Bonded Summoner

The Hearthtribe Alliance fought through the endless halls of Rasengrad, a giant crystal fortress that replaced the Aesryn’s home. Full of many different arcane golems, the fights were somewhat repetitive.

Astalder leaped to cut into a golem from behind, its back exposed from turning toward his valkyrie wife. It pulsed arcane energy outward, blasting into his chest, but he fought through the pain and flowed through the swings, dismantling its body before slamming both axes home on its core with a furious, overhead swing.

If not for the paladin’s protections, that would have been a lot more painful, tearing his flesh and searing his spiritual body. Other golems took on elemental protections as attacks struck them, making themselves nigh-immune to the first elemental attack they faced. And far from soft, it took true might to deal significant damage to their metallic, arcane-infused exteriors.

All across the battlefield, Hearthtribe and its allies dismantled the monsters. A blast of cold caused the golem to turn blue, then Seamus roared as he unleashed his fury, an axe mixed with light cleaving a golem nearly in half.

Antonius gave his battle shout as his Valor-covered spear pierced a golem’s core. The monster dead, he leaped with his shield onto another golem from behind and thrust the spear in a rapid flurry of attacks into its back, weakening it.

Xara and Xu Weiyan somehow combined their fire and cold on the same enemy in some wheel of fire and ice attack, the golem crumbling from temperatures rapidly shifting despite being protected against one of the elements. Then Xara cut into it with fierce blades of Qi, shattering what remained.

Drysander, the War Oak of Guan Yu, crashed into the golems with a furious might. His wives blasted several elements into them at once, making them crumble from his powerful attacks. The golems were big, but Drysander was bigger. He held the line, taking the brunt of the arcane pulses and the monster’s focus.

Beastkin warriors made a showing all across the large crystal room, tearing through the arcane golem’s forms with practiced ease. They had gotten used to the monster’s capabilities, and now it was simple to defeat them.

In contrast, Geomarch Darren’s ability to manipulate stone was countered by the odd gem structure, and his vines were useless against the golems altogether. The Aesryn fared no better, the arcane golems took on frost elemental protection when struck by it, rendering their water and ice attacks mostly ineffective. The golems were truly designed to make it impossible for the natives to recapture the city on their own.

And their weaponry only made small chips off the statuesque forms, a large group of natives needing to focus on one to even take one down safely. The pulses required much healing, and most of that was provided by Hearthtribe. In truth, the Bramvalen natives, who mostly hadn’t initiated until the war began, were on average only level thirty or so as judged by the Framework. They were picking up in strength, but it was clear that the Hearthtribe elites were not just higher level but nearly a different kind of being.

They cleared out the enemies and looted the corpses. From a scout report they learned that the next chamber was empty, so when the monsters went down and the room was proclaimed clear, people visibly relaxed.

Yiming, Jarl Eric, and Geomarch Darren stood near Astalder, the group spending more time together the last several weeks.

Jarl Eric couldn’t hide his shock, still looking where Drysander stood at the open gate, ever vigilant, ready for battle once more.

“You Hearthtribe warriors are truly something else. Geomarch Darren and I can’t keep up at all.”

Yiming grinned. “We’ve collected quite the band of heroes, all here to help fight back against this evil wherever it may fester. Have you given more thought to joining? Or at the very least, allowing your people to join?”

The two leaders froze. Of course, they had touched on this topic several times during their feast and drinking, as well as the long travel. But Astalder knew these two weren’t on the fence like Yiming might believe. They had already made their choice, and he knew it wasn’t to join. And that wasn’t just from his wife spying on them–it was easy to see their hesitation.

He held out his axe in front of him, inspecting it. “Shit, another chip in my axe!” he interrupted. “Hang on, I need to take care of this. Fucking golems.” Astalder took out a Framework sharpening stone and began to sharpen his axe.

The truth was, thanks to the enchantments, all he had to do was flood it with mana and a tiny chip would disappear. If the damn near invincible object even got one in the first place, that was. Lady Ophelia and Lord Jake did amazing work.

