The imposing gates of Fort Ironwall, stronghold of the Ironclad Sentinels legion, groaned open just wide enough to admit A-Dunce, Rock, and Dunce Rockforce. Sentries in gleaming plate armor eyed the trio warily, their hands never far from weapon pommels. After tense scrutiny of Hawkeye's gilded falcon emblem token, they were escorted to the command center – a vast tent bustling with activity and maps.
Inside, Cipher Light Claw, acting commander of the fifty-thousand-strong Sentinels, rose from a strategizing table littered with terrain models. His keen eyes scanned them, lingering longest on A-Dunce's distinctive robe – dark velvet adorned with the intricate, glowing sigil of the Arcane Syndicate and a single, platinum-threaded hexagram on the shoulder, marking Syndicate *Leadership*.
"Honored guests," Seviel began, his tone carefully neutral, masking surprise at the leader-robe wearer's apparent youth. "To what do we owe the privilege of a visit from the Syndicate and bearers of the Governor's Seal? Does Governor Aldos send word?"
A-Dunce, flustered by the formality, bowed clumsily. "N-No, sir. We're just passing through. Governor Aldos simply said the token would grant us safe passage through any Sentinel outpost on our way... into the Sundered Lands." The last part hung heavy in the air, instantly tightening the atmosphere. Officers exchanged sharp glances. *Going* into enemy territory?
Dunce Rockforce, unable to contain his pride in his friend, blurted out, "My brother here just got promoted! Syndicate Leadership, by Master Cary himself!"
Rock elbowed Dunce Rockforce sharply, stepping forward to smooth things over. "Commander Brightclaw, Dunce Rockforce speaks rashly. We *are* from Dunce's Roost, bearing Governor Eagleeye's token in good faith. We seek only transit through your lines towards the Sundered border. No messages, just passage."
Seviel exhaled slightly, the tension easing a fraction. *Not an official envoy, then.* Still, a *young* Leadership-rank magus was unheard of. "Very well. Provisions and an escort shall be arranged. Rest, refresh yourselves first." He gestured to an aide. "See our guests are accommodated and fed."
As A-Dunce pushed back his hood, revealing his youthful face, collective gasps echoed through the command tent. Seviel's composure slipped. "Leadership... you're barely past boyhood!"
A-Dunce flushed. "My... magic isn't that strong, really. Becoming Leadership... it was more luck than merit."
Seviel chuckled, a calculated sound. "Power speaks its own truth. The Arcane Syndicate doesn't award luck." His eyes, however, were sharp with suspicion after they'd left. The governor's token was genuine, true. But a teenaged Leadership-rank? Impossible. Or a dangerous ruse? The Sundered Lands were cunning. Could they be spies, exposed by the heavy border security, trying to slip back? His chief advisor voiced the fear Seviel wouldn't: *"Cut off their retreat. Hold them here."*
Rick Anvil, Seviel's brother and commander of the Second Legion, offered a solution over the strategic table. "Test him. We've got Syndicate personnel here. If he *is* Leadership, his power won't be subtle. Let me handle this." He strode out towards the mage encampment.
Meanwhile, in a supply tent turned temporary guest quarters, the trio devoured hearty rations. Their planning session on rescuing the abducted Elfkin was interrupted as Sire Spark, fiery-haired leader of the third battlemage cadre, entered with his Water-affiliated deputy. Both stiffened at the sight of the Leadership robe.
"Sire Spark," the fire mage introduced himself, bowing with barely concealed skepticism. "Third Cadre Lead. We heard Syndicate Leadership graces our fort. We pay our respects." He scrutinized A-Dunce. "Might we see your Syndicate Credentials?"
A-Dunce handed over the intricate platinum card, its surface humming with barely contained arcane energy. Serey's eyes widened minutely as he verified its potent signature – impossible to forge. He returned it, his tone shifting to genuine, if cautious, respect. "My apologies for earlier doubt, Leadership A-Dunce."
Rock saw through the charade. "You were sent to sniff us out, weren't you? After waving the Governor's token, *this* is the hospitality we get?"
Dunce Rockforce slammed his massive fists onto the table, sending plates clattering. "Enough talk! Brother, A-Dunce, let's walk out. See who dares stop us!" He reached for the massive twin battle-axes strapped to his back.
A-Dunce grabbed his arm. "Dunce, wait! It's understandable, I guess..." He turned back to Serey, looking troubled. "Sir Sparkspark, my... specialty isn't direct elemental manipulation. My significant power lies elsewhere." He paused, then Rock nudged him meaningfully. "...A Summoning."
Serey's brow furrowed. "A... Summoning?"
"Of considerable magnitude," Rock stated grimly.
Dunce Rockforce grinned, a feral expression. "Call up your dragon, A-Dunce! Show 'em what *real* power looks like!"
*Dragon?!* The revelation hit the mages like a thunderclap. Summoning a Dragon? That explained the Leadership rank instantly, but seemed equally fantastical. Serey, intrigued and pressured by Rick Anvil's demand for proof, agreed. "We'll prepare a containment ward."
Outside, hundreds gathered – soldiers, officers, the entire hundred-man mage cadre. Seviel remained conspicuously absent. Rick Anvil stood at the forefront, arms crossed, a skeptical sneer on his face. He gave the signal.
