Sanguine Prince | Chapter 27: Gildedhammer (Second Draft)

Arcturus stared at his hands in silence as voices washed over him, ignoring everyone while pondering Adam’s words. He was vaguely aware of plans to depart being made for their now-larger party, and of discussions about who would go where and what the new combination of people would be. All of it was muted to him, though; a dull buzz that held none of his interest. The words his friend had spoken kept rattling around in his head unceasingly.

“Amélie is our enemy, Arcturus.”

He absently tongued his cut lip, noticing it already healing thanks to his System-enhanced regeneration. It had already progressed from a fresh laceration to mild irritation in less than five minutes and would likely be repaired in another five. The process of oath-binding had been far less painful—at least for him—as well. Danica, Caeara, and Andy had all suffered the same as Adam, but Arcturus had felt only a flush of uncomfortable heat and nothing more. Adam had postulated that it was because he was the ‘anchor’, and creating the focal point for the oaths had been a one-time affair.

It was such a minor thing to worry about at that moment, though.

“Amélie is our enemy, Arcturus.”

Arcturus gritted his teeth in irritation and instead glanced at his HUD and pulled up the alerts he’d ignored in his fugue, determined to try to get his mind off that accursed line repeating itself over and over in his head.

⚜️MAIN QUEST UPDATED⚜️

Quest Name: The Dragon Resurgent

Difficulty: Legendary

Status: On-Going

Description

Having found yourself thrown into mad situation after mad situation, you have finally reached some sense of equilibrium and stability within the Source.

Despite your first experiences on Terra being awful enough to conceivably turn you into some sort of megalomaniacal villain, you have managed to stay grounded and true to the man you were raised to be.

Having found a Mentor in Tylariel Rubastra, and new friends in a group of people initially trying to bag you for a quick profit, you have also reunited with your friends from your source-shard, and made a new friend of their companion.

Despite the revelations about your former flame and her newfound allegiance to the one man on Terra you cannot conceivably befriend, you are in an enviably good position to continue your adventure.

Armed with several new outfits courtesy of your estranged grand-uncle Maurice and better equipped with the knowledge and allies necessary to find your way in the Source, the time has come to take the next step on your journey.

Previous Objective(s)

Survive (Complete!)

Reward: 150 Experience

Current Objective(s)

Acquire a proper Weapon

Acquire a Seat of Power

Complete ‘The Uncrowned King’

???

???

???

Arcturus felt the wave of experience flood into him as he finally acknowledged the updated Main Quest, mentally noting that he would need to keep checking it and others to ensure he didn’t miss the experience gained from completions in the future. A glance at his hidden quest confirmed that, while he had gone from 0 / 10 Oathsworn to 4 / 10, he had received no experience for the partial completion. That was still valuable information, since it meant he could reasonably rely on quests to follow set rules and consistencies.

“Apprentice!”

Arcturus snapped his head up at Tylariel’s sharp tone, realizing belatedly that she’d been speaking to him for several moments before raising her voice.

“My apologies, Mentor. I was reviewing another Quest.”

“I see. More divine instruction?” she asked in a mollified tone.

“Yes. I’ve been issued with objectives to acquire a Weapon, a Seat of Power, six more Oathsworn, and several hidden objectives which I’m guessing will be revealed at the right moment.”

“The Gods work in mysterious ways,” Tylariel said with a nod. “We should simply be grateful their desires align with our objectives.”

“I doubt it’s anything quite so benevolent,” Adam interjected. “But we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The party divvying is complete, by the way. Danica and I will go with you and Archon Tylariel, while Andy, Caeara, Jess, and Sumeko return to your temporary residence and inform everyone what happened. It’s been decided that we’re all going to stay in the Archon’s residence moving forward, for safety reasons. It is the most sensible choice.”

Tylariel gave Adam a weighing look as he spoke, and Arcturus could see the woman evaluating him as one might assess a particularly promising bull at a cattle auction.

“So where to next, then?” Arcturus asked as he pushed himself to his feet.

“First, you need to change,” Maurice interjected. “I’ve prepared a more suitable outfit than those vestments. You don’t want to attract unnecessary attention, but you will need to fit in with people of the Archon’s caliber.”

“What about my face? I can’t just walk around wearing a mask, that’d be absurd.”

