“This… is mine?”
“It is, My Lord,” Ark said, his voice reverent. “The sole Leviathan Armour Set. Forged from the combination of Dwarven and Elden Ore. It weighs 1,500 kilograms. It’s stronger than the Guardian Armour tenfold. With this, you’ll be unstoppable on the battlefield. Unless you cross paths with an ancient-ranked mage or knight, you’ll be a walking fortress—an unbreachable citadel clad in steel.”
While Ark spoke, Asher’s hand slid across the cold blade resting beside the armor rack. He lifted it fluidly, the long blade singing as it left its sheath. He tested the weight with a slow upward arc, then twirled it with precise grace. Not even a whisper escaped his lips, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“Perfect balance,” he finally murmured. The words weren’t loud, but Nero, ever watchful, heard them.
He struck a few more cuts through the air before lifting the round shield, its polished surface without a scratch. Then he adjusted his stance and called out.
“Nero.”
The BloodBlade lunged forward like a predator uncaged. His sword howled through the air, striking the raised shield with brutal force. Sparks exploded outward like dying stars, but Asher did not flinch.
Instead, he stepped forward.
Nero’s eyes widened as Asher tightened his arm and shoved the shield upward. Caught off guard, Nero stumbled back—and the next moment, the shield’s razor edge was poised just beneath his chin, humming with unspent force.
“Impressive,” Nero muttered.
Asher lowered the shield, lips curving into a smile. The sword was longer than a traditional longsword—perhaps a bastard sword in size—but suited his towering frame. Even now, he could feel his old blades, Euodias and Ithamar, starting to feel like feathers in comparison.
“I’m the first Ashbourne to use a sword and a shield,” he said, more to himself than to Nero.
“You’re one of the greatest Ashbournes to ever live,” Nero replied. “Soon, you’ll surpass even the Firstborn, and then… sword and shield won’t seem so strange. It’ll become a legacy.”
Asher scoffed, a soft sound edged with pride. But the smile lingered.
“Back when Lord Zenas wielded dual blades, everyone else used swords and shields,” Nero continued. “Now, the trend’s flipped—most carry a single blade. Dual wielding isn’t as rare anymore. But you… you bring back tradition while forging something new.”
Asher’s expression hardened. “It’s tradition that would’ve kept me from the throne. Had there been another male, a trueborn heir with the Ashbourne trait, I wouldn’t be Duke.”
He turned from Nero and strode out of the chamber. Behind him, the blacksmiths followed wordlessly. Asher stopped as they neared the elevator. Glancing back over his shoulder:
“I saw something… strange above. What else are you making?”
Ark and Dan exchanged glances and silently entered the lift. The platform creaked as it ascended, rising above the forge to a mezzanine level.
Dan pointed toward several massive workbenches lined with scale plates and rawhide. Armour—for the polar wolves. The Regent proposed forming a beast regiment. There are over 3,000 white polar wolves alive. We’re crafting barding light enough for speed, but thick enough to repel arrows.”
Asher blinked. The thought had never occurred to him.
“Do it. A month from now, we march into House Nubis territory. Beast cavalry will serve us well.” Then, turning to Nero, “Remind me to triple Silverleaf’s security. This forge is the mind of the dukedom. If our blueprints are stolen, we lose more than tools—we lose what makes us stronger.”
Nero nodded.
But just as Asher turned to leave, he froze mid-step. His brow furrowed. Something tugged at his thoughts— an unfinished business.
He spun back toward the blacksmiths, eyes sharp. “What about the war machines? Any progress?”
Ark straightened. “We’ve begun full-scale production. Which models do you want prioritized?”
“The Dragon Head Ballistas. The Orc Siege Catapults. And the Titan X.”
“Fifty of each?”
Asher nodded. “Fifty.”
The blacksmiths bowed low. “We shall begin immediately.”
—
Elsewhere…
While Duke Asher visited the secrets of his steel-wrought dominion, the golden sugar burst into the northern markets like a comet set ablaze—radiant, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.
