Prince Kairos Voidsong, the Kingdom's First Sword, beamed at his opponent, the edge of his blade dripping with molten blood.

  “Ha!” he bellowed a laugh, feeling the winds of Luck blow in his direction.

  Some called his Trait unfair, but for Kairos, the opinions of others mattered little.

  The Skybreaker Roc screeched in pure outrage, flapping its powerful, storm-colored wings. Its Domain tried to press against him, but something made it slip.

  Kairos burst forward, his Adamant-ranked body moving with perfect precision. Decades spent working on his skills made the [Slash] he sent out Transcendent. It cut into reality itself, carving the Beast Emperor perfectly in half.

  Half a heartbeat later, a man appeared next to the body in a puff of spatial magic. Before a single drop of blood could be spilled, he stored it, turning to Kairos with his hands held behind his back.

  “A wonderful showing, my liege,” he said, inclining his head. “Shall I have it prepared for supper?”

  Kairos stored his sword, a wide smile on his face. “No, send it to my dear brother with a note that says ‘Number 14’.”

  “So the same as the last thirteen kills then?” his most trusted confidant asked.

  Kairos laughed. “Baldric, do I detect a note of sass?”

  “Never,” the Purple-Core Space mage said. “After spending my whole life pursuing the magical arts, it is my honor to have finally attained the position of Your Majesty's personal item delivery service,” he continued with a straight face. “I’ve truly reached the peak of my Path.”

  Kairos walked up to him, clapping him on the back. “Come now, I’ll even go with you,” he said. “Something fun is bound to happen.”

  Baldric sighed. “Our definition of fun vastly differs.”

  Kairos deflated. “Oh come on,” he grumbled. “You can even have the body, there’s bound to be something useful for you to dig out of it.”

  “I have enough materials for a few centuries thanks to the surge, so your bribe isn’t sufficient.”

  Baldric glanced around the battlefield, taking in the sheer destruction Kairos left behind in his clash with the beast. The once verdant hollow lay scorched and burning, with deep gouges crossing its walls.

  It always rankled at Kairos to see such beauty defiled—especially when he was the one doing the defiling—yet he couldn’t exactly let a monster like that settle quite so close to the city.

  Not that he remembered its name, but the point still stood.

  The fall of House Athlain had left a massive power vacuum in the North, and while Kairos had sympathy for the people going through the current hardships, to him, it was mostly an opportunity to grow stronger.

  Still, he didn’t mind that it also involved being a Hero.

  Kairos rubbed his chin. “Has Spider found out anything new about the Archdemon?”

  “No,” Baldric shook his head, “and I think he’s out of threads to pull.”

  “Bah, I’m sure he’ll figure something out,” he waved him off. “Whoever summoned it was deeply entrenched in Eiselyth, and I want to know how that’s possible. Whatever group orchestrated it managed to get one over on Zadriel and Rylana, and that’s a concerning thought.”

  The two Archmages had been forces of nature, fighters even he would have trouble with. And while having his [Luck] was a tremendous advantage, it never hurt to be prepared.

  “Has he tried asking the Elves?” Kairos rubbed his chin. “They’ve been dealing with the Demons for far longer than we have. Their records are bound to be far more excessive than our own.”

  Baldric winced. “He did.”

  Kairos arched an eyebrow. “And?”

  “They… sent him away,” he said. “Forcefully.”

  “Isolationist pricks,” Kairos grumbled, his fingers twitching by his side. “Did they at least give a reason?”

  Baldric shook his head. “None that he deigned to share with the rest of us,” he answered. “But I think it’s safe to assume it has something to do with the approaching conclave. They’re positioning themselves for primacy, and aiding us through our current troubles works counter to those efforts.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Do you think…?”

  “No,” Kairos said firmly. “They wouldn’t stoop so low. Consorting with Demons is one of the few ways an Elf can get excommunicated, and their Pantheon isn’t known to be forgiving.”

  “We’ve been surprised before,” Baldric shrugged. “Something to think about.”

  Kairos frowned. “Just because they benefited from the attack doesn’t mean they orchestrated it.” He slipped a hand into his pocket, palming a messaging stone. “Motive, means, and opportunity. That’s what we need.”

