In Tyrion's mind, Ryan and Fugen were supposed to embody the typical appearance of human Imperials.
What is the typical Imperial look?
More or less, it's a weathered face with average features, some wrinkles from hardship, a shabby leather coat or garish clothing with mismatched insignias, and a soft hat outdated by several centuries (or just a bald head).
You can't blame Tyrion. During his two hundred years of life, most of the humans he encountered in Lothern were merchants, a few mercenaries, and occasionally some intelligence reports on Old World leaders. Naturally, he had these impressions in mind.
Lothern had seen portraits of Ryan, but that was never something that concerned Tyrion, so he neither saw nor cared about them.
However, when Ryan and Fugen appeared in person, Tyrion instinctively furrowed his brow. These two humans standing before him looked nothing like what he expected. Both were in their prime, with Fugen exuding charisma that appealed to all—men and women, young and old. His silver hair flowed perfectly down his back in a purple robe, giving Tyrion the impression that he was the true noble figure.
Ryan, while not as striking as Fugen, had a ruggedly handsome face, a firm posture, and an air of quiet confidence. His eyes gleamed with unwavering self-assurance, and his aura was bright and radiant, which made Tyrion think he resembled someone he knew well.
He looked eerily similar to someone often called the world's greatest champion, the Phoenix King's most trusted warlord, and the Eternal Queen's lover.
The vast difference between expectation and reality left Tyrion momentarily speechless. Instead of two grizzled warriors, he was greeted by two strikingly handsome and powerful figures. The Lord of War, the Eternal Queen's chosen champion, and the Dragon of Cothique had prepared a formal and welcoming speech, but now, faced with this scene, he found the words stuck in his throat. After a brief pause, he finally spoke, choosing his words carefully: "Welcome. You must be the renowned Knight King Ryan-Marcador, the one who led the great Eight Peaks Expedition."
"Yes, it is an honor to meet you, Lord Tyrion," Ryan nodded, maintaining his distance.
Tyrion gave a slight nod. He forced a smile but did not offer a handshake. Turning to Fugen, he said, "And you must be Lord Fugen. Your feats in Lustria have reached even the courts of Ulthuan."
"It is my honor," Fugen responded with a courteous smile.
"The Asur acknowledge your contributions in the recent naval battle. I extend my gratitude," Tyrion said, though the many words he had prepared earlier seemed to slip away. Clearing his throat, he tried to continue, but the silence grew heavy.
The atmosphere turned awkward, something Teclis immediately noticed. Sighing inwardly, the Archmage stepped forward to break the tension. "Lord Tyrion, Ryan and Fugen are both quite weary from their voyage. As I've explained, the situation is urgent. Let us return to Ulthuan without delay."
Tyrion's gaze lingered on Ryan and Fugen before shifting to the battered Phoenix ship being towed behind the Enterprise. "This ironclad of yours... solid, a big hunk of iron. Seems sturdy."
"If Lord Tyrion wishes, I can arrange a tour of the Enterprise's facilities," Ryan replied politely.
"Your Eight Peaks Expedition must have been quite rewarding," Tyrion remarked.
"I've long heard of Ulthuan's architectural splendor and rich culture. I look forward to seeing it," Fugen added.
"You'll get your chance," Tyrion said distractedly, still studying the damaged Phoenix ship. Finally, he found a new topic. "What happened to that ship?"
"King Ryan, Lord Fugen, I'll go inspect the damage to the Phoenix ship. My navigators will assist you in crossing the magical mists. Feel free to make yourselves at home. Oh, and we've brought fresh fruits, vegetables, and meat. Enjoy," Tyrion said, signaling his departure.
"Thank you," Ryan and Fugen watched as Tyrion and Teclis left, followed by a retinue of Silver Helm Knights. These knights were the pride of the Asur—brave and skilled, but not as distant as Dragon Princes or as wild as Ellyrion Reavers. The Silver Helms, adorned in gleaming Ithilmar armor, followed Tyrion like a radiant tide. His deputy, Balerion, stood close, his winged helm signifying his high status.
As they walked toward the damaged Phoenix ship, Ryan turned to Fugen. "It seems our journey to Ulthuan won't be a simple one, brother."
"I agree," Fugen nodded, smiling. "But isn't this something we anticipated?"
"Yes," Ryan sighed. "But since we won't be meeting the Everqueen anytime soon, Tyrion will be our key to navigating Ulthuan. If he—"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get there, Ryan. Relax," Fugen said, still smiling. "If it gets tough, let your maid handle it."
"No, your maid," Ryan quipped. "She's far more effective than mine."
"Haha!"
On the other side, Tyrion climbed aboard the badly damaged Phoenix ship, instructing his retinue to remain behind. He wanted a private word with his brother.
The ship's condition was appalling, with battle scars and destruction visible everywhere. Several Eagle Claw bolt throwers were destroyed, and Tyrion ran his fingers along one of the bullet holes in the hull. "Do you remember, brother, when we fought the great daemon En-Kael together?"
"Yes, I remember it fell off the cliff, thanks to my magic and your sword," Teclis replied.