The battlemages began their chant. Runes flared, and a shimmering, multi-hued barrier snapped into existence over a large clearing – a one-way ward designed to contain power, not weaken it from outside. Serey gestured. "The ward is set, Leadership A-Dunce. Containment only. Please proceed."
A-Dunce stepped through the humming barrier. Inside, he closed his eyes, focusing inward. His connection wasn't to some nebulous outer plane, but to the slumbering giant nestled within the heart of his relic – the Dragon's Tear amulet. *'Holy Evil? You awake?'*
Holy Evil's consciousness stirred, a wave of sleepy affection washing over A-Dunce. *'Brother? Miss you!'*
*'Sorry to wake you, buddy. Need you out here. Just for a bit? And… maybe a snack? Miss you too.'* A pulse of excitement surged through the mental link. *'Snack? Okay! Be good!'*
A-Dunce opened his eyes, his body radiating a pure, cleansing energy – the subtle power of the Aether Flow he cultivated. He raised his hands, the Dragon's Tear at his chest glowing fiercely blue. "By the blood covenant, awaken!" he chanted, the words resonating strangely.
The *roar* tore through the mountain air like a physical blow, shaking the earth underfoot. Within the swirling vortex of sapphire light, Holy Evil manifested. Silver scales, burnished by the sun, shimmered like liquid mercury. Wings, vast as storm clouds, snapped open with a leathery thunderclap. Seven wicked golden horns crowned his wedge-shaped head, and eyes the color of molten gold swept across the stunned crowd. He stretched luxuriantly, shaking his massive body, radiating primal majesty and terrifying power.
A-Dunce leaped, landing lightly between Holy Evil's horns. He rubbed the smooth scales behind the ridge. "Missed you, big guy."
*'Missed you more, brother! Air feels good!'*
"Leadership! That's... magnificent!" Serey called, awe battling caution as the Dragon's inherent aura pressed against the straining ward. "You can withdraw it now!"
Holy Evil lowered his head, sniffing the air. *'Brother... smell food? Promise?'*
Rick Anvil, jaw slack and skepticism shattered, suddenly sprang to life. "Food! Of course! What... what does a Dragon eat?!" He practically sprinted towards the mess tents. Rick returned minutes later, staggering under a mountain of smoked meats and salted barrels – the fort's emergency rations, featuring massive quantities of tough, savory beef jerky.
As A-Dunce approached the barrier, Serey reluctantly signalled its lowering. Cipher Light Claw suddenly appeared, smooth as ever. "Leadership! My deepest apologies! Rick here acted rashly, without my orders! He'll be disciplined!" Rick played along, accepting the blame readily, eyes still glued to the magnificent creature. "My fault entirely, Leadership! Please accept my apology... and this jerky?" He offered the pile tentatively.
Holy Evil needed no invitation. In a blur of silver-grey scales, he was before Rick, who instinctively flinched back, eyes squeezed shut... only to hear a loud *crunch*. Holy Evil had deftly plucked an entire barrel of jerky from his hands. Holy Evil retreated to the center, settling down to devour his prize with gusto. Soon, only a lonely dried fish remained in the barrel bottom. Holy Evil eyed Rick again, then padded back over.
He rose onto his hind legs, dwarfing the stunned legion commander. With surprising gentleness, he tapped Rick's helmet twice with a massive foreclaw, then pointed emphatically at the fish scrap with the other. He tossed the fish into his cavernous maw, crunching loudly, his golden eyes fixed expectantly on Rick. Rick stared, speechless.
Seviel burst out laughing. "He's telling you he *loves* jerky! Get more!"
For the next hour, Fort Ironwall emptied its jerky reserves. Thirty pounds vanished down Holy Evil's gullet. He rewarded Seviel and Rick, who had personally supervised the haul, with surprisingly affectionate nudges from his huge head, a low rumble of pure contentment vibrating in his chest.
Finally, stuffed and basking in the attention, Holy Evil rumbled a farewell to A-Dunce. With a brilliant flash of blue light and a final, echoing chime, he vanished back into the Dragon's Tear. An audible sigh of awe and loss swept the assembled soldiers.
Seviel, beaming like Rick had won the lottery, stepped forward, clapping A-Dunce on the shoulder. "Leadership A-Dunce! Truly breathtaking! Our deepest apologies again for the... misunderstanding. Please, honor us by joining our victory feast tonight!" He glared pointedly at Rick, who mumbled something about docked pay, but looked more thrilled than ashamed.
Rick leaned in conspiratorially. "Leadership... ever consider parting with a Dragon? Name your price! My entire estate, command share... anything!"
A-Dunce's face hardened slightly. "Holy Evil is not livestock, Commander Anvil. He's family. And the summoning is deeply personal." He looked towards the imposing peaks marking the Sundered Lands border. "Our mission is urgent."
Seviel snapped orders. "Escort the Leadership and his companions, plus provisions for the *Sylvan Wilds*, to the western gate immediately! Give them every advantage!"
The feast was indeed massive, but A-Dunce, Rock, and Dunce Rockforce ate swiftly, focused. Seviel raised a toast. "To A-Dunce Leadership! To the Deterrence of Holy Evil! May the winds guide your passage, and may your claws rend the darkness!" His words echoed through the mess hall, filled with newfound, ironclad respect earned not by politics, but by the awe-inspiring display of power that was Holy Evil. The Ironclad Sentinels had witnessed a legend walking among them, and the name A-Dunce, the unassuming young Dragon Summoner, would ripple through the ranks for years to come.