  After a moment's hesitation, Kairos withdrew his hand. King Tiberius had more important matters to attend to than his idle musings. There were people with all three much closer than the Irvani Elves, and after he finished up here, it might be time to start digging.

  “How many stops before we clear the docket?” Kairos asked, stretching out an ache in his shoulder. As much as he was enjoying himself, a few hours of rest wouldn’t go amiss, and not to mention there was a conversation he still needed to have today.

  His son had been acting strangely for a while now, and even though Kairos didn’t mind the pummeling he’d given the Davar scion, he was curious to find out his reasons.

  Vyn has his mother's temperament, not mine. It takes a lot to set him off.

  “Three,” Baldric answered. “Two Beast Kings and another Emperor. If we keep our pace, we should be done by nightfall.”

  “Alright,” Kairos cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get to it.”

  Baldric placed a hand on his shoulder, and the familiar weight of spatial mana pressed against him. Kairos let it envelope him.

  They disappeared a heartbeat later, teleported to another location in desperate need of their aid.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

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  Baroness Jalani of the noble House of Duron stood overlooking the Capital of the Stormspire Heights.

  It was a common sight, dark clouds and flashing thunder, rain falling over the three Peaks. But Aether’s Rest was protected, the floating island resting like a jewel between them all. Her ancestral seat was an unassailable fortress, unless the threat came from within.

  A familiar knock came at her door.

  “Enter,” she called out, her raven black hair meticulously styled, even though she had no plans on leaving the castle. As a ruler, it was important to look the part. A lesson her father had made sure Jalani learned young.

  The door soundlessly slid open, and a tall, well-muscled man entered her chamber. His hair was cut short, with a no-nonsense expression set on his dour face. Jalani could count how many times she’d seen Captain Ziel crack a smile on one hand, but honestly, she preferred him this way.

  What did she care about his disposition when he possessed one quality that trumped all the rest?

  Loyalty.

  This man would die for her, that she knew with bone-deep certainty.

  “My lady,” he bowed. “I bring word from the Peaks.”

  Jalani sighed. “Let me guess, they want our forces to retreat and fortify the Storm Crown?”

  “You are correct,” Ziel replied, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “Lord Varyn was particularly vocal about it.”

  “Of course he was,” she scoffed. “Varyn’s always been a smart one. It might be time to check how much he knows about our true plans.”

  “Shall I detain him?”

  Jalani rolled her eyes. “Gods, no. The feeble minded morons are just waiting for me to do something drastic, and I’ll not give them the ammunition,” she tapped a finger against the window. “Send word to the army that his firstborn has been promoted to Field Marshal.”

  Ziel shook his head. “He will not send his Heir out of the city.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling he won’t need to. Young Viden is just aching for a taste of combat, especially considering the Darkhaven and Thunderfell scions recently overtook him in advancement.”

  “As you say, my lady.” Ziel bowed his head. “Is there anything else you require of me?”

  Jalani’s mind went over her list of tasks, the number growing larger with each passing day. But hopefully, that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

  “How goes the fight against the Hive Queen?” she asked. “Have we reached the nest?”

  “We’ve encountered… problems.” Ziel’s grip tightened. “Her warriors are falling in droves, but the Royal Guards are proving to be a substantial obstacle. I estimate that without reinforcements, the campaign is going to last for months longer.”

  A sharp smile tugged at Jalani’s lips. “Perfect.”

  The peak Mythril-ranked monster had started its expansion after their first raid against its nest failed, and now, instead of burrowing down, it began going wide. Usually, it would have been her duty as the strongest person in the region and its ruler to take care of the threat, but with the surge, leaving the Capital wasn’t in the cards.

  Let them bleed themselves, she thought. More fuel for the pyre.

  “If there is nothing more, I shall take my leave,” Ziel said, waiting to be dismissed.

  “Go,” Jalani waved him off. “Inform Lord Varyn about the honor House Duron has bestowed on his line.”

  With a bow, her most trusted aide left, carefully closing the door behind him.

  Jalani spent a few minutes longer overlooking her city, a twinge of regret welling up inside her. But before it could fully bloom, she smothered it with an iron grip. Her choice had already been made, and while she doubted her father would approve, the opinions of dead men rarely mattered.

