Bog Standard Isekai

It was a testament to the state of affairs that no one had tried to get into Arcaena’s citadel in the past week. Perhaps all three nations assumed they could, were they willing to spend the cost of bringing sufficient firepower to bear, and then to weather whatever curses she’d set up to protect it. But none of them were willing to do that if they had to share the prizes within with the other nations.

For now, the long stair and the platform leading to the main doors was empty, which is perhaps why Lothar had chosen it. Or perhaps he’d chosen to return to the place where his life as a [Paladin] had ended. Whatever the case, that’s where Brin found him. Sitting alone atop the staircase, gazing down at the ruined city.

The climb up the stairs wasn’t easy on Brin’s cursed body. At least his bones were healed enough to hold his weight–an appointment with a [Bone Setter]. Most people with that Class had evolved it to something rarer after helping to stem Angelic’s plagues, but it meant moving their specializations towards disease and away from bones. Apparently, the one that had seen Brin was the only one left in the entire warcamp.

While he was pretty sure the effort didn’t rebreak any of his bones, they still ached pretty bad, to say nothing about how exhausting it was to climb so many steps with such low vitality. He forbade himself from using his spear as a crutch like he had when he’d followed Cati up here, but the glass in his armor still did a lot of heavy lifting.

He was breathing heavily when he reached the top, and turned around to lay on the ground next to where Lothar sat, his legs dangling down the stairs.

Lothar gave him an inscrutable look, but didn’t request that he leave, which Brin figured was good enough.

Not knowing exactly how to start this conversation, Brin nodded into the distance, passed the walls to where a ten-acre square of green had appeared. “They say they’ll have the meeting out in the open today. Out there.”

Prinnash had conscripted a few dozen farmers to start turning this place into a permanent settlement, and now some genius had suggested doing negotiations right on top of their newly budding fields.

Lothar said, “I thought the first words out of your lips would be something along the lines of ‘I told you so’.”

“The only problem with that is that I never told you. I knew who you were before we ever even met, and I did everything I could to avoid letting you find out.”

“True enough,” said Lothar.

Brin wondered if he should apologize for not telling Lothar sooner, but he was torn between that and an apology for telling him at all. Both were cruel in different ways, and he still wasn’t sure which one was right. They lapsed into awkward silence, so Brin looked back towards the green field. “No one expects it to go well. This morning might be the last few hours left before it all falls apart.”

“Sir Enderic once told me that no one knows when they are in a golden age. It’s only after things get much worse that people look towards the grand and glorious years of the past.” Lothar waved expansively at the wreckage below. “Behold the golden age of the four-nation alliance!”

Brin had to laugh, because it really was quite a sight. The city was blackened and deformed, and while the fallout of the necromantic explosions wasn’t exactly ash, it still left a blackish film that got everywhere and gave everything a dingy sort of appearance.

“I wonder if you were right about everything,” said Brin. “Looking at how it’s turned out, I can’t help but think Arcaena got everything she wanted here.”

“Hm,” said Lothar with a slight smile.

“What?” asked Brin.

“Nothing,” said Lothar. He looked away, back towards the city, but didn’t lose his smile. Was that a smirk? It was hard to tell because Lothar had the cocky sort of face that made it seem like he was always looking down on you, but that was definitely a smirk.

“What is it?” Brin sat up straight.

“It’s an odd bit of irony. After everything I’ve done, everything I am, I get to sit here and call you naive,” said Lothar.

“Arcaena was never here!” protested Brin. “She–”

“Do you honestly believe that she meant to give this nation up? She loves this place. She didn’t choose this land by accident. She took the climate and environment that she loves best in the world, and founded a nation here. She would not surrender it without need,” said Lothar.

“She hates how the comfortable environment made all her people lazy and selfish. She wanted a tougher location, so that they’ll be focused on fighting the wilds rather than each other,” said Brin.

