The smell... that was the thing nobody ever put in the songs.
The bards, they sing about glory and clashing steel, about the Enmagic crackling like a storm in a bottle, pop, hiss, all pretty colors.
But the Throne Room of the Moonclaw? It smelled like a crypt that hadn't been opened in a thousand cycles. Like copper and old fear.
Wilhelm Storm leaned against a pillar black, obsidian stuff, slick and cold as a serpent's belly and gazed up. You couldn't see the ceiling. It was just gone.
Swallowed by the gloom kilometers above. This whole place...
it wasn't a castle, it was a mountain carved into a tomb. Shadows clung to the high arches like starving bats.
He started picking at a loose thread on his cuff. Annoying little thing. More annoying than the screaming, anyway.
"Mercy!" King Hartmut Bladeblood squealed.
He didn't look like a King. Didn't look like the big bad wolf of the Moonclaw. Just a heap of gray fur and shivering flesh huddled at the foot of that ugly chair.
The Shard Throne. Looked uncomfortable. Who sits on broken glass? Masochists. And Kings. Same thing, really.
"Mercy," the old man wheezed again, spit dribbling down his chin, echoing too loud in the cavernous dark.
"You... you cannot. My brothers... the Firelands... the dragons... they will burn the zones. Every square inch of the grid. Burn it!"
Brandan wasn't listening. Or maybe he was, but the sound was just fuel.
Wilhelm watched his brother. Big man. Massive. Brandan Stormsong. Right now, he just looked like a thunderstorm stuffed inside a suit of black armor.
He was breathing hard, great heaving breaths that rattled his chest plates. His hammer Gods, that ridiculous thing rested on the floor, cracking the ancient black tiles.
"Brandan, wait."
That was Lydia.
Wilhelm's lovely, venomous, headache of a wife. She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharp against the vast emptiness of the room.
Click, click, squish. She looked tiny against the gigantic statues looming in the shadows, but she walked like she owned every kilometer of stone.
Every inch the Ironvine she was. Golden chalice, poison wine, all that rot.
She didn't look at Wilhelm. Like looking at him might smudge her soul.
"Think," she hissed, her voice bouncing off the far-off walls, sounding ghostly. She put a hand near Brandan's arm but didn't touch him. Smart. Don't touch the bear when he's frothing. "He is useless dead.
He is meat. Alive? He is a key. We take him hostage. We bleed his coffers dry.
We use him to force his siblings to heel. If you kill him now, Brandan, you start a war that won't end until the very lights of the dome die out."
Hartmut looked up, hope flashing in those watery, rheumy eyes. "Yes! Yes! A hostage! Valuable! I am... I am very valuable!"
Pathetic.
Wilhelm pushed himself off the cold black pillar. The movement made him sway a little.
He wasn't drunk not really, mostly the adrenaline fading, or maybe the fumes of blood but he liked to let people think the floor was tilting.
Keeps expectations low. He ambled forward, hand resting lazily on the pommel of his sword.
"See, that sounds like a lot of paperwork, love," Wilhelm said. His voice floated up into the darkness above, small and insignificant.
He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand toward the high, unseen shadows where the faint, magical ghost-lights flickered like dying stars.
"Keeping him fed. Walking him. Scooping up his little droppings. And the barking? Ugh. Can you imagine the barking echoing in a place like this at three in the morning?"
Lydia whipped her head around. Her eyes, those cold Anunnaki eyes, narrowed into slits. "Shut up, Wilhelm. You hold your tongue when the adults are speaking of strategy."
"Strategy!" Wilhelm laughed. A bark of a laugh that sounded wrong in this sacred, terrifying cathedral. He scuffed his boot near Hartmut's nose.
The King flinched. "He says his brothers will burn us. You say they'll negotiate. I say... who cares?" Wilhelm leaned in, getting right into Lydia's personal space, grinning that crooked, Archangel-pretty grin that he knew she hated. "If he's dead, he's quiet. I like quiet. Brandan likes quiet. Don't you, brother?"
Wilhelm looked at Brandan.
The big man was shaking. The veins in his neck were popping out, thick as ropes. He wasn't seeing Hartmut. He was seeing Her. Lisa. The Falken girl.
"He took her," Brandan whispered. His voice was like grinding tectonic plates.
"He's a political asset " Lydia started, her voice rising, shrill, fighting the oppressive weight of the room. She sensed it slipping. She was clutching at smoke.
"He took her," Brandan said louder. The grip on his hammer tightened. The leather groaned.