“Correct, which is why if anyone asks, you will claim to be from Regalia,” Tylariel instructed.

“Regalia?” Arcturus questioned blankly.

“The Empire’s Capital,” Maurice elucidated. “Tell them you are a distant relation of House Valoura, from the lesser imperial branches. Nobody will dig too deeply for fear of offending someone connected to the Highborn of the capital Dominion. It will not work on your grandfather or anyone who knew your father at all intimately, but most people see what they want to see. It is far more believable for you to have a chance resemblance than it is for you to be the lost son of the departed Crown-Prince.”

You would be dumb enough to be one of those people.

“As ridiculous as it may sound, Maurice is right,” Adam confirmed. “It’s like seeing a celebrity back on Earth. Even if you know you’re seeing them, the implausibility of it forces you to believe you’re mistaken. Hell, in this case, that reflexive denial will probably be way stronger given who it is you’ll remind them of. Mind games, dude.”

“So how do I introduce myself, then?” Arcturus asked dubiously.

“Arcturus Regis,” Maurice said with a smile.

“What?” Arcturus asked in bewilderment.

“You aren’t the first Arcturus Regis, my boy. Your namesake and ancestor was one of the most storied warriors in Terran history. It is perfectly plausible for the arrogance of an Imperial house to consume them enough to name their child for him. It’s also common practice to invoke powerful names in the hopes of the gods showing favor.”

“And my surname?”

“Voltaire,” Tylariel said decisively. “They’re a small House, but known for exceedingly high levels of pride in their Valouran and Imperial branch statuses.”

You should look into acting, at this rate.

“So what am I going to wear, then?” Arcturus asked, feeling decidedly well-managed by his companions.

“I’ve prepared something rather practical, actually,” Maurice said cheerfully. “A full-sleeve black shirt, buttoned in silver to a high collar flush against your throat for added gravitas. That will match nicely with some comfortable and durable trousers, a nice pair of black combat boots, and a sturdy sword-belt.”

“What about a jacket?”

“Ah, yes, I did anticipate that. Having dealt with Daeva before, I’ve learned several unique styles. I thought that the one I picked out would very much match your desires.”

“I suppose I won’t know ‘til I see it.”

“Quite right,” Maurice said jovially. “Shall we see you to the changing rooms so I can settle the account with your Mentor?”

Arcturus nodded and, from there, things happened quickly.

Andy, Caeara, Sumeko, and Jess left the store in short order after a round of farewells and—in Andy’s case—promises to behave.

Arcturus carefully pulled off the clothes Maurice had painstakingly made for him after being reassured they’d find their way to Rubastra Manor securely. The replacement outfit his grand-uncle had prepared for him fit like a glove when he pulled it on in his fine vestments’ place, and the jacket Maurice had selected was exactly to Arcturus’ liking: pliable dark crimson leather on the main body of the jacket with black on the elbows and epaulets, along with aesthetically added buckles and belts over the shoulder and around the biceps. 

Tough strands of black string were tied into neat knots at various places along the arms to offer a more Renaissance look to the piece, as well. The collar was naturally folded down towards his shoulders in the same shade of vermillion, with black trimmings near the edges. The center of the jacket even had a black vest sewn in, which he zipped up over his high-collared shirt.

The final result was a mix between what he could only call Earth-modern and Gothic Victorian, with a very ‘Underworld’ feeling to his overall appearance.

He was a sucker for early Earth-2000s pop culture.

As he stepped out, he was pleasantly surprised that the material—which extended to just above his knees at the back—had no tangible feeling of impact when he walked, subverting his expectations for the mild annoyance of leather bouncing off of his thighs or the backs of his knees.

He slipped his hands, now covered in a new pair of durable combat gloves, into the pockets of the jacket as he reunited with Adam, Tylariel, and Danica when he exited the store. Maurice had not deigned to say farewell, but Arcturus assumed the old clothier had his reasons.

“Apprentice, that jacket is… unique.”

“Pffthahaha, you look like a twentieth-century scene kid!” Danica cackled.

“I’m okay with it,” Arcturus said resolutely.

I’m not. Let me out. I can’t handle this much edge.

“Scene kid?” Tylariel questioned suspiciously.