“A loser’s excuses. She didn’t want these armies to rise. She saw their coming in Fate and attempted to prevent them, and failed. Then, she desired to keep them occupied with threats in their own lands. She failed again. Then she sought to repel the armies with a nation-spanning defensive curse, which failed to take a single life. Then she sought to repel the armies with disease, with monsters, and with her own army of undead and men. These, too, failed. Then at last, she attempted to slaughter our armies with a final last-ditch trap, which also failed. Shall I also mention that she lost a quite useful and powerful [Paladin]?”

“Then why not take the field herself if she cared so much?”

“She feared death. She feared we would kill her,” said Lothar.

Brin frowned. “I don’t think that’s it. You told me before that you met Arcaena a couple times, and that I didn’t fear her enough. Did she wear a different face each time? I haven’t told many people this, but… she can be anyone. She’s split herself into hundreds of bodies. She could be anyone. She didn’t fear death; she can’t be killed.”

Lothar said, “We would’ve found a way. You’ve given the evidence yourself: If she hadn’t feared death, she would’ve taken the field herself. Brin, you’ve done well. She may rise again, but she is wounded. Arcaena is defeated for now.”

“She still might slaughter this army, depending on how today’s conversation goes,” said Brin.

Lothar waved that off. “You’ll find some way to save them. Either you or someone else.”

Brin smiled. Or maybe it was more of a smirk.

“What?” asked Lothar.

“It’s an odd bit of irony. After everything I’ve done to you, I get to sit here and listen to you try to make me feel better,” said Brin.

Lothar raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so it’s for pity’s sake that you’ve come!”

“Of course not!” said Brin, glad that [Light of Truth] was off the table. “I’m trying to get you to fix all our problems down there. Was I being too subtle?”

Lothar snorted and shook his head. “Don’t worry yourself on my account. It could be worse. I could be in love with the one who slew my brother.”

Brin snorted and shook his head. “What are we going to do with those two?”

“A troubling circumstance. If even as a [Paladin] I couldn’t help them, what chance do I have of aiding them now?”

Brin laughed, and Lothar chuckled along. The air was a bit lighter now, and Brin was content to sit and watch the city below for a while.

After a while, Lothar said, “We met once, back then. I remember it now. Little Aberthol, and your father whose name I don’t recall. And Aberfa. A striking family, though I admit I gave you little thought back then. Only, that wasn’t you, was it? You told me once that you came from another world.”

“That’s right. I died in my previous life. Aberthol rejected the Mother’s Knot; he chose to move on. I was given a second chance at life, to take his place. I didn’t have his memories at the time, but Aberfa caught up with me and tried to continue her work. I managed to kill her, but not before she told me about you,” said Brin.

“A story most bizarre. I would doubt it, only [Light of Truth] already verified the most unbelievable parts, so I must take the whole of it. Then you don’t remember? How it was for Aberthol?”

Brin shut his eyes. “I remember it now. The memories are part of this body, so I have them. I still don’t ever remember meeting you, sorry.”

“Unsurprising, you… or he was very young,” said Lothar.

“I don’t like thinking about it. Knowing that it didn’t actually happen to me doesn’t help. It almost makes it worse. I wouldn’t like seeing those things happening to my worst enemy, and Aberthol was a sweet kid, at his core.”

Lothar put a hand on his shoulder. “Then speak no more of it.”

“No, I should. I want to… I have a way to change my own mind. I can forget that I’m not him, and live as Aerthol for a little while. I’m curious. I want to know what he’d say to you, if he were here,” said Brin.

Lothar didn’t agree right away. He stared down at the city with his jaw clenched, and twisted nervously at a lock of his blonde hair. Finally, he nodded.