Hartmut saw it then. The end. "No... please... I am the King! The Anunnaki anointed me! I "
"Eh, the gods are probably busy," Wilhelm muttered, checking his fingernails in the dim, cold light. "Shift change at the gates, maybe."
"BRANDAN NO!" Lydia screamed.
Brandan didn't just swing the hammer. He unmade the space in front of him.
The sound wasn't a thud. It was a wet explosion. Like dropping a melon off the top of one of these gargantuan towers. CRUNCH-SPLAT.
Blood sprayed. Everywhere. Dark, almost black in the gloom. It hit Lydia's pristine tunic. It splattered across Wilhelm's boots.
He didn't move, just blinked slowly as a drop of royal red landed on his cheek.
"Messy," Wilhelm observed, voice soft. "Very messy."
Brandan didn't stop.
The first hit killed the King. The second hit turned the chest into paste.The third strike was unnecessary.
Pure malice. Or maybe just boredom.The echo ran for miles up the walls.
It hit with a dull thud, followed by another, deeper sound. Then a wet, sickening squelch that signaled the end.
Lydia stood there, mouth open, pale as a sheet of paper. Her "strategy" was currently being scraped off the floor tiles. She looked horrified.
Not because a man was dying Lydia would slit a throat to save a coin but because she had lost control.
Wilhelm wiped the blood off his cheek with a thumb, tasted it. Metallic. "Vintage," he murmured.
Brandan finally stopped. He stood over the ruin of flesh and fur, chest heaving, the hammer dripping thick, dark sludge. The silence that rushed back into the titanic room was heavy, suffocating.
The cold magic lights far above blinked, indifferent. The war was outside, waiting to kick the door down, but in here, in this belly of stone, it was just the three of them and the stain.
Brandan dropped the hammer. It clangored loud enough to wake the dead, though it wouldn't wake Hartmut. He looked at his hands. Shaking.
He looked lost. Like a boy who broke his toy and realized the pieces don't fit anymore.
Somewhere in the gory mess, something glittered in the gloom.
The Crown. Or... what was left of it. Twisted gold, a few gems, sticky with bits of brain.
Wilhelm walked over. He stepped carefully around the puddles. He bent down, picked up the twisted loop of gold. He spun it on his finger, the gems catching the weak light.
"Well," Wilhelm said, breaking the silence because the crushing darkness was getting boring. "Would you look at that."
He walked up to Brandan. The giant of a man stared down at him.
There was no hate in Brandan's eyes when he looked at Wilhelm. Never hate. Just... sadness. Deep, hollow exhaustion.
Wilhelm held out the gore-slicked crown.
"I think you dropped this, Your Grace," Wilhelm smirked, winking. "Try not to dent it more than it is, e
Lydia let out a noise a frustrated, strangled shriek of rage and stormed away toward the side doors, a tiny figure retreating into the swallowing dark, muttering about idiots and ashes.
Brandan looked at the crown. He didn't want it. He looked like he wanted to vomit.
But he took it. Because what else was there?
Wilhelm clapped him on the armored shoulder. "Come on then, brother.
Let's find a drink. I think we're going to need a lot of it before the blade-blood brothers come knocking."
He turned and swayed toward the exit, his silhouette dwarfed by the gigantism of the door frame, his hands fluttering at his sides, wondering if there was any rum left in this nightmarish city.
[ SYSTEM SCAN: TARGET - Brandan Stormsong ]
Previous Power: 500.000 Spirit
Event: Kingslaying (Critical Victory)
Target Power: High King Hartmut (300.000 SP)
Absorbed Essence: +400.000 SP
Current Spirit Power: 900.000 SP
-- ACTION COST ANALYSIS --
Weapon: Titan Hammer
Move: Executioner's Swing (Tier 3 Impact)
Base Cost: 800 ml
Efficiency Calculation:
(800 ml) * (100.000 / 500.000 SP)= 800 * 0.2
NET BLOOD COST: -160 ml
They left the Throne Room through the Hall of Silenced Tongues,
a claustrophobic corridor lined with statues of past Stewards who had their mouths chiseled off a subtle architectural reminder that in the Moonclaw, the only good opinion is an unvoiced one.
The air here tasted different, less like blood and more like theStatic Dust that falls from the mana lamps when they haven't been cleaned in a century.
The heavy, groaning thud of Brandan's boots on the polished black floor was the only rhythm Wilhelm knew anymore.