It whipped up a frenzy greater than the famed olive oil that once turned the tide of the north’s importance. The sugar’s effects were almost miraculous: sharper minds, stronger joints, less pain, better sleep.
In mere days, Goshen became a glowing hive of traders, voices echoing through packed streets like rolling thunder. Even far-off merchants from Mormont trampled over hills and frostbitten paths to seize a piece of the sweet merchandise.
It would be stupidity—no, sacrilege—to ignore such a phenomenon.
Even in the outer dominions, nobles began hoarding it. The elderly who once lay bedridden now walked unassisted, and chronic coughs vanished with a spoonful of the syrup. In the halls of the desperate and powerful alike, golden sugar became not just a delicacy—but a divine reprieve.
Seated upon his fur-cloaked dais in the frigid stone hall of Castle Marrowind, Count Marrowind watched the court proceedings with a dispassionate scowl. Yet his hand clutched the cup of warm tea unnaturally tight.
A merchant approached, his voice nervous beneath the gossip of nobles and the mutters of peasants.
“My lord. The Council placed an embargo on House Ashbourne’s products… yet golden sugar has flooded our markets unchecked. The embargo is being ignored.”
Whispers stilled. Several nobles stiffened, some even clutched their robes tighter. Count Marrowind’s jaw tightened. He ground his molars like flintstones beneath his breath.
It reminded him.
Asher Ashbourne hadn’t just survived.
He had thrived.
His sugar was now being worshipped like medicine from the heavens. Marrowind’s cold blue eyes narrowed. Internally, he sneered.
‘Keep fattening your domain, boy. The fatter the calf, the sweeter the feast.’
“I see,” the Count said, rising to his feet, masking the tightness in his joints. “I shall look into this matter immediately.”
He gestured curtly. The merchant bowed, retreating from the hall. None dared mention the truth: Count Marrowind himself had tasted the golden sugar just that morning—and felt his back pain vanish like mist at dawn.
Let the cow grow fat.
Let House Ashbourne bloom.
It would all belong to the nobles of the Eternal Immortal Empire.
Like that, one month went by.
In the Deep Chambers of Nineveh…
The stone beneath Asher’s boots was cold—damp from the moisture that clung to these underground walls. The cavern stretched out in darkness, vast and silent. There were no torches, no glowing crystals, just pitch black ahead.
He stood alone in the hallway. The others had stopped behind him.
Before him loomed a massive cage of thick iron bars. The smell of earth, rust, and fur hung heavy in the air. Somewhere inside, something stirred.
Then it came—the low growl.
It rumbled through the stone beneath his feet, through the air, through his chest. Deep. Raw. Almost too heavy to be called a sound. It was more like the mountain itself was groaning.
They had told him.
Sirius has changed since the attack. The pain pushed the beast side too far. He barely listens now.
Asher said the name softly.
“Sirius.”
Stillness followed.
Then, in a flash of red, a single giant eye snapped open. A heartbeat later, two deep thuds echoed as the massive head moved forward. Out of the dark emerged a white-furred titan, his breath steaming in the cold air. He was over twenty feet tall—three times Asher’s height.
Compared to him, Asher looked small. Fragile.
But the growling faded as the beast saw him. The snarl turned into a softer rumble. Slowly, Asher raised a hand and placed it against Sirius’s snout, fingers brushing the warm fur.
“It’s time,” he said quietly. “I’m about to leave, and I need you to protect the domain until I return.”
Sirius blinked once, eye narrowing.
“You can’t come with me,” Asher added with a faint smile. “The wall might be attacked after I’m gone. You’re the strongest one left here. Make sure nothing crosses it.”
The wolf growled—a low, frustrated sound—but leaned into Asher’s hand. He didn’t want to stay behind. But he understood.
Clang!
The chains fell loose as Asher unlocked the gate.
“You went in there for their safety, huh?” Asher muttered, watching as Sirius stepped out of the cage.
The ground shook under the beast’s steps.
Then, something echoed in Asher’s mind.
[Ding! Your pet beast is available for another upgrade!]