought I should leave plenty of space for you and the other Houses to add in whatever you like.”

The statues were made of polished stone. He’d had them commissioned from a sculptor on the other side of the city.

Every single person who’d lost their life at Dunehall was either named here on a plaque or given a statue.

And Ismael Blackburn was there in the center.

Hector hadn’t known him long, but it only felt appropriate to honor him like this.

He’d thought about just materializing all the statues out of his iron, and indeed, he’d even gone ahead and done so as a form of practice, but it ended up proving rather laborious, trying to capture the perfect likenesses of actual people, especially in a miniaturized form. While he was sure that he could’ve gotten it right eventually, he came to the conclusion that they probably shouldn’t be composed of iron, anyway.

In the admittedly quite likely event that he someday got himself into another dire life-and-death situation here at Warrenhold, he figured that he didn’t want to have anything delicate here taking up space within his volume limit. He could very easily imagine a situation in which he needed to start annihilating iron indiscriminately in order to free up volume quickly, and he didn’t want the extra concern of trying not to accidentally annihilate what was supposed to be a precious fixture of historical importance.

Plus, he supposed it just felt a bit more impactful, this way. Even if there was still a degree of skill involved in the process, using materialization was kinda cheating, wasn’t it? There was something meaningful about having this kind of thing done properly by a professional.

Eh, but then again, maybe if he’d had more free time on his hands to get it perfect, he would’ve gone for it, anyway. Because there was definitely something meaningful in doing it all himself, too.

If only.

The reaction from the Blackburns was definitely something, though. The smiles on their faces. The tears in their eyes. The solemn nods--of approval, hopefully--as they approached and looked more closely.

Yeah. That alone made this more than worth the effort.

It was a modestly-sized chamber, by Warrenhold’s standards. Maybe twenty or so people could fit in here without feeling cramped, and the old rainbow tiling had been cleaned up and refurbished entirely. No more cracks or fissures. Now they had a polished sheen to them.

The rainbow color had been relegated to only one wall, however. After having thought about it for a while, Hector came to the conclusion that maybe some of the folks interested in shrines as places of spiritual peace or meditation might not love having such a “loud” display of color surrounding them on all sides. Maybe, instead, they would want some plain walls that they could decorate as they pleased.

But for this particular shrine, he’d been focusing his research on the Rainlords and their history, not just their old religious views. It was his understanding that many of them were no longer spiritual in the slightest, so he wanted this to serve as a place of historical value to them, as well.

Hopefully.

So there was a table full of candles and bowls for burning incense. There were chairs and floor mats and tall poles for advanced meditative exercises. And there was also a large water basin in the center of the room with a long-necked, brass faucet curving around the top of it, releasing a slow, timed drop of water every three hundred seconds.

That last one, according to a few of the reapers, was an ancient fixture of their Luthic religion, meant to represent how Lhutwë, the God of All Water, created every single drop that had ever or would ever exist.

And it looked pretty cool, Hector thought. So he was glad to see a few of the Blackburns’ faces light up when they saw it there, especially some of the reapers who’d told him about it but not seen it yet.

Sentsia was all praise and laughter, which Hector was glad to see, but Nere, unfortunately, remained the same. Still with that somber, glazed-over look in her eyes as she silently took in the view.

Hector couldn’t be too disappointed. He understood.

But there was still one more thing to be revealed. He’d saved it for last because he’d thought it would make for the best surprise, and yet, now that he was about to pull the tarps away, he found himself suddenly hesitating as he wondered if this wasn’t about to go horribly wrong, somehow.

It was a bit strange to think that so many more of them would be returning here to Warrenhold. So many new Rainlords whom he’d never even met.

Very strange, indeed.

He couldn’t help wondering what they would think of him. He was aware that he’d garnered a bit of a... weird reputation among the Rainlords, so how were all these new people going to view him?

A little nerve-wracking. He was almost dreading their return.

But only almost. That was just a loose thought. A distraction. He still had plenty of important things to be devoting his attention to here at Warrenhold.

While it was true that most of the warrior Rainlords were away, there were many non-combatants here to talk to. It sometimes didn’t feel that way, since apparently the warriors were the rowdiest bunch, but he wanted to think of this as an opportunity to get to know some of them better.

Like the Blackburns. Particularly, Nere Blackburn. Her late husband, Ismael Blackburn, had been killed by the Salesman of Death at Dunehall--a death which Hector had personally witnessed in all its cruelty.