Beside him, the Titan walked, crown dripping gore, his face an empty house with the lights turned off.
They passed through the Great Arches, those monstrous things built to make gods feel small, and emerged onto a suspended bridge.
Below them, the bowels of the Moonclaw citadel twisted like the guts of a starved beast sharp spires, glowing green fog, and silence that felt heavier than stone.
Then the shadows moved. Not wind. Shadows.
Six men dropped from the vaulted ceiling, their landing silent as smoke. Bladeblood Elite Tincti.
The real nasty ones. Their armor wasn't the ceremonial trash. This was combat-grade dull steel, etched with runes that screamed, "I am going to hurt you very efficiently."
The leader, a man with a face like a slapped ham, raised a jagged longsword.
"Traitors!" he hissed, voice rattling in his helmet. "For King Hartmut! For the True Blood!"
Wilhelm stumbled a little, catching himself on the railing.
"Oh, look, brother," he drawled, swaying like a drunk on a schooner. "Enthusiastic greeting committee. Though I think they missed the memo about the 'King' part being past tense." He made a vague, fluttering gesture with his hands. "More... late tense? Deceased tense? What's the grammar for regicide?"
The leader didn't laugh. He lunged. His sword, coated in a purple Shadow Blade aura, hummed with lethal intent.
Brandan growled a sound like rocks grinding and raised his Titan Hammer.
But he was slow. Grief is a heavy armor.
Wilhelm sighed. "Always me. Always the charming one who has to do the legwork."
His hand snapped to the hilt of his rapier. The thin blade hissed free.
But Wilhelm knew the math. 30,000 Spirit. Against Elites with equal or greater juice.
A head-on clash? Suicide. He needed chaos.
He didn't parry. He dropped. He fell to one knee, the Shadow Blade whistling over his head, cutting a lock of his hair.
[ COMBAT LOG: EVASION ]
Wilhelm slapped his free hand onto the bridge's cold metal.
"Slip," he whispered.
Skill: Sheet Ice (Tier 1)
Base Cost: 100 ml.
[ EFFICIENCY CHECK ]
Formula: 100 ml * (100,000 / 30,000 SP)
100 * 3.33
Net Cost: -333 ml
The cost hit him like a punch to the gut. His veins felt like they were being siphoned dry.
A metallic taste filled his mouth. But the ice spread, a treacherous glaze under the Tincti's feet.
The leader's boot skidded. He flailed, arms pinwheeling, dignity gone.
Wilhelm used the momentum. He spun, his rapier darting out like a viper's tongue. Not for the armor. For the gap at the knee.
Schwick.
The tip bit deep. The Tincti howled.
"Gravity," Wilhelm grinned, blood staining his teeth, "is such a harsh mistress, isn't she?"
Two more came at him. Swords glowing with Fire Blade (Tier 1).
"Heat?" Wilhelm laughed, backing up to the railing, looking like he was about to fall. "Bit gauche for a Tuesday, don't you think?"
He waited. Waited until they were close. Until he could smell their sweat and cheap ale.
Then he grabbed a loose chain hanging from a gargoyle above. He pulled hard.
The gargoyle head snapped off. A chunk of stone the size of a barrel plummeted.
Skill: Boulder Toss (Tier 3 - Improvised)
This wasn't magic. This was gravity. But he guided it with a tiny push of Wind Gust (Tier 1).
[ EFFICIENCY CHECK ]
Wind Gust Base: 60 ml.
60 * 3.33 = 200 ml.
Total Blood Lost: 533 ml.
Wilhelm swayed. The world tilted gray. But the wind pushed the rock just enough.
CRUNCH.
The stone smashed into the first attacker, folding him like wet parchment. His friend stumbled over the body.
Wilhelm was there. Rapier flash. Throat.
[ FATAL STRIKE. ENEMY NEUTRALIZED ]
Reward:+2.000 SPIRIT
Another rushed Brandan. The giant didn't even use magic. He just swatted the man with the back of his hand, like a fly. The Tincti flew off the bridge, screaming into the dark.
"Nice aim, big guy," Wilhelm panted, leaning heavily on his sword. "Though your form was sloppy. Five out of ten."
Only the leader remained, limping, his knee ruined. He looked at his dead men. He looked at Brandan's gory hammer.
"Monster," he spat at Brandan.
"Correction," Wilhelm stepped in, wiping his blade on his sleeve. "That's High King Slayer to you." He pointed his sword at the man's throat. "Now. Option A: You join your friends in the great downward trajectory. Option B: You tell us where the 'Good Wine' is kept. I am parched."