Brin created a mirror in the air, and blasted himself with [Say What’s True]. Aberthol was never too far away from him, lately. He was doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip, but his mind had hardly healed at all from the fight with Zaff, and plenty of traumatic things had happened since then to reopen those wounds. One moment, he was Brin and the next…

Aberthol didn’t really remember how he’d gotten up here. Part of the problem with dissociating and wandering around was that he couldn’t control where his feet would take him. Now, they’d taken him back up to the top of this staircase and sat him down next to Lothar of all people. He couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be less. But he was here, so he had to make the best of it.

Aberthol stretched his arms behind his head and lay back. “Did you ever meet Basil the Bunny?”

“Awnadil’s familiar? As a matter of fact, I did,” said Lionel.

“He was the one who got to me. He pretended to be a real stuffed animal at first, and I instantly fell in love with him. I imagined a best friend, and I told him everything. Then when he started cutting me, that was it. I was done.”

“Oh dear. Basil was one of my favorite playmates,” said Lionel.

“No fooling?” asked Aberthol.

“Indeed not. He was very clumsy and impatient in my day. He would wound me too much and too quickly, and then mother would have to step in and heal me lest I perish,” said Lionel.

“Wow. He wasn’t like that with me. He really took his time,” said Aberthol.

“Perhaps his practice on me led him to refine his art for you,” said Lionel.

“Maybe. Either way, it was enough. I would’ve taken [Broken Doll] right there if I’d already been past my System Day. Now Aberfa knew everything, and she could use all that stuff I told Basil against me. It doesn’t sound like much, but that was enough. After that, I was just waiting for it to be over. The worst part is that she wasn’t even trying to break me at that point. That was just Aberfa being Aberfa. I can’t even imagine how much worse it was for you.”

“It wasn’t worse at all,” said Lionel.

Aberthol rolled his eyes.

“Well, it wasn’t! Arnarra was a kind and attentive mother when she was around, and she left me in the care of patient and gentle caretakers when not. I lacked for nothing. Some called me spoiled, and perhaps I was, but I didn’t think so because I never let my privilege lead me to selfishness. At least, not in my own mind. I think I had an idea of the sort of woman Arnarra was, of the things she did, but of course she could never hurt me. Not her son. I don’t think she planned on it, either. She didn’t decide until System Day. I selected [Warrior], and she told me she had no use for that. And then… and then that was it. But before that, she was nice. She was.” Lionel’s voice broke.

“Sancta Solia, Lionel.”

“That’s not my name anymore,” said Lionel.

“Why not? It’s a good name. There’s no harm in changing it back, if you like. I found that Aberthol didn’t fit me for a while, but–”

“I don’t deserve to be called Lionel.”

Aberthol shook his head. “That’s just stupid.”

“I failed. At first, I was in denial. I thought that mother would wake up, that she’d remember that I was me, I was her son, and she’d realize what she was doing and she’d beg for forgiveness. And then… and then I hated her, and I decided that I could never allow her to have whatever it was that she wanted from me. I endured it all until… until I couldn’t any more,” said Lothar. “I failed.”

“You were only a boy,” said Aberthol. It hurt to dredge up these memories, but he was glad he was here. This was the type of thing that could only happen now, and only between the two of them, because honesty like this wasn’t easy to build up to, and because as much as Lionel needed to hear these words, Aberthol needed them just as much.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I was sixteen years old. Two years a man by any reckoning,” said Lionel.

“A child!” Aberthol sat up with a start. “Sixteen? You lasted for two years?”

“Only two,” Lionel said with a nod.

“She tortured you for two years? Damn all the gods to hell!” said Aberthol.

“Don’t say that. Not even now. The gods are good,” said Lionel.

“Two years, Lionel!”

“And all for nothing. I failed. I gave in.”

“Stop saying that!” Aberthol shouted. “You didn’t fail. She never should have done those things to you, Lionel. It was wrong. It was wrong of her, and it was wrong of everyone else not to put a stop to it.”

“I–”

“It’s not your fault! It’s not your fault she hurt you, it’s not your fault that you succumbed, and it’s not your fault, the things she tricked you into doing as a [Paladin]. You were just a boy!”