Astalder pretended to be focused on his task but listened to their conversation.

Geomarch Darren spoke first. “I did. I do appreciate all you have done for my people, helping save my city from terrible invaders and betrayers alike. But when the war is done, I’m afraid I’m going to have to remain here. As for recruitment, I do have a few tribes I’d be glad for you to take off my hands. I’m not so sure they’re…Hearthtribe material, however.”

Yiming did his best to not look too disappointed. “And you, Jarl Eric?”

“This is our world’s third conflict–we passed the trial, and we won the second war almost entirely on our own. We understand this threat. I won’t stop you from recruiting from my people, and we do appreciate what you’ve done for us. But as for me, it’s my duty to protect the North. And I need my warriors to do the same. I won’t be able to endorse them to join your cause.”

Yiming nodded slowly, his expression solemn as he appealed to their martial legacy. “I understand the heavy burden of leadership. But consider the legacy you could forge. This world nearly fell. By joining us, you could ensure the vanguard of your people gains the strength to guarantee that never happens again. Your valor could protect not just Bramvalen, but countless worlds crying out for aid.”

Jarl Eric placed a hand over his heart, his face a perfect mask of noble sacrifice. “A tempting offer, Commander. But a true king does not abandon his kingdom to chase glory among the stars. My people have suffered; they need my steady hand to guide them through the rebuilding.”

Astalder held back a snort, focusing intently on his whetstone. Yiming wasn’t stupid–he was just projecting his own honorable martial spirit onto a pair of entrenched politicians. To a man like Yiming, duty to one's people was a sacred vow, so he took their words at face value. He heard the noble sacrifice of Jarl Eric and Geomarch Darren putting their realms first.

Astalder, however, heard the terrified excuses of warlords refusing to leave their thrones unguarded.

During the feast last night, Astalder had watched them closely. Eric and Darren had spoken grandly of protecting the innocent and being heroes of their people. Yet, every time they discussed the newly reclaimed territories and magical resources earned from things like the golems, their eyes kept snapping back to the map–specifically, the borders of their nations.

They weren't staying behind to rebuild; they were staying behind to make sure the other guy didn't steal their land while their backs were turned.

Jarl Eric sighed. “I’m sorry, Commander Yiming. Truly. We appreciate your help, and I do love a good, virtuous fight. Your Guild is strong, and your Valor enviable. But my people need me.”

Geomarch Darren nodded. “It’s the same for me. My connection to the world means I’m needed to guide the tribes. If I left, it would be absolute chaos. I couldn’t bear coming back to see my homeland and its people suffering.”

Astalder looked over his sharpened axe with a wide smile, then came back to the group holding it out. “There. Good as new. What were you all talking about?”

“We were just talking about Jarl Eric and Geomarch Darren here joining the cause, but it seems they require a little more convincing.” Yiming looked hopeful at Astalder’s return–perhaps thinking Astalder was the right man for the job. Unfortunately, he would dash the warrior’s hopes–at least for the time being.

Astalder shrugged. “Oh, that. Well, it’s fine, isn’t it? Not everyone is cut out to become an Adventurer, a soldier in some interstellar, cosmic war, or an elite of Hearthtribe. Some have important roles and commitments, right? What can you do? The weight of tradition and duty–the weight of the crown is heavy.”

Yiming narrowed his eyes on Astalder and looked like he wanted to say something but let out a breath instead. “You’re right, of course. I just hoped one could look past their own world and see the bigger picture. For if others hadn’t done the same, many worlds would no longer be here. Perhaps, including this one.”

The brief respite ended, and they headed through the heavy crystal doors leading deeper into the fortress grounds. The Battlegroup surged forward into the shimmering, corrupted halls of Rasengrad, the fighting resuming in earnest.