"Exactly. Back then, we swore that the daemon's vengeance would never succeed, no matter how many times it returned," Tyrion smiled slightly. "As long as we fight together."
"You're in trouble," Teclis smiled, a rare sight for him.
"Too many voices and too many complications. I feel like Ulthuan has enemies on every side," Tyrion said, his golden-red cloak shimmering with symbols of the Phoenix and the dove carrying an olive branch—a representation of his heritage as a descendant of Aenarion and the Everqueen's chosen champion. "Enemies without and within."
Teclis could have worn the same symbols, but he chose not to. Watching his brother be adored by all, while he himself was rejected once, had taught Teclis to embrace the blue robes of the White Tower.
"It seems my proposal is facing resistance," Teclis said calmly.
"No one wants to lose Lothern, especially not when it's the seat of the Phoenix Throne. I respect your opinion, but not everyone does," Tyrion replied.
"You magical fool," Teclis said dryly. "You should have waited for my return before starting discussions. You always mess things up."
"You stubborn oak-headed scholar," Tyrion laughed heartily. "You know what's happening, so why ask?"
"Why bring up our strange encounter at the Shrine of Asuryan?" Teclis shot back.
"Why ask a question you already know the answer to?"
The twins exchanged a knowing glance. Tyrion laughed again, while Teclis remained silent. "But I still want to fight for this!" Teclis finally said.
"Let it go, my stubborn brother. It's a complicated matter. If Alarielle stays silent, there's no point in pushing it. If she intervenes, we'll become criminals. And Fenubar… he won't be pleased. This isn't worth it. I don't believe the undead pirates and Dark Elves can do much damage," Tyrion said, gripping the hilt of Sunfang. "Let them come."
"If it comes to that, you should go to Avelorn. I'll handle the War Council," Teclis suggested.
"Don't go there, brother," Tyrion warned. "Instead of worrying about that, let's focus on how we can use these two Dwarven ironclads to achieve our goals."
"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss. These two humans are incredibly powerful. Ryan-Marcador is not only the King of Bretonnia, having completed the Great Eight Peaks Expedition, but he is also favored by Lady Lileath. As for Fugen, his strength is unfathomable. He's also beloved by the Serpent God Sotek. Look at the spear on his back—a divine artifact, much like the Sword of Khaine," Teclis explained. "Brother, given the current situation, we need their strength. It's worth making a few concessions."
"Concessions?!" Tyrion's voice rose like an angry lion's roar. "I've already greeted them kindly! I've even sent food and gifts! What more do these… humans want? How far do we Asur have to retreat?"
"Our concessions may seem like demands to humans, brother," Teclis responded, walking toward the ship's railing to gaze at the endless sea, sparkling under the bright sun. "I know your position is difficult—between the War Council, Fenubar, and the Queen. But we must—"
"I know what you're going to say," Tyrion interrupted, shaking his head. "Fine, as long as they don't cause trouble, I'll keep things in check—just with my people."
"They'll be a powerful ally," Teclis said.
"Perhaps," Tyrion conceded. He knew that with the Dark Elves and undead pirates forming an alliance, Ulthuan was facing a serious
crisis. These human warriors and their formidable ironclads were valuable assets—whether through alliances or by offering favors.
Despite their arrogance, the Asur were not entirely dismissive. Their intelligence network in the Old World was incredibly robust, constantly feeding reports from outposts in Marienburg back to Ulthuan. The Asur had a comprehensive understanding of the world's military forces.
From their perspective, human armies generally fell into three categories: weak, very weak, and cannon fodder.
The "weak" category included the elite personal guards of Elector Counts and Dukes, like the core units of the Empire and Bretonnia or prestigious mercenary bands from Tilea.
The "very weak" category included well-trained national armies and seasoned provincial forces.
Everyone else fell into the "cannon fodder" category.
However, there was an additional, secret category the Asur acknowledged: "extremely formidable."
This rare category included units like the Grail Knights, the Reiksguard, the Knights Griffin, and recently, the Old Guard and Fugen's Phoenix Guard.
Units in this category commanded a certain level of respect from the Asur.
"Let's leave it at that for now," Tyrion agreed. He was already imagining how he would lead the combined human-Asur forces to victory over the undead and Dark Elves, adding another glorious victory to his long list of triumphs.
Teclis, however, remained worried. He knew his brother too well—this was a temporary arrangement that depended entirely on Tyrion's mood. The War Council's political factions could quickly disrupt their plans.
Still, for the time being, the tension between the human and Asur forces remained under control, thanks to the twins.
Thus, in the year 2513 of the Imperial Calendar, the 350th year of Sea Lord Finubar's reign, after a long and perilous voyage, Ryan and his companions finally set foot on the fabled homeland of the High Elves—Ulthuan, a paradise crafted by the Old Ones themselves.
Standing at the ship's railing, Olica gazed at the distant land, her face uncharacteristically somber.
"Ulthuan… like a dream," she whispered, her voice tinged with sorrow.
_________________________
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! $5 for all!!]
[w w w . p a t r e o n .com / INNIT]
[+50 PowerStones = +1 Chapter] [+5 Reviews = +1 Chapter]