Aberthol grabbed Lionel in a hug, and then pulled him to the side, so that it was Lionel’s head resting on his chest. It may have looked strange, the big man leaning on the younger, smaller one, but in Aberthol’s mind age and size drifted away and they were just two souls, hurting.

“Even lately. When I saw her again, even as a [Broken Doll], I still hoped. I still hoped she’d realize. And things, and things could go back to how they were.”

“You were just a boy.”

And Lionel wept.

###

Hours later, in the green field outside the walls, Brin still had trouble keeping his breathing steady. Lothar had spilled a few more details about his life, and when he’d given broad strokes about what had finally broken him, Brin had nearly thrown up.

He was glad that none of it was showing on his face now. It was lucky that he’d practiced his smiles in the mirror so often. He put on just the right face for the occasion. Cool, confident, and with just a bit of mischief in his smile, like he had a wildly inappropriate joke he wanted to share, so you’d better not make eye contact with him lest he make a fool of both himself and you.

The meeting was already going on. Johan, the [King] of Prinnash had shown up, and had so far he’d been more or less reasonable in his demands. Lyssa had warned them all that he’d be the most difficult one to negotiate with, because he needed a war most of all. He’d come here to gain fame and merit by letting himself be seen leading his men into battle. Now that he had missed the chance to distinguish himself against Arcaena, he needed to fight someone else. But he’d insisted on only what was honestly his right; a section of the capital and a third of Arcaena’s lands.

The actual stances of the three leaders wasn’t what gave away the fact that all of them were up to no good; it was the [Bards]. The discussion was being repeated in the separate armies by [Bards] who’d enhanced the volume of their voices to be heard by all. But rather than simply repeat what was said faithfully, the [Bards] were exaggerating the discussion in the most inflammatory possible way, and they were brazen in their emotional manipulation, doing everything they could to drum up feelings of anger.

They’d been unsuccessful in drumming up these feelings in subtler ways, so now they were acting openly.

Brin was broadcasting the sounds of the real discussion, so that people would at least be able to hear what was actually being said.

Hogg was criticizing his broadcast. “You’re not adjusting for the curve of the wall in the Ollandish army. There’s a buzz! And an echo!”

“It’s fine! It sounds fine!”

“Here. Let me.” Hogg yanked the entire spell right out of Brin’s control. He made his adjustments, and then handed it back.

The spell really was a lot better now. It felt smoother, and had more power for less of a Mana cost. Brin didn’t think his sound quality was bad before, but now it was crystal clear.

[Call Sound through Glass] leveled up! 42 -> 43

“I liked mine better,” said Brin.

“Shut up,” Hogg said dismissively. “I bet you got a level for that.”

“Wow, you’re full of yourself,” said Brin. Hogg had a reason to be, though.

The conversation between the nations was still ongoing, but [King] Johan interrupted Maddox rehashing his same old arguments for the seventh time by rapping his knuckles hard against the table until Maddox stopped talking.

“I am prepared to give up any claim to the capital,” [King] Johan announced.

The statement was so utterly unexpected that all three [Bards] paused in their retelling, so stunned that they forgot to make up a reason that everyone should be mad about that.

Maddox was the first to respond. “A likely story. What concession will you demand in return?”

“Nothing from you. No, it’s Sir Galan who can pay my price.”

“Name it,” said Galan.

“Turn over Lyssa to me. She is to stand trial for her crimes against Prinnash,” said [King] Johan.

Lyssa looked pale and anxious, but determined. She said, “I–”

“I refuse,” said Galan. “Your quarrel is with the Order of the Long Sleep as a whole, not with any individual member.”

“Take me instead,” said Sir Ectar. He was the only man within speaking range still sitting, but even with his healing wounds he still spoke with a bold vitality. “The Order has offended you, so any member of the Order can pay the price. I will stand trial, and accept whatever punishment you see fit to mete out, on my honor as a knight.”

