Klaus Sev tightened his grip on his dagger, its worn handle cold against his palm as he stood at Eldwick's southern gate. The night air was thick with smoke, the torches along the broken walls flickering like dying stars. The cobblestones under his boots were slick with blood from yesterday's bandit raid, when he'd spilled blood to earn Duke Harlan's nod.
But tonight, the darkness beyond the gate held something worse. The Mark of Ascendancy burned in his chest, its heat a sharp warning, like a blade pressed to his ribs. Aetherion was no tame world—monsters roamed its plains and forests, their power and cunning rivaling any cultivator, and Eldwick was their latest target.
His blue cloak, torn and stamped with the Sev lion crest, snapped in the wind. The black runestone in his pocket pulsed, fueling the First Flame of his Early Iron Body stage. His muscles were harder now, his senses keener, but he was still far from the power he craved—to rule, to make the world kneel. The Mark's last words echoed: [The Unbowed proves his worth: Power draws eyes.]
Proving himself to the duke wasn't enough. He needed Eldwick to fear him, the Varns to choke on their scorn, and his brother Torren to see he wasn't the lazy noble anymore. Tonight, he'd carve that truth into flesh and bone.
A knight's scream shattered the silence.
"Wyrm!"
The man stumbled through the gate, his armor gashed, blood streaming from his leg.
"Ironfang Wyrm! It's coming!"
Klaus's heart pounded, the Mark's heat flaring like a forge. Ironfang Wyrm—Elder Marin had warned him of these Ashen Plains beasts. Thirty feet of steel-hard scales, fangs like swords, and minds sharp enough to outwit a warlord. Iron Body-stage monsters, equal to Klaus's cultivation, but bred for slaughter.
The townsfolk behind the gate screamed, scrambling for alleys. Knights formed ranks, their spears shaking. Klaus spotted Torren, his older brother, barking orders, his polished armor catching the torchlight. Always the hero, always perfect. It burned Klaus, but he shoved it down. This wasn't Torren's fight. It was his.
He turned to Lila, the maid who'd been his shadow since the cosmic battle. Her hazel eyes were steady, her brown hair tied back, a knife gripped in her calloused hand. She wasn't like the others—cowering, useless. She'd survived the Ashen Plains' bandits, and her loyalty was iron. But loyalty wasn't enough tonight. Klaus needed her alive, not bleeding out.
"Lila," he said, his voice sharp. "Get the wounded back. Keep them out of this."
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Don't die," she said, her voice low but firm. She ran to the fallen knight, kneeling to bind his wound with a strip of cloth. Klaus watched her for a heartbeat, then turned away. She was useful, loyal, but he couldn't afford to care. Not now.
The ground trembled, a rumble growing into a roar that shook the walls. Klaus braced himself, the runestone's warmth steadying his hands. The wyrm burst through the gate, a coiling mass of black scales and glowing red eyes. Its fangs gleamed, each as long as his arm, and its tail lashed, smashing a cart to splinters. The knights shouted, thrusting spears, but the scales turned the blows aside like rain.
The wyrm hissed, a sound like grinding steel, and its eyes swept the chaos—not wild, but calculating, picking targets like a general. Klaus felt a chill. This thing wasn't just strong. It was smart, maybe smarter than him.
Torren charged, his sword slashing a shallow cut along the wyrm's flank. The beast roared, its tail slamming Torren into a wall. He crumpled, groaning, his armor dented. The knights wavered, their spears useless.
Klaus cursed under his breath. He wasn't trained like Torren, wasn't a knight, but the First Flame burned hot in his chest, urging him forward. His vision blurred, and golden runes glowed in his mind. The Mark spoke, cold and commanding: [The Unbowed faces the Ironfang: Sacrifice forges victory.]
Klaus scanned the knights, his eyes landing on one—Sir Dren, a grizzled man with a red sash marking him as Varn's man. Dren was shouting orders, his spear raised, but his eyes flicked to Klaus with a sneer. Varn's knights had mocked him for years, calling him lazy, weak. Klaus's lips curled.
Dren would serve a purpose tonight.
"Dren!" Klaus shouted, pointing at the wyrm's head.
"Draw its eyes! Now!"
Dren hesitated, then nodded, charging with his spear. The wyrm's head snapped toward him, its jaws opening. Klaus moved, his Iron Body speed carrying him to the beast's flank. As Dren thrust his spear, the wyrm lunged, its fangs closing around him. Dren screamed, blood spraying as the beast shook him like a rag. The knights froze, horrified, but Klaus didn't flinch.
He'd needed the distraction, and Dren had given it. He leaped onto the wyrm's back, his dagger slashing for a gap in the scales. The blade bit, drawing blood, and the wyrm thrashed, its tail smashing another wall.
Lila's voice cut through the chaos.