Yiming and Longwei led the charge, their blazing Valorous energy and the latter’s Tiger’s Fury lighting up the dim corridors. Longwei swung his massive glaive in wide, booming arcs, meeting the heavy blows of the crystal golems head-on with honorable, roaring challenges.

Astalder, however, took a decidedly different approach.

As a massive, jagged golem lumbered toward him, Astalder didn't bother matching its strength. Instead, he slid under its wide swing, his runic axes glowing a violent, bloody red. With a lumberjack’s brutal efficiency, he slammed both axes into the back of the golem's crystalline knee joints. The formations shattered with a deafening crack.

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The top-heavy monster tipped backward, falling like a felled tree. Before it could even hit the ground, Astalder was already moving on, knowing his Valkyrie wife, Jaline, was right beside him as she always was. With a deadly swoop and a flash of holy fire from her enchanted spear, the golem’s core was finished off, and the wounds from the golem’s pulses were healed rapidly.

They fought their way through the meat grinder of the inner keep, fighting dozens of golems that pulsed tainted, arcane energies and were strong against both the northerner's and southerner’s magics.

They eventually arrived at the vast, domed antechamber just outside the final throne room. The forces spread out to catch their breath and regenerate their mana and Qi before the final push, a boss battle. Many took out their own furniture from Storage Bracelets and rings, benches and tables–to eat and drink as they recovered.

Astalder leaned against a crystal pillar, taking a swig from his canteen. From the shadows nearby, the air rippled. Denara, one of his cultivator wives–a woman from Love and Justice who specialized in shadow and wind arts–materialized seamlessly beside him.

“You were right, Husband,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “I listened to the Aesryn and Theskarrian vanguards while they tended their wounded and heard their gossip. The Jarl and the Geomarch aren't staying behind out of noble duty to the land.”

“Let me guess,” Astalder muttered, his eyes tracking Eric and Darren across the room. “They're terrified of each other.”

“Precisely. Jarl Eric’s men believe Darren will use his earth and nature affinities to monopolize the leftover golem crystals and monster materials in the soil to enrich the South, to make a savage, impassable jungle, or even encroach on the North. Darren’s ‘seers’ are convinced Eric will use the post-war chaos to march on their borders while their defenses are down, the cold of winter preventing a counterattack. They aren't staying to rebuild. They're staying to prepare for the next conflict–against each other.”

“Thanks, Babe. What would I ever do without you?”

“Let’s not go back to that time. These days are a lot more fun. Now, do hurry–I think soon may be the best time to speak with them. This is a task best handled by you.”

He nodded and gave her a quick kiss before he headed away. Thinking of what he had learned, Astalder smirked, a cynical glint in his eye.

Yiming and Lord Jake were the shining beacons of Guan Yu and Hestia, meant to inspire the masses. But Astalder knew his own role. He was Odin’s Ravenwatch–the shadow that allowed the light to shine, a pragmatist willing to wade into the mud to pull out a victory for the greater good. Heroes appealed to the heart. Astalder knew that kings were driven by fear and greed for power.

He was surprised when he was approached by an agent and was skeptical about the role at first. But he was promised that the Accord meant he would never need to choose his allegiance.

The tasks of the role were mere suggestions–largely things he already wanted to do, just backed by the intelligence network needed to pull them off. Astalder had accepted with a shrug; more information was always better than less. The Ravenwatch didn't demand blind obedience; they provided the targets and let their agents carry out the work however they saw fit.

Like back on Aetheris. Nessa had strongly suspected a certain sect patriarch was plotting to disable a city's defensive arrays right as the Tartarus-aligned cultivators attacked. But as a Justicar, she needed hard evidence, a confession, or a formal trial before she could righteously strike down an allied leader–unless they were wafting taint off of them.

Not all villains were so obviously bad. And if she put everyone that ‘looked like a demon’ to death, every merchant and multiversal insurance salesman would be dead and buried by her blade.

Astalder didn't need any of that. Armed with a whisper of truth from the Ravenwatch network, he had simply cornered the patriarch at a banquet and provoked him into a seemingly petty, drunken honor duel.

Those guys loved their ‘face’ and all that, so that was painfully easy. Astalder just said the truth, that he looked girly as most cultivators did–and then it wasn’t long before he was casually burying a runic axe in the traitor's skull.

And would you look at that? Plans for the city’s arrays in his pockets! Why would he have such a thing?

Nessa got to keep her hands clean, her shining ideals remained perfectly intact, and the city's defenses held strong the next day. That was the Ravenwatch–wading into the mud and the blood so the beacons of hope could stay spotless.

Leaving Denara in the shadows and strolling across the antechamber, Astalder dropped heavily onto a stone bench across from but between Jarl Eric and Geomarch Darren. Both men looked utterly exhausted, nursing shallow cuts and bruised egos after witnessing the overwhelming power of Hearthtribe's elites. Other warriors sat around them at the large table, Longwei laughing and chatting it up with Seamus, his daughter hanging off of him.

“Yiming means well,” Astalder said casually, not looking at either of them as he wiped crystal dust from his gauntlet. “He’s a good man. Too good. Believes in the 'greater good' and all that.”

Eric grunted in agreement. “He does not understand the burdens of ruling.”

“No, he doesn't,” Astalder agreed, even if he knew that it was a lie–Yiming had plenty of wisdom from many worlds’ histories to teach these two many lessons. If they listened.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands, dropping his voice so only the two rulers could hear. “But I do. I know exactly why you two are staying behind. And honestly? It's the stupidest strategic blunder you could possibly make.’

Darren’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. The usually jovial Theskarrian man’s mask cracked. “Watch your tongue, Norseman. You are a guest on this world.”

“And soon enough I'll be gone, and you may never see me again, so listen close,” Astalder shot back, his voice turning cold and sharp. “You think you're protecting your borders by staying home? Let me paint you a picture of Bramvalen two years from now.”

He pointed a finger at Eric. “Jarl Eric. You stay here to play king in the ice. But your young, hungry warriors? The ones who saw us fight today and saw the strength that they could one day have? They aren't going to sit around. They're going to join Hearthtribe or just stay on as Adventurers to find their own glory. In two years, they're going to come back as peak Tier 2 or even early Tier 3 juggernauts. What is your traditional ruling authority going to mean to an elite who can shatter your fortress walls with a single spell or swing of their giant axe?”

Eric’s pale face lost a fraction more of its color, his jaw tightening.

Astalder didn't give him time to recover, turning his piercing gaze to Darren. “And you, Geomarch. Let's say Eric's pride gets the better of him. He initiates, leaves a regent in charge, and goes out into the multiverse to level up. If you stay behind to guard your precious jungles, you'll be ruling a graveyard when the Aesryn return with multiversal backing and Tier 3 artifacts. He won't just defeat you. He'll casually step over you.”

Both native leaders stared at him, a tense, heavy silence falling over the trio. Perhaps, when the natives owned the world, they could prevent such a thing from occurring with their various controls. But since Lord Jake was going to own the Nexus Nodes…well, Astalder would helpfully not mention that the man was too nice and would have their backs either way.

Astalder had bypassed their warrior pride entirely and struck directly at their deepest, darkest insecurities. The idea of the other, or their people as an unknown quantity, gaining an insurmountable advantage was terrifying.

“Or,” Astalder continued, “let me paint you another picture. You both join Hearthtribe, bringing your best warriors both, and putting someone else in charge. You and your men make a lasting peace under Lord Jake fighting as one, letting bygones be bygones. And become strong enough to protect what matters against an enemy you’d have to fight either way. Hell, you’ll even get to be heroes to more worlds than one while you do it!” He laughed.

He leaned in closer. “Either way, the multiverse is moving on, gentlemen,” Astalder whispered. “But the only way to protect your borders isn't to hide behind these broken walls. It's to make sure you are the biggest, baddest monsters on the board and put these petty squabbles behind your people. Join Hearthtribe to secure the Prime Instance rewards. Keep an eye on each other while you level up, because if you don't, the other guy will.”

He let the solemn words hang in the air, watching the seeds of competitive paranoia take root.

Before either man could respond, a feminine voice called out, entirely shattering the grim, cynical atmosphere Astalder had just masterfully constructed.

“Asty! Honey, you look all puffy! Did you take your allergy tincture? That arcane dust does horrible things to you.”

Astalder flinched. Denara strutted over in her dark, flowing robes, an amused smirk on her lips as she aggressively dusted off his pauldron with a cloth. “Look at the big, bad manipulator,” she teased loudly, easily ignoring his frantic, wide-eyed gestures to stop. “Did you tell these fine lords how you spent three hours yesterday carving wooden dinosaurs for the orphans? Or how you bawled your eyes out when Lady Nessa complimented your fighting and leading efforts last week?”

Astalder flushed a bright, violent crimson, entirely ruining his dark, brooding aesthetic. “I told you, it was tactical morale boosting! And the arcane dust in the air was irritating my eyes!”

Yiming, who had walked up just in time to hear the exchange, let out a boisterous laugh, slapping Astalder on the back. “A true warrior is unafraid of his own tears, Brother Astalder!”

Eric and Darren blinked, looking between the fiercely blushing berserker and his laughing wife, and even turned to see Seamus’s daughter laughing and hugging her father as they teased the unstoppable warrior, Longwei.

All around the room the Hearthtribe warriors were surrounded by their women, resting as they recovered for the next battle. Astalder saw Brock and his wives hanging off of him, enjoying food with a Theskararian man, and an Aesyr man and woman talked, asking for pointers. Everyone was getting along.

Astalder watched the two native rulers closely, seeing the rigid, defensive tension slowly bleed out of their shoulders. The dark, treacherous picture he’d just painted of the multiverse had collided head-on with the loud, embarrassing reality of Hearthtribe.

He could practically see the realization washing over them: he hadn't been trying to lure them into a meat grinder with sinister lies. He had given them the ugly, cynical truth simply because–behind the gruff mask–he actually wanted them to survive and thrive. Astalder wasn't a monster; he was a pragmatist offering them a place in a dysfunctional, fiercely loyal family. If they joined Hearthtribe, they knew they had titans like Longwei and Seamus ready to come to their aid. They didn’t have to fear some youngster thirsting for power.

Jarl Eric slowly exhaled, his white-knuckled grip on his weapon finally loosening. He turned his head and locked eyes with Darren across the bench.

The competitive fire Astalder had stoked was still there, burning brighter than ever. But as the two rulers shared a long, silent look, the paranoid, bitter venom had drained completely out of it.

“I suppose…” Eric muttered, clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter. “If I were to leave the North in the hands of my brother... it would only be proper to ensure I return strong enough to keep the peace.”

“A wise precaution,” Darren agreed smoothly, though a genuine spark of ambition had returned to his eyes. “It would be wildly irresponsible of me not to do the same for the South. To... monitor the Aesryn's multiversal activities, of course.”

Astalder cleared his throat, desperately trying to regain his dignity. “Right. Well. Glad we're on the same page.” He pointed toward the massive crystal doors of the throne room. “Now, let's go kill a boss. Lord Jake and the ladies will be arriving soon, and I'd like the heavy lifting done before they get here so they can just smile, shake your hands, and sign the paperwork.”

He added with a big smile, “And party. Because if you think we have plenty of warriors worth seeing fight and duel now, you haven’t seen anything yet. Lady Ophelia will best every warrior here with both hands tied behind her back, and Lord Jake can summon enough creatures at once to take on an army. It’s good practice and pretty fun.”

The two men chuckled a bit at that and looked interested, looking at each other as they stood up and stretched as they prepared to move. Astalder knew they had the reclamation in the bag, and now the recruitment would surely follow.