“No. I want Lyssa. I’m sorry Galan, but it’s clear to me and everyone that Lyssa acted without your knowledge,” said [King] Johan.

“She acted under my authority,” said Galan.

“Did she really?” This new voice wasn’t any of the men at the negotiating table, or any of those high ranking enough to observe nearby. No, it was Lothar, from three hundred yards away where he’d suddenly appeared from behind the ruined city gates. Brin had projected his voice to the entire assembly on reflex.

The [Bards] changed the tune completely, starting with Joaoz, and quickly followed by the other two. While [Bards] could more or less be trusted to follow orders, they loved stories more than anything, and bowed to the will of the story playing out in real time.

They spoke of Lothar, the hero, after sacrificing his unmatched power to save them all, comes in the nick of time to prevent their leaders from sending them all into a mass suicide. And what’s this with Galan? Why, it’s only the culmination of a romance from the steamiest of the chivalric epics. Two fate-bound lovers, separated by the unfortunate death of a brother.

In a quick, television-serial-style recap, the [Bards] went through the entire story, including Lyssa’s betrayal, where she attempted to sacrifice herself and their relationship in order to save Galan and the war.

[King] Johan listened with neutral indifference but Grimwalt expression cooled to ice and Maddox grew red as they saw themselves lose control of the situation.

“How… how can you ask that, my friend?” said Galan, suddenly awkward at all the attention to his personal life.

“I ask if you really take responsibility for Lyssa’s crimes,” said Lothar, still approaching. He was, in a word, glorious. He looked like a man who’d been previously an insomniac for years, now waking up from his first good night’s rest. He was back in his armor, and its gleam outshone everything. Where everyone else still carried the filthy blackness of the bombing fallout, a darkness that filled in the scratches in their armor and the stress lines on their faces, Lothar was bright and pure as a glowing ember. All this, and the System still called him level 0.

“I’ve said it, so how could you doubt?” responded Galan.

“Because I’ve seen Lyssa moping around these past few days like a woman condemned,” said Lothar.

“I do not mope!” objected Lyssa.

“If she were truly forgiven, then why do you still punish her? Why can you not even look at her?”

Galan finally did look at her, his face troubled but not cold. Lyssa gazed back, pleading and afraid.

“Please,” she said. “Give me to Prinnash. Save these men, and save their wives and children back home, who they’re meant to protect.”

Galan paused, in extreme doubt. He glanced at Cid, of all people, who gave him a firm nod. Brin nearly laughed out loud. Good old Cid, always a completionist for the relationship quests.

Galan’s face firmed, and it was as if a weight fell off his shoulders. He stepped towards Lyssa, looking grim. He grabbed her by the wrist, and then pulled her into him. “No. I will not do it. You are mine. I will not let you go.”

He kissed her.

Egged on by the [Bards], the watching armies erupted into cheering and applause. Galan stepped back suddenly looking worried that he’d offended her. She launched herself into him, returning a kiss that was much less chaste.

The cheering rose in volume, and the shouts also became a good deal less chaste than the kiss. Grimwalt was silent fury, and muttered commands to his nearby officers while casting a murderous stare at the [Bards]. Maddox was much less restrained and openly shouted that the [Bards] should be hanged, though Brin made sure his orders were muddled to nonsense before they reached the ears of anyone who could obey them.

Only [King] Johan seemed resigned to the fact that they’d lost the war. He put his head in his hands. “Galan, can’t you see? I’m trying to help you here, but you have to give me something.”

“I believe I can solve matters to everyone’s satisfaction,” said Lothar. “But first, there is the affair of my promised reward. One item, of my choosing. Is that not so?”

“This is so,” moaned Johan.

“May I approach?” asked Lothar, though of course he was already approaching and showed no signs of stopping. Grimwalt and Johan nodded, and even in his outrage, Maddox had presence of mind to signal his acceptance.

