“Lads! Lads! LADS! Ye’re not hearing me, it wasn’t just that he put two of the bastards down! One of ‘em was a fucking axe!”

  Chowwick stood at the center of a throng of well-dressed patrons, Magneblade swaying happily alongside him.

  We occupied the bar of The Regal, the finest hotel in Boston. Occupying a sizable portion of Tower Square, The Regal was situated deep within the highest Order zone of the city. Patrons here included wealthy nobles visiting from their country estates, foreign dignitaries, and, of course, the exceedingly wealthy.

  The room was finely appointed. The walls bore moldings and delicate wallpaper, and the furniture was all hardwoods, well-sprung couches, and plump pillows. The staff were numerous and impeccably dressed.

  We had returned to Boston with Flows and in need of repair after defeating Buffalo. Tara and Alya remained in the field, and the three of us would return in the morning, leading a supply train.

  I sat at the bar, whiskey before me. I had been slow to take a drink, but Chowwick had practically demanded it. A couple of hours later, I was several deep and feeling the effects. Chowwick and Magneblade occupied a table on the floor, surrounded by patrons.

  Magneblade held my curiosity. The man was dour in the extreme, generally more easily described as the personification of sulky rage than an actual human being. When he’d taken up a flagon, I had feared what foulness of personality the drink might reveal. Instead, I was puzzled but delighted to discover that he became a smiling, swaying buffoon. He stood dopily, even now, red-nosed and grinning, as Chowwick regaled the crowd.

  “Do ye not fucking understand it? It’s his first fucking season! The two of ‘em have been in the suits for years! I could barely hold one of the fuckers off. And, I’ll say it again, because none of you bastards gasped appropriately the first fucking time—one of them was a fucking Axe suit!”

  The crowd didn’t gasp appropriately this time either, but there was another chorus of murmurs, more questions, and another flagon of ale pressed into Chowwick’s hand by a supplicant merchant.

  Magneblade’s voice was slurred and garbled, “Never seen the likes of it… had a fine seat to watch, hah! Never seen the likes before.”

  Chowwick roared, “To the Blood Butcher! The Blood Prince!”

  The merchants and nobles responded to this with sufficient gusto to light Chowwick’s face. Glasses were raised, beer foam sloshing to the floor, and the cheer went up, “Blood Prince!”

  I watched, mostly embarrassed, admittedly a little thrilled. I had been validated upon our return to Boston. Everything already seemed different here. There was a spring in the step of the common man on the street. The bars and restaurants were busier than I was used to. The harvest was already in, so there was no sign of the new wealth of Flows in the fields, but machinery was at work in the outer sectors, improving the walls and working on sewage systems. Electric lights winked from more windows than I had ever seen before.

  I bowed my head as I took another drink, unable to make eye contact with the crowd of celebrants as they toasted me. But I smiled—a humble acknowledgment of their praise and a genuine expression of the feelings that swelled in me.

  Chowwick roared, “And there’s better days to come! The Blood Prince has been granted a skill by the Oracle that only goes to legends!”

  I didn’t like Chowwick speaking of that. I didn’t want the world to know about Synergy.

  He was right, though. It was something special—something that promised even better days for the future. My thoughts went hazily back to the moment Bonefrost had knelt in submission before Chowwick.

  ***

  I staggered through the snow toward Chowwick. My body reeled with pain, and I clutched the wound Snowfang had delivered to me. The crumpled Axe stirred and groaned in the snow. I felt a dread that I had killed another man with Axe-break.

  The Orb had touched down during our fight. The intensity of the combat had been sufficient to distract all of us from that event. It stood now, a couple dozen yards away, glowing and swirling beneath sheets of snow. The snow piled around it. In another hour or two, it would disappear. I could imagine Wild Orbs emerging in the thaw at the end of the season, missed and undiscovered by the Griidlords of the land during weather like this. The black dots of the key fragments swam under the smooth surface of the Orb.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Chowwick’s helm had folded back so he could let me see his expression of glee.

  Chowwick frowned suddenly. It wasn’t an unhappy scowl—his brow crushed down on his face with confusion. The expression quickly sprang back in pleased surprise.

  He said, “Well, what do you know about that? I fucking levelled! I haven’t levelled in years! I thought I’d hit my ceiling.”