And despite Nere being positioned as the new head of her House, the leadership role had instead fallen upon the shoulders of Horatio Blackburn.

From everything Hector had seen and heard, Nere had not been doing so well ever since, which was obviously understandable.

Her reaper, though, name of Sentsia, was a different story. It made for an odd dichotomy whenever Hector saw the two of them. Sentsia leading the way, being talkative with others--jovial, even--while Nere followed wordlessly behind, shoulders slumped, gaze drifting about. It was hard to tell if the woman was even listening to any of the conversations that she was overhearing.

He wanted to say something to her, but each time he’d had the opportunity, it just didn’t feel right. Or he couldn’t think of what to say.

Sentsia, of course, was easy enough to talk to, like most reapers, but Hector felt repeatedly stuck trying to break the ice with that poor woman.

And so he began to think that, perhaps, words were not what was in order. Instead, maybe a real, tangible gesture would be better.

So in his free time, and with the assistance of some of the other Blackburns, he’d been working on a gift, of sorts. It wasn’t specifically for Nere, as he hoped many of the Rainlords would be able to get some use out of it, but he did want her to be the first to see it.

With a small host of Blackburns behind him, including Nere and Sentsia, he pushed open the door to the first fully restored shrine within Warrenhold.

Yeah. Hector was reasonably confident that it would rear its head up again, eventually.

Which wasn’t... necessarily a terrible thing, either. It was part of him, too. That anxiety. He’d come to understand that much. And on some level, it probably had its uses. Keeping him... alert, at the very least.

Mmhmm. And as nice as this current feeling of contentment or “centeredness” was, he didn’t think that he wanted to feel this way all the time. It seemed wrong, somehow. Unfitting.

And now he was confusing himself. How had he managed to make himself uncomfortable with how comfortable he was? This had to be some kind of new level of stupidity on his part. Maybe that was the real accomplishment of all his meditating. Improving on how much of a dumbass he could be, when he really put it his mind to it.

Well, at least he was starting to feel more like himself again.

The next few days remained rather quiet around Warrenhold. Which was a blessed change of pace.

Everyone was waiting on word from Vantalay--word which arrived via the reapers every morning, afternoon, and night. Apparently, the battle for Ridgemark was going quite well, even if it was taking a while. No new casualties. The city limits had nearly been breached when the Rainlords joined the fight, but now they had been thoroughly secured, and the combined forces of Abolish and the VMP were being continually pushed farther and farther back.

There was even talk of taking the fight beyond Ridgemark and going all the way over to Czacoa in order to try and catch the invading Vantalayan forces over there with their pants down. And maybe bring that entire warfront to a swift conclusion.

Mercifully, though, that was still just talk. After communicating to them about the attack on Warrenhold, the Rainlords seemed equally eager to get back here.

He wondered what would happen when they did. Even just from the reports that the reapers were providing, he could tell that the Rainlords’ overall energy had shifted dramatically.

Which was only natural, of course, now that they’d recovered all their lost kin. They’d scored an incredible victory over there.

A historic one, really. The kind that would probably be spoken of for generations among them. Like the victory at Magarabad, when the Redwater Twins struck down the Sawtooth General, one of the Mohssian Empire’s most reviled and bloodthirsty leaders. Or the victory at Denowa, when one Cassius Merlo, the Water Dragon of his time, led a group of Rainlords in the defense of a small island in the Luthic Ocean that had come under attack for its strategic importance by the forces of a young Dozer and a monster of a man called Suresh.

Well. Jackson couldn’t entirely refute the other man’s point there. If he was still being considerate of troop morale, then the apparent laziness of various governments around the world had always been a rather persistent point of contention within the Vanguard.

But it was also somewhat beside the point.

And right now, the only words going through his mind were the ones that belonged to the man he respected most in this world.

“...It is not the responsibility of others to take up this cause that we have ourselves volunteered for,” said Jackson. “To think otherwise is but one more path to dishonor, corruption, and self-destruction. And we certainly do not need more of those.”

At that, Senator Jacobson made no response. He merely stared back steadily at Jackson for so long that Jackson began to think that he may have accidentally killed the entire conversation.

Until, at length, another smile began to grow into the senator’s face, and a starry look appeared in his eyes. “I knew you were the real deal.”

Jackson’s expression flattened as he began to get the distinct and somewhat terrifying impression that, no matter what else he said here, this man in front of him was never, ever going to give up.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!