The walk took a while. The green field was very large, and they’d set up right in the middle of it. Lothar was in no hurry, so it was an entire five minutes, with the eyes of all the world watching, until Lothar finally made it to the negotiating table.

Lothar said, “First, I wish to make an announcement. I feel that [King] Fromost has misused my loyalty and I have no more desire to serve him. I foreswear my Oath to him. Indeed, I foreswear all my Oaths and loyalties, and declare myself a free man.”

“You might as well while you have the chance,” said Johan with a shrug.

“Now, hold on. If you won’t honor your word, how do you expect us to hold true to our vow to you?” asked Maddox.

“I allow every man the right to return loyalty for loyalty and treachery for treachery. What say you, then? Do you refuse to honor your vow?” asked Lothar.

Maddox really shouldn’t have been afraid of a level 0 nothing, but something in Lothar’s gaze made him back down. “I do not. So then tell us what you require.”

“I want the last building standing. I want the citadel, Arcaena’s fortress and seat of government,” said Lothar.

It only took a small moment of consideration for the three leaders to give their assent.

“You have it,” said Maddox.

“Acceptable,” said Johan.

“Done,” said Grimwalt. “Now what is your great solution?”

“Does it not follow,” said Lothar, stepping past the leaders and turning to address the assembled officers, “that the one who owns the seat of government in a city has the authority of rulership in said city? I declare myself the master of the entire city, which will henceforth be called Lionsburg.”

Maddox started, “Now, that’s–”

“Furthermore, does it not follow that the one who possesses the capital city of a nation must also be the ruler of the nation?” asked Lothar.

“Of course not!” shouted Maddox.

“I declare myself king of all the lands previously in the possession of Arcaena. We shall be Edelor reborn.”

The world reacted as one with an audible gasp.

Johan sniffed in feigned amusement. “From an Order of one to a nation of one, is that it?”

“For now,” said Lothar.

“A [King] with no subject is no [King] at all,” said Maddox. “How shall I not declare war upon you this very instant?”

“That is within your right,” said Lothar. “Though perhaps it will suit you better to request my aid. Perhaps then I will be willing to commit my armies to assist you in defeating your Frost King.”

“What armies? You haven’t got any subjects, much less an army!” said Maddox.

Brin rushed forward. “I’ll be his subject! I declare fealty to Lothar.”

“I accept your fealty,” said Lothar as if this were all planned out beforehand, though Brin had no idea this was going to happen. He was seizing the opportunity, though. If things worked out right, this was the perfect Oath to get him out of swearing to some stranger in Frenaria. “But swear to me by another name, if you will. A new life requires a new name. Henceforth, I shall no longer be called Lothar. I will be known as Metlion.”

“Let’s make this official, then. I, Brin isu Yambul, swear my fealty and everlasting loyalty to none other than king Metlion, rightful ruler of New Edelor, so long as he may live, insofar as this Oath does not conflict with my duty to my family or my Order, so help me Nedramus.”

Aberthol’s education on Oaths had been surprisingly thorough, but Aberfa had mostly focused on how to wiggle out of them. The rule with Oaths was that it took into account how the words you said and also how you meant them, though neither one could be outright lies. It also mattered who you swore by, since all the gods interpreted things in different ways. Nedramus was better for the sneaky type of Oaths.

He exhaled in relief when he saw the System had adhered to what he meant.

You have sworn an Oath: The Oath of Limited Fealty.

You have sworn to never swear fealty to anyone except king Metlion while he lives unless duty to your family or the Order of the Long Sleep requires it.

There was a twinkle of humor in Metlion’s eyes when he nodded acceptance at Brin’s Oath. He naturally would’ve noticed the exact loopholes Brin had built into his Oath, having been educated in the same way. It seemed he didn’t mind, and even seemed a bit amused by it.

Brin had [Wyrdic Inspect] spamming Metlion, so he noticed the exact moment his Class changed.

Name: Metlion

Class: In holiness, a King, granted the rights of justice and mercy, to rule as his stewardship the lands claimed in honor and glory, in all righteousness and as pleasing to the gods and in submission to their heavenly rule forever. [Legendary]

Description: Rule wisely, O King, in this land that has been granted as your dominion. You, who have slain dragons and tyrants, who have seen nations rise and fall, shall put down the sword of service to take up the scepter of authority. Most blessed one, go forth!

Brin had never seen a Class name like that; nothing even close. He didn’t know that a Class name could be more than five or six words long. A moment later, the status changed to simply read “[King]”. Metlion had chosen [Hide Status] as his first General Skill.

“That’s not normal, right?” he whispered to Hogg.

“Most [Kings] are just [King],” Hogg responded.

The System had something for Brin, too.

Alert! You have received a Title!

First Son of New Edelor.

You are the first recognized citizen of the nation of New Edelor.

This is a display-only Title for verification purposes. Benefits may be awarded by [King] Metlion as the kingdom grows.

“All hail [King] Metlion!” Galan shouted.

“Hail!” the armies responded, and while many of them had the fist to chest that signified the respect of a common soldier to a foreign [King], a good deal of them gave the full salute of a man to his own superior.

Metlion raised his hands in acceptance. “My friend, you have always supported me, and now I will support you. The Order of the Long Sleep will forever have a legacy in Edelor, as will the other saintly Orders who’ve bled and died to free this great land. Come and see, and I will show you how I will divide the lands of New Edelor for your hunting grounds, and for your outposts and forts. And as for the rest of you, come and join me, for there is a great work to do! For the next two years, I declare amnesty and an inheritance in New Edelor to all those who wish to enter my service. Let all refugees come, and I will shelter you. Though, I desire to accept no more System Oaths. A simple vow will do.”

The rest was history. In the following days, Brin spent a lot of time thinking about how this moment would be remembered. Perhaps a very lengthy and thorough history book would detail all the complications that followed. The fierce debates, the attempted assassinations, and the small skirmishes and rebellions that were put down before they could spread. He doubted most people would be all that interested in reading about a hundred different plots that never went anywhere.

He bet that Galan and Lyssa would get a footnote, because of how a frustrated [King] Johan had demanded the right to marry them on the spot, and how the enemy [Kings] and generals had put down their feuds for long enough to give Galan and Lyssa a short but joyous wedding ceremony. He doubted the histories would mention how the never-ending stream of emergencies and near-disasters that followed over the next few days cut off any chance of a romantic honeymoon. Though knowing those two, they probably enjoyed this more.

For the most part, Brin bet the histories would tell about how a tenth of the men with from the armies of Frenaria, Prinnash, and Olland declared to Metlion on the spot, and how many of the rest made plans to return home to pick up their families before returning as soon as possible. They probably wouldn’t mention how the camp workers and those poor abducted [Farmers] had flocked to Metlion first.

He knew for a fact that no history book would mention that Joaoz had secretly reached level 62, since he only knew that because Hogg had told him. They would certainly tell about how the continent’s most powerful [Bard] joined New Edelor immediately, and never left the nation's borders again in his life.

And maybe the history books would tell the final words that Metlion spoke to Brin, because he made a big show about projecting it to everyone.

“Go with my blessing, Son of Edelor. I will have you in my council as my most trusted advisor, but not yet. Finish out your term of duty to your Order, and then I hope you will get an education. Return to me in seven years, as a man, and I will accept you into my service. I have no wish to downplay your many struggles and victories, but even so. You’re only just a boy.”

Brin figured that becoming a [King] wasn’t likely to cure Metlion of his arrogance, but he’d meant it kindly. He saw the true meaning in Metlion’s eyes, because no matter how old he got or how much time passed, neither one of them would ever be much older than the fourteen-year-old boys being tortured by [Witches].

He bowed. “Your will be done, my liege.”

The End of Book 5