  The strange light that had held Magneblade frozen winked away, and the Griidlord staggered free, the momentum he had been frozen with being released with the disappearance of the field. He came to a stop a few feet from me. A hand went up to clasp my shoulder. He was more excitement than rage for once. He said, “Tiberius! That was… I could watch it all, I just couldn’t move. That was… hell, I’m proud of you, boy!”

  Chowwick roared at him, “Wilric! I fuckin’ levelled! What do you think of that?”

  Magneblade stilled and frowned himself. After a moment’s pause, his own voice was filled with distant wonder. “I… I levelled as well… I… I don’t understand… I’ve hit my ceiling… have I not?”

  Enki spoke in my ear, “Tell them about Synergy.”

  I turned to the Orb, eager to siphon the Flows and be away before more enemies appeared. I thought back to Enki, How can I tell them about Synergy? I don’t know what it does. All I can tell them is that I got yet another skill that doesn’t help me in combat. Wouldn’t mind picking up a phase skill like Magneblade has, or that exploding fire skill I saw a few weeks ago.

  Enki’s voice was happy and condescending. “Synergy will help you in combat, more than any of those paltry abilities. It will just take more time.”

  I trudged through the snow, my movements dampened by the pain and damage to my suit and body. I thought, What the hell does it do then?

  Enki said, “Synergy allows allied Griidlords to interface their skill sets and attributes. As it increases in level, more skills and abilities will be shared between the group. As the Sword, the leader, it starts by sharing something of yours with the others.”

  I thought, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is it sharing?

  Enki said, “I can’t actually know; I couldn’t have predicted it. But it seems with these two old codgers levelling for the first time in years, you have distributed your own special ability to level rapidly.”

  I frowned, confused. I thought, That’s not a skill though… that’s not listed anywhere on menus. I don’t even know what’s happening with that. And my levelling has slowed.

  Enki said, “It’s not a skill; it’s something integral to your biology. Your brain connects with the suit in an especially effective manner. There are more, how do I put it, more points of connection with your cognition and the cognition of the suit than most humans have. It’s why you’re so damned exciting to have in the suit. It’s why you keep jolting forward in prowess and ability. And it seems now that you’ve shared that with your teammates. Kiddo, do you understand what that means? Do you know how significant this is?”

  I thought, I know it won’t help me put enemies down faster.

  Enki was clearly annoyed at my lack of excitement. “It will make every Griidlord in your team grow faster and reach higher ceilings than they could ever have achieved! Kiddo, your Griidlords will grow stronger faster than the Griidlords of other cities. This is just the beginning of something… something very exciting…”

  ***

  I tipped the glass to my mouth again, letting the searing heat of the liquor pour down my neck. I felt that familiar, pleasing ache of intoxication seize my jaw, felt curtains of inebriation blur away the concerns and pressures of existence.

  Two merchants spoke quietly to each other at the end of the bar, not joining in the revelry of the others. I usually tried not to use my abilities to intrude on the privacy of others. But my growing drunkenness suppressed my inhibitions. I let HEARING satisfy my curiosity as to why the two men seemed so worried.

  The first man, his accent foreign, was speaking, “... value of my investments. And there’ll be no compensating by increasing trade traffic. That’s a game I’ve played before, propping things up by diverting resources, stoking the engines a little bit. I don’t know if it’s even going to be worth trying to swoop in and make purchases. They don’t respect property rights.”

  The other man, this one a merchant from Boston, said, “No, they don’t. I own a mill within the city limits. Or I fucking did. That’ll be the people’s mill in a few days. I’ve tried selling it, but the writing’s on the wall.”

  The foreigner said, “Indy is not much better. I heard that Morningstar was recalled from the Falling to help contain things there.”

  The Boston merchant said, “Will he be able to?”

  The foreigner said, “I think so. I hope so. But what good does that do? You can’t have confidence investing anywhere now. So what if he punches the Green Men down this time? What stops them from just coming back up in a year’s time? Indy has had a poor enough season, and it’s Flows and handouts that keep the people from turning to the Green Men.”

  The Boston merchant curled his lip in distaste. “What’s the world coming to, Maurice? Revolts in at least three cities, three more where there’s a danger of it, and by all accounts, it will be the Green Man that rules Buffalo by the end of the week.”