"My Lord!" She was at the gate, a torch in one hand, her knife in the other. She hurled the torch at the wyrm's face, the flames sparking in its eyes. The beast recoiled, giving Klaus a moment to climb higher, aiming for its neck. Lila dragged a wounded knight back, her movements quick despite the blood on her hands.
Klaus's chest tightened—she was risking her life, but she was still here, still loyal. He pushed the thought away. Focus.
The wyrm's eyes locked on Klaus, its intelligence chilling. It coiled, feigning a lunge, then whipped its tail at him. Klaus jumped, landing on the cobblestones, and grabbed a fallen spear. The wyrm's jaws snapped, missing him by inches. He slid under its belly, thrusting the spear into a soft spot. Blood gushed, hot and black, and the wyrm roared, its thrashing shaking the ground.
Klaus climbed again, reaching its head. He stabbed the spear into its eye, twisting until the red glow dimmed. The wyrm convulsed, its scales scraping the stones, and collapsed, dead.
Klaus staggered off, panting, his leg bleeding from a scale's cut. The knights stared, their faces pale. Townsfolk peeked from hiding, whispering his name. Torren limped forward, clutching his side, his eyes wide with shock.
"Klaus… you sacrificed Dren."
Klaus wiped his dagger on his cloak, his voice cold.
"He was Varn's man. He served his purpose."
Torren's jaw clenched, his voice low. "That was cruel. He was one of us."
Klaus smirked, his green eyes hard. "Us? There's only me, brother. Get used to it."
A faint hiss came from the wyrm's corpse. Klaus spun, dagger raised, but it wasn't the beast. A small shape slithered from under its scales—a hatchling, no longer than his arm, its black scales glinting, its red eyes sharp but weak. An Ironfang Wyrm, newborn, Early Iron Body like Klaus, but fragile.
The Mark burned, runes glowing, and a voice whispered: [The Unbowed binds the Ironfang: Power breeds loyalty.]
Klaus knelt, his hand outstretched. The hatchling hissed, then stilled, its eyes meeting his. Something passed between them—a spark, like the First Flame. It slithered to him, coiling around his arm, its scales cool but alive.
Hoofbeats broke the silence. Duke Harlan rode through the gate, his silver beard catching the torchlight, his men behind him. Lord Varn and Cedric followed, their faces unreadable. The duke dismounted, his eyes on the wyrm's corpse, then Klaus and the hatchling.
"You slew an Ironfang Wyrm," he said, his voice heavy. "And tamed its kin. No small feat, Sev."
Klaus stood, the hatchling coiled on his shoulder, its eyes glinting.
"Eldwick's mine. I protect it. I claim it." He said.
Varn's voice was smooth, like a blade. "A monster's death doesn't make you a lord. Eldwick needs strength, not beasts."
Klaus's jaw tightened, the Mark stirring. Runes glowed, and the voice spoke: [The Unbowed stands unbroken: Power carves its own path.]
He met Varn's gaze. "Strength? I killed a wyrm while your knight died screaming. Push me, Varn, and you'll join him."
Cedric stepped forward, his bruised lip curling, his eyes flicking to Lila, who stood nearby, bloodied but steady.
"Careful, Sev. Your allies might not last long."
Klaus's hand twitched toward his dagger, but he caught Cedric's smirk—too knowing, too sharp. The Varns were scheming, and Lila was in their sights. He'd watch her closer now. She was loyal, but loyalty made her a target.
Duke Harlan's laugh cut the tension. "Bold words, young Sev. I like your fire. Tomorrow, we'll settle Eldwick's fate. For now, rest."
As the duke and Varns left, Lila approached, her knife sheathed, her eyes on the hatchling.
"You're hurt," she said, nodding at Klaus's leg.
"And… that thing. You're keeping it?"
Klaus glanced at the hatchling, its scales glinting.
"It's mine. Like Eldwick. Like power." His voice softened, just a fraction.
"You did well tonight. Stay sharp."
Lila nodded, her face unreadable.
"Always." She turned to help the wounded, but Klaus caught a flicker in her eyes—trust, maybe, or something else. He pushed it down. Trust was a weakness, and the Varns were watching.
Torren lingered, his voice low. "You're changing, Klaus. That hatchling, Dren's death… you're not the brother I knew."
Klaus's smirk returned. "Good. That brother was weak."
He limped to the wyrm's corpse, where knights were cutting out its core—a glowing orb pulsing with energy. Monster cores fueled cultivation, and this one was his. The hatchling hissed softly, its bond with Klaus growing. Aetherion was vast, its monsters endless—from the Ashen Plains' wyrms to the Starlit Empire's phoenixes.
Klaus would face them all, with the hatchling at his side, and he'd grow stronger. The Varns, Torren, the duke—they'd learn to fear him. And Lila? She'd live, for now. But Cedric's smirk burned in his mind. The Varns would pay, and blood would answer.