“Nomenclature from our shard, Archon,” Adam said dismissively. “Not worth dwelling on. Did you have a particular destination in mind to find Arcturus and an Aetherblade?”

“I did. The sooner we’re about it, the better. Given his Psionic talents, there’s only one Aethersmith in the Outer City that could potentially offer him what he needs. Were we to enter the Inner City, we’d have more options, but we will have to make do.”

“An Aethersmith?” Arcturus asked as they set off with Tylariel in the lead. “Couldn’t Angela make me a sword, then?”

“My sister, for all her unique talents, cannot count bladecrafting among them. Hers was the path of ranged weaponry and armor. A bladesmith is a rare and specialized form of Aethersmith. There are fewer than a hundred in Luxanium, and of those, only a dozen cater to the more unique and unlikely of affinities. For Psionics, I can only think of four—three of which are inaccessible to us due to House Rubastra’s fall from grace.”

“So if we don’t find anything where we’re going?”

“Then I fear you will have a very, very difficult few months ahead of you, Apprentice,” Tylariel responded grimly.

There was little discussion from that point onwards, and Arcturus found himself sinking back into his thoughts as they set a determined pace away from Maurice’s now-reopened store and into the thronging crowds of Luxanium. He noticed that Tylariel’s aura was more contracted as she moved, using it only to clear people immediately around her and not to forcefully intimidate passersby into not looking at them. The result was a mix of admiring glances and curious eyes as the party of four cut a line through the crowds towards an unknown destination.

Arcturus’ [Map] constantly updated and added labels as they travelled, allowing him to identify the stores, stalls, markets, bureaucratic offices, inns, bars, and functionary buildings they passed on the way. He marveled at how useful it was, and allowed his wonder at having a map built into his mind to distract him from Adam’s resonating words.

Could he fight Amélie if he had to? The possibility itself was almost ludicrous to consider, and yet Arcturus couldn’t dismiss the theoretical from his mind. His last memory of the lithe French beauty was the feeling of his lips on hers, the scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body in his arms.

Two Houses, both alike in dignity…

Arcturus snorted at his subconscious and threw his mind away from his ruminations, instead taking in the sights, sounds, and even smells in his immediate area. He noted laughing children and scolding parents; chatting couples strolling in each other’s arms; arguing spouses gesticulating violently; customers and hawkers haggling over this and that; criers beckoning passersby into their employer’s stores; and even heralds proclaiming the latest decrees, offering magically replicated newspapers to give insights into the latest events in the Valarian capital.

His eyes trailed over all manner of eclectic sights and images, both new and oddly familiar to his mind’s eyes, marveling at how similar and yet how alien Terra was to his home. A bewildering blend of what he would call high fantasy and soft sci-fi, with Aether-driven technology whose function he could only guess at, married with near-primitive practices like carrying swords and wearing armor.

“Arcturus,” Adam called.

His name was like cold water thrown in his face. He tore his eyes from the engrossing sights around him, looking for his friend—only to realize he’d kept walking after Tylariel and the others had stopped in front of an open-air store; its identity emblazoned on a hovering plaque above the cavernous entrance: ‘Luthaire’s Arms & Armor’.

“Sorry,” he said as he reunited with the group. “I was lost in thought.”

“I understand that the news you received about your lost love might have rattled you, Apprentice,” Tylariel began with a tone that Arcturus found surprisingly gentle. “But you must focus on what comes next. Choosing an Aetherblade that is right for you is an imperative step to becoming an Archon.”

Her voice took on a serious quality, and Arcturus listened more intently when he noted the shift. Even Adam and Danica seemed to be paying attention.

“Choose the wrong blade, and you will be as impeded as if you had a deformed limb. The binding process for an Aetherblade is not one easily replicated, and if you should bond to the wrong weapon, it can have lasting consequences for your future growth.”

“I understand, Mentor.”

“There will be false positives, and you will feel close to right, but you must understand what is right and what seems right. Do not be hasty with your choice, Apprentice. The blade will choose you as much as you will choose the blade.”

Danica and Adam nodded unconsciously, as if they’d heard such statements before, but for Arcturus, it only aroused a sense of trepidation.

He resolved, in that moment, not to be reckless—no matter how long it took to choose.