The Tincti snarled and tried to rise.
Wilhelm didn't hesitate.
A flick of the wrist. A thrust. The light went out of the man's eyes.
[ FATAL STRIKE. ENEMY NEUTRALIZED ]
Reward: +2.000 SPIRIT
Accumulated: +4.000 SP
The air hummed. A golden light flared around Wilhelm's head. The rush of power was heady, dizzying, almost better than rum
[ LEVEL UP! ]
Wilhelm Storm Level: 14 ➔ 15.
Spirit Power: 30.000 ➔ 34.000.
New Skill Point Available.
He leaned against the railing, wheezing, clutching his chest. "Ow," he muttered. "Success hurts."
He looked at the leader's body.
A magnificent sword lay there. The hilt was carved from a single piece of pale, glowing meteorite. [ Starfall Blade ].
Wilhelm picked it up. It hummed. It felt alive.
[ ITEM SCAN: Starfall Blade (Legendary) ]
Effect: Grants 'Astral Fire' (Tier 3). +200% Damage vs Darkness.
Cost: 3,000 ml Activation.
Warning: Lethal to user with insufficient vitality.
Wilhelm stared at it. Three liters. That would kill him instantly. Turn him into a husk.
"Well," he murmured, spinning the deadly, beautiful thing. "Isn't she a thirsty bitch."
He looked at Brandan. "Here, big brother. A toothpick for you. I think my blood is too... peasant... for such fine tastes." He tossed the legendary blade to Brandan, who caught it numbly.
Wilhelm checked his ring. The red light was angry.
[ STATUS: Wilhelm Storm ]
Spirit Power: 34,000 (Level 15)
Blood Volume: 3,800 / 5,000 ml (Critically Low).
Active Debuff: Alcohol Withdrawal, Exhaustion.
He stumbled forward, slapping Brandan's back. "Right. XP farmed. Loot acquired. Now, about that drink..."
[ SYSTEM STATUS: CHARACTER SHEET ]
Subject: Wilhelm Storm (The Bastard) Current Status: Exhausted / Post-Combat Adrenaline / "Hungry"
CORE IDENTITYLevel: 15 (Level Up!)Caste: Archangel (Diluted Bloodline / "Bastard" Strain)Class: Arcane Rogue
II. PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES (The Chassis)
[VIGOR]: 10 (Peasant Standard) * Blood Pool: 3,800 / 5,000 ml (76% - STABLE)
[STRENGTH]: 9 (Peasant Standard) * Max Output: 450 (Baseline Human)
[ENDURANCE]: 8 (Fragile) * Defense Limit: 400 (Kinetic Absorb)
[RESISTANCE]: 11 (Baseline) * Thermal Limit: 55°C (Internal Heat Cap)
[AGILITY]: 10 (Slow) * Reaction Speed: 250 ms (0.25s Lag)
EFFICIENCY ANALYSISSpirit Power: 34,000 SPGlobal Constant: 100,000 Current Cost Multiplier: x 2.94Translation: You are paying triple for cheap magic. Grind harder.INVENTORYFeet: Weapon: Standard Steel Rapier (Chipped).Consumables:
SYSTEM STATUS: CHARACTER SHEET ]
Subject: Wilhelm Storm (The Bastard) Current Status: Exhausted / Post-Combat Adrenaline / "Hungry"
CORE IDENTITYLevel: 15 (Level Up!)Caste: Archangel (Diluted Bloodline / "Bastard" Strain)Class: Arcane Rogue
II. PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES (The Chassis)
[VIGOR]: 10 (Peasant Standard) * Blood Pool: 3,800 / 5,000 ml (76% - STABLE)
[STRENGTH]: 9 (Peasant Standard) * Max Output: 450 (Baseline Human)
[ENDURANCE]: 8 (Fragile) * Defense Limit: 400 (Kinetic Absorb)
[RESISTANCE]: 11 (Baseline) * Thermal Limit: 55°C (Internal Heat Cap)
[PERCEPTION] 0
[AGILITY]: 10 (Slow) * Reaction Speed: 250 ms (0.25s Lag)
EFFICIENCY ANALYSISSpirit Power: 34,000 SPGlobal Constant: 100,000 Current Cost Multiplier: x 2.94Translation: You are paying triple for cheap magic. Grind harder.
INVENTORYFeet: Weapon: Standard Steel Rapier (Chipped).Consumables: