Within The Emerald Tower

  The weathered old man gazed at the moon with his hands behind his back, holding onto something that squirmed and twisted. A sweet metallic stench filled the air, clinging to the back of his throat, refusing to let go. Like a delicate meal that was raw and faintly spoiled. Yet he didn’t care, no matter how strong the scent was. Even if it seeped into everything in the room, saturating the pages in his scrolls, the fabric of his azure robe, and the very skin he wore.

  He slowly gouged out the eyes of a mage who had failed to see through such a simple deception on the bottom of the chest. The mage clung onto the Elder’s sleeves, tearing the golden embroidery from the seams. Yet despite the screams and the pleas. None of the other mages dared to stand and trembled on their knees with their heads on the ground.

  Once the screams were finally over, Pyron quietly sighed and threw the senior mage’s body back towards the others. “Why are you so scared?”

  The mages held their tongues.

  “You see, I’m not upset at the fact that you four lost the package.” Pyron approached the group. As the gleaming amber crystal reflected the moonlight, his metal staff struck the floor with each step. “It’s how you lost it that upsets me. For mages of your… stature, how is it that a simple magic circle that glows like a child’s toy fooled you?”

  None of the mages dared to open their mouths.

  “Must I repeat myself so that I can finally receive an answer?” Pyron stood before the mages. “Or do you think so lowly of me that I don’t deserve an answer?”

  “E-e-esteem elder, forgive us, but the magic circle that was created on the bottom of the chest closely resembled the one you inscribed—”

  Pyron bashed the side of the mage’s skull, splattering blood across the marble floors with a sickening crunch. His gaze drifted from one mage to another, watching their feeble bodies tremble. The mere notion that someone… something had managed to copy his magic engravings left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was no one in this world who could mimic his designs, and the elaborate excuses these mages made caused his heart to fill with displeasure.

  "Is there anyone else that would like to utter such nonsense?" Pyron asked, only for silence to return. "Good."

  He stared at the carefully laid-out map on his desk. His calculations were perfect, and soon, they would begin their assaults on the fortress cities. They only had four of their war golems operational, but such an amount was sufficient. The Emperor would soon see the value of his creations and the sacrifices that must be made. Lives were nothing more than numbers written in blood, a resource that could be exploited for a greater purpose.

  Yet… the words from the mages bothered him. Was there someone capable of such a feat?

  No. There wasn’t, but Pyron couldn’t help but feel like a thorn had formed somewhere in the shadows of the Everheart Kingdom, one that he would encounter once more.

  Meanwhile, in Stafford Bastion

  Tucker sneezed into his sleeve and placed his book on elementary wind techniques down. “Is someone talking shit about me?”

  He gazed out the window and into the courtyard, which hadn’t seen a soul in days. It had been a week since he came to the Stafford Bastion, and even though the grand city walls were impressive with their star-like design. Tucker couldn’t help but sigh as it paled in comparison to that of the Orders. The mana-infused stone bricks were stacked one on top of another until the walls were ten meters tall, but that was about it.

  While he and a few other rookies were stationed near the outer perimeters, they had no complaints. It was relatively safe, and nothing had happened in the past few days since he had been here. He sat back in his bed, leaning against the stone wall surrounding their quarters. Tucker felt a sense of loneliness in his heart. It wasn’t like before when he would do his daily activities with Adira, Charles, and Daniela. Instead, he was surrounded by his fellow countrymen who didn't have the urge to do a single thing.

  “Can’t sleep, huh?” Luka’s blonde hair hung upside down as he leaned over from the top of his bunk bed. His tired blue eyes were barely open, and his white shirt and shorts were unbelievably wrinkled.

  “Nah, I’m just trying to understand more about essence and threads.” Tucker closed the book and placed it beneath his pillow. “Since we’re here, I might as well try to be productive and learn something.”

  “You’ve hardly slept since you arrived here, you know that, right?”

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean I should sit around and do nothing.”

  Luka let out a tired sigh. “Alright then, what are you looking so deeply into?”

  “A way to create more threads.” Tucker held the thread of essence between his fingers. Compressing it as it brightly glowed a verdant color. “If we can strengthen these threads by compressing them, then we don’t need one long thread, which will have a tremendous effect. We could conserve our strength by splitting it and strengthening our spells.”

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

  “I guess, or make several smaller spells with stronger effects.”

  “Right, something along those lines.” Tucker nodded, watching as Luka slowly drifted asleep while upside down. “But for now, I’ll just leave it and go to sleep.”

  “Yep, say no more.” Luka shuffled back onto his bed. “Night.”

  “Night.” Tucker fell back down on his bed and closed his eyes. There was so much more to being a contractor than he expected. The author of his book wasn’t a renowned watchman. Simply a man who dedicated his life to research and helping others. Something Tucker was eternally grateful for since it helped him realize that there were far more applications of essence than he realized.

  And as Tucker was lost in his thoughts, the fatigue caught up once more. Pulling him into the deep embrace of the night.

  .

  .

  .

  Tucker stood in the courtyard, feeling the wind gently brush his face. The sun was high in the sky, and the warm rays of light felt good against his skin. He swung his sword downward once more and continued his training while the other watchman lazily stared at him from the side.

  “Is there a point in training so much?” Luka leaned over while resting his head in his hands. “You know this is practically just a vacation for us right? Even the militia isn’t doing anything.”

  “It doesn’t matter if they’re doing nothing. What matters is what we do.” Tucker brought his sword up and swung it down once more. Sweat dripped down his chin as he concentrated his aura around his weapon. Normally, they wouldn’t be in the courtyard right now, but it was a waste to leave it and do nothing. If no one was going to use the training facilities, then he would. “Besides, we might as well do something while we’re here.”

  “I mean… I guess, but there’s no point in overexerting ourselves.” Luka shrugged his shoulders but soon stopped once he heard the sound of footsteps approaching them. He raised a brow and gazed in the direction it came from, only to see a heavily armored knight coming towards them.

  Even Tucker noticed this and had no choice but to stop what he was doing and acknowledge them. The knight wore a tabard over his chainmail bearing the sigil of a fierce panther with a blade in its mouth. Such a figure was rare in their area as no knights were stationed in their small corner, but for one to appear meant that something had happened.

  “Are you the wind contractor, Tucker Welford?” The knight asked.

  “That’s me, but I don’t suppose you’re here for an autograph.” Tucker glanced at the knight,twho remained unfazed.

  “The Bastion Commander would like to see you.” The knight stood at attention and gestured for him to follow.

  “Can I ask why?”

  “I’m afraid not. I wasn’t told the details. Only to bring you to him.”

  Tucker’s gaze drifted to the other watchman, who worriedly stared at him. They soon rose from where they were resting and moved closer to their comrade, but soon felt a sharp sensation pierce through their bodies. Pushing them several steps back.

  “Only the wind contractor can come,” the knight said.

  Luka stood there in protest, fighting back against the aura that sought to break their will but soon stopped once Tucker raised his hand. Signaling for them to leave it be. Tucker looked at them and shook his head. “If you needed a reason to train, this would be it.” He then looked back at the knight and nodded. “Alright, I don’t know why the Bastion’s Commander would be looking for me, but I suppose I can entertain him. Even though we’re not directly under his leadership.”

  The knight lowered his head. “Thank you for your consideration.”

  As the knight led the way to the Bastion Commander’s office. Tucker could see the mounting frustration at his comrades. Their superiors had sent them to the peaceful bastions to recuperate, but most didn’t see it that way. Instead, it was seen as a form of punishment and that the Order had cast them aside. He didn’t quite understand why they saw it like this, but according to Luka, it was because while their comrades were off on missions behind enemy lines. They were indefinitely on standby on the front lines in a location where they couldn’t cause trouble.

  It’s not like Tucker didn’t relate to the sentiment, but while they were sulking, he took this chance to train. To get stronger so that he would no longer be a burden. There were only six of them at this bastion, and maybe that was why they were thrown in the same area as the local militia, but his comrades couldn’t stand it. They were being ridiculed by the other soldiers in the fortress along with the militia but had no choice other than to endure.

  It was ironic, but unlike the others, Tucker didn’t care. He had a goal in mind and after walking through countless stone archways and halls. He found himself in front of a grand steel door with two knights holding the doors open for him. They ushered him into the large open room with a dark purple carpet leading to the desk centered at the end of the room. Once Tucker was before the desk, the man sitting there looked up from his papers and gestured for the knight to leave.

  Tucker stood there in silence while closely examining his surroundings. To his left were rows of windows with their white curtains opened, and on the other side were bookshelves that seemed to contain records of the bastion’s history. It wasn’t uncommon for a city like this to have a rich story, but Tucker couldn’t help but feel awkward standing there silently.

  He stared at the tall, muscular man before him that wore a white-collared shirt with a long purple coat over his shoulders. His blank pants and belt were fitting for a noble as they were intricate in design, but no matter how much Tucker thought about it. He had no clue why the hell the Commander was looking for him.

  Everyone knew who he was: Carl Cronia, the head commander of the fifth bastion of the kingdom and one of the strongest figures known in their nation. So why was such a man looking for him? Tucker stood at attention and watched as the man combed his grey hair. Fixing the imperfections in his hair and then focusing his black eyes back onto the work before him.

  After sorting through the final pages on his desk, Carl stared at Tucker with a sharp gaze. “So, you’re Salamander’s latest partner.”

  “Uh, was his latest partner,” Tucker corrected. “I’m now on a break of sorts.”

  “Right, from what I read in Salamander’s letter. You seem to be quite useful.” Carl held the pages in his hands before putting it to the side.

  “I suppose so, sir, but if it’s not too much to ask. Could you tell me why you’ve called me here?”

  “I see you aren’t one for small talk. Well, that’s fine; it makes it easier for me after all, so I’ll cut to the chase.” Carl stood up and gazed out the window at the far end of the bastion where the watchmen were stationed. “I want you to train and lead the militia stationed in your area.”

  Tucker blankly stared at the commander with his eyes wide open. He took a minute to absorb what he had just heard before nearly dropping his jaw. “Huh?!”