The four of them entered the store behind Tylariel to hear voices and laughter, and were immediately immersed in a crowd of around twenty people of all ages, genders, and social classes. There were no other Archons present, though more than a few of the people within seemed capable and powerful enough to give Tylariel’s presence no more than a curious glance.

“It’s like a candy store, but for weapons and armor,” Danica said appreciatively. “I love coming to Luthaire’s.”

“You’ve been here before?” Arcturus asked her as they followed Tylariel through the interior, past armor racks and glass displays.

“Yeah, a few times,” Danica confirmed. “Andy and Adam love it here, and Amélie used to come here a lot before she, uh, went her own way.”

“It seems like it has everything you could ask for,” Arcturus observed.

“And more besides. Luthaire’s one of the best Aethersmiths in Valaria, and the few Apprentices he has are pretty good too. Sylvia makes some of the best female armor I’ve ever seen.”

“Female armor is a myth, Danica,” Arcturus said automatically. “Women just wrapped their breasts to fit into the plate.”

“You’d be right, professor—” Danica said sarcastically, “—if we were still on Earth. Aethersmithing on Terra is different. You can design an entire set of armor to hug every curve or even adapt within tolerances to changes in your body shape, and the method they use to weave the magic into it makes it tougher than any alloy back home.”

[Perception Check] successful!

“Wait, so platekinis…?”

“Completely feasible.”

Arcturus’ smile earned him a prompt punch in the arm.

“Perv,” Danica admonished with a grin.

“Yeah, whatever. You brought it up,” Arcturus said dismissively as Tylariel called out to them impatiently.

The pair of them made their way to where the Archon was standing beside the most stereotypical blacksmith Arcturus had ever seen: bushy black beard, bushy black eyebrows, massive muscles, and a permanent scowl to his features. Even the simple linen shirt and apron were detail-perfect, giving Arcturus flashbacks to Renaissance Faire trips with his parents. Capping it all off was the fact that Luthaire was huge; large enough to force even Arcturus to look up at him.

“This is the kid?”

“Indeed,” Tylariel confirmed with naked pride that made Arcturus smile faintly. “The first potentiate to catch my eye in decades.”

“Must be worth the time, then,” the big man rumbled. “Very well, Archon, I’ll take him to see the collection. You’ll be all right here?”

“Yes. His companions and I will peruse your wares in the interim.”

Luthaire grunted in acknowledgement. “If anything catches your eye—”

“I will hail one of your Apprentices. I know.”

Another grunt of affirmation, and the big man jerked his head towards a large, sealed door behind the counter at the back of the huge showroom. “Follow me, Apprentice. Let’s get you an Aetherblade.”

Arcturus followed the massive Terran, who he’d wager was close to seven feet tall, to the large door at the back of the showroom. A ring of keys appeared in his right hand, and the Aethersmith slotted a strange-looking key into an oddly shaped lock in the middle of the door, turning the key right, then left, and then right again. The moment the third turn was completed, the door lit up with sequential blue-white sigils, and the sounds of multiple locks and bolts retracting came through as rapid thuds and clicks.

After about ten seconds of those sounds, Luthaire placed his left hand on the door and pushed, opening the massive construct with a groan of metal.

“You really don’t want anyone getting back here, do you?” Arcturus asked with faint amusement.

“Better safe than robbed, boy,” Luthaire replied gruffly. “I don’t know how they do it in Regalia, but in Luxanium, we don’t take our security lightly.”

“Of course,” Arcturus responded simply, not knowing what else to say and wanting to avoid any kind of discussion about his fabricated background. “Given the importance of Aetherblades, I can understand the need for security.”

“Not just Aetherblades. All my best work and my apprentices’ best work is stored here. If you see something you like, let me know. I don’t like disengaging the security more than I need to. One trip is preferred.”

“Will do,” Arcturus said conversationally as Luthaire led him into the private showroom, his eyes taking in the carefully polished racks and pristine sets of armor, mail, leather, and other such items displayed with prominence. There were swords, axes, spears, Aether rifles, pistols, daggers—if a weapon or piece of armor had been conceived of, Arcturus was already willing to bet that Luthaire had an exquisite example stored away in his private showroom.

It felt like being let into a medieval nerd’s equivalent of a toy store.

Dad probably loved it here, he thought to himself with a bittersweet smile.