  Turning on her heel, she strode towards a tall wardrobe, unlocking it with a key that hung around her neck. The enchantments flared to life, followed by that familiar feeling of being checked from head to toe. She’d commissioned Master Enchanter Favian for the craft, and considering what was waiting for her down below, it was worth every single item she’d exchanged.

  The thick wooden doors swung open, revealing a hidden passage leading deeper into the castle. Light bloomed as more enchantments activated, illuminating a well-worn staircase.

  It didn’t take long for the scent of blood to reach her nose, thick and metallic. It clung to the air like a miasma, soaked into the very stone of the passage.

  The further she descended, the stronger the stench of decay became. Not fresh death—but old rot, sweat, and hopelessness. Jalani’s fingers twitched in anticipation, a giddy smile tugging at her lips.

  Then came the sounds.

  A low, wet cough echoed from somewhere down below, followed by the faint, pitiful sound of whimpering. Chains rattled—a slow, weak movement, barely even there, like the last struggling twitch of someone that no longer had the will to fight. Someone whispered, a prayer, a plea, or the mumblings of a mind on the brink of collapse.

  She stepped onto the final stone landing, her boots making a sharp, deliberate sound against the slick floor.

  The chamber beyond was lined with shackles, bolted into the walls, thick iron chains coiling like serpents. Pale figures huddled in the gloom, some slumped against their restraints, others barely conscious. The dim light from the enchantments made them flinch, their eyes sunken, hollow, filled with the dull sheen of despair.

  Jalani grinned. Perfect.

  A man closest to the entrance flinched at her presence, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. He tried to shrink back, but the chains around his limbs kept him anchored, his wrists raw and bleeding from where the metal had bitten deep into his skin.

  She exhaled, taking in the scene before her. The weight of it all—the suffering, the fear, the power she held in this moment.

  Then, with deliberate slowness, Jalani stepped forward.

  “Shhh,” she whispered, running a finger along the man's jaw. “Do not worry. You are not yet ripe.”

  The peak Silver-rank warrior looked away, his body shaking in fear. “Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t be here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Jalani laughed, her voice echoing off the walls. “Oh, sweetie, none of us are free from sin,” she said, tucking a strand of oily hair behind the man’s ear. “But rejoice. Your death will bring forth something so much greater than anything you could have accomplished with your life.”

  With that, she strode away, leaving the man to his pleading.

  Others tried to draw her attention, begging for freedom with the last of their strength, while others shied away as she approached. But Jalani paid them no heed. She wasn’t here for them. Not yet.

  The tear in space at the center of the room held her attention, purple sparks flying from its edge. Seeing a Rift up close still filled her with a quiet dread, but she didn’t let the emotion take hold. This was her home, and even though the Demon on the other end could rip her to shreds with barely a thought, Jalani still held most of the cards. At least until their bargain was complete.

  She took a deep, steadying breath, willing her hand to stop shaking.

  Consorting with Demons hadn’t been something she’d expected to be doing, but when confronted with a plateau in her advancement, Jalani had made a decision.

  What did the price matter when the reward was immortality?

  She wasn’t going to end her Path as a Mythril-ranked warrior. Her sights were set so much higher than that.

  And in a few thousand years, the fall of the Storm Crown isn’t even going to be a footnote.

  Steeling her resolve, she flicked her wrist, pulling on her mana to drag an unconscious Gold-rank adventurer closer to the Rift.

  “Taul Draken, sixth son of Lady Ysara,” she muttered, taking in his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. “One less tool for Peak Darkhaven to utilize.”

  A dagger appeared in her hand and lashed out, her arm a blur. The blade cut into the scion's throat, his eyes snapping open for barely a heartbeat before fluttering closed once more.

  His life bled away in a pool of crimson, dripping down his worn tunic.

  Before it could reach the ground, Jalani threw him in the Rift, watching as the spatial distortion engulfed his body.

  And just like that, her ancestral seat was that much closer to destruction.

  She closed her eyes, letting herself feel the tinge in her heart before pushing it away.

  It’s worth it, Jalani reminded herself. And besides, I’m the last one left. The chances of House Duron holding the seat for long are slim to none. Especially with my lack of progress.

  No. This was her inheritance, and she was going to spend it as she wished. Use it to propel herself to greatness.

  Nobody is going to care once I’m at the top. Her eyes lingered on the Rift, imagining the horror waiting on the other side. And this is how I get there.