Later that day, I was awoken by a servant’s gentle tapping on the door to the guest quarters I had slept in. Likely less than a half night’s rest, but it would be enough to make it through the rest of the day. I was not looking forward to today, in the least. The tedium of orchestrating all the after-battle details was often more difficult than the combat itself, especially for a wizard of my ranking.

No doubt, the new Count and other nobility would want to provide me with the details on deaths and injuries from our soldiery. The costs incurred, and the plunder gained. I suspected there would be a large amount of coin and weaponry obtained, especially considering the number of losses incurred by the enemy. Yet, I had no interest in those details.

I had already plundered what little I could from the Grand Magus Ison, the artifacts and magical items not holding up to the fifth-tier earth magic curse as well as I had hoped. The gains of any substance turned out to be little more than an inert dungeon core and the holy spike that had pierced the shriveled heart. Both the heart and the cage were nothing more than gravel. The dungeon core and holy spike were still valuable, but not as valuable as I had hoped. If the other fifth-tier mages had artifacts, then I would be interested.

With a taxed expression I followed the servant to where the nobility had gathered, the same hall we feasted at not even a full day prior. While I was somewhat refreshed, I could see by the sunken eyes and unbathed bodies that not many others had the same opportunity.

“Greetings, Savior!” Count Wilchrest boomed as I entered. The other conversations fell quiet, as I took in the audience before me. The Count, with his pig-nose, looked to have seen some battle. His previously polished armor was dented and scratched, but he showed no sign of injury himself.

Beside him, with a hand on his shoulder, Baroness Nix looked weary. Her armor had seen fire magic, with burnt holes that displayed scarred flesh. Many of the enchantments in her wardrobe were dulled or spent. Of all those in the room, she looked to be the most exhausted.

On the other side of the man, Baron Aide and his mother both stood gracefully, neither showing that they participated in the battle. They wore the same clothing as yesterday, but stood with an air of happiness. Mercenary captains, officers, and others throughout the room all had varying degrees of exhaustion on their faces, and I didn’t judge them for that.

I nodded back at the Count. “Good afternoon. Twas victory then?” I asked rhetorically.

The answer was a resounding cheer, with cups of wine or ale raised high in the air. I didn’t know if they were waiting on me to say as much or if it was another toast to winning the battle, but it made little difference to me. I took it with aplomb as I walked through the room to approach the Count and give answers to whatever questions he might need.

“Wizard Fargus, we have you to thank for this victory. Without your magic, Gold Castle would have been lost. I can see why the Count calls you Savior,” Baron Aide said after his mother whispered in his ear.

I returned his words with a smile and a nod. I didn’t need more people calling me Savior or granting me titles, and had learned that ignoring such things was often the best response. Support or denial would be seen as a reason to continue.

The Count spoke next, “Savior, we are looking for some direction for the forces united here. Even with our victory, none of our three houses could support an army of this size for long.”

I raised an eyebrow. They were asking me for coin on the back of victory? That was preposterous! I was about to say as much when Baroness Nix spoke first.

“What my beloved count is asking for is direction, Wizard Fargus. The town cannot feed all these soldiers, especially in its current state,” she spoke demurely, with a sultry glance at the Count.

My anger abated instantly. It was one thing to ask for coin, and another for a solution. “I suppose, I can come up with some direction for some of the soldiery. The farmsteads and citizens of Sena should be warned of the coming Pestilence. That would be a good task for the adventurers that joined us. The mercenaries and former bandits could be directed to provide additional defenses to those towns that might need it.” I mused as I proposed different solutions to the problem.

The Count coughed into a hand to draw my attention before he spoke again, “There is another small matter as well that we thought to consult you on.”

“Go on,” I answered.

“Savior, how best should we move people down from this raised town?” the Count continued.

Beside him, Baron Aide nodded vigorously until his mother pinched his side. It was a shame to see the man, a grown adult, needing such control, but that wasn’t my concern. The count’s question was a good one, and I hadn’t fully considered the matter before.

“Hmm,” I said. Any ramp or switchbacks down the plateau could be used by the Pestilence to climb up. Perhaps tunnels spiraling inside the stone that could be sealed back by any second-tier mage with the correct spell? Yet, then I would need to create the tunnels and develop the spell for them to learn. Perhaps, it would be better to set one of my assistants, like Leslie or Philipe, on the matter.

As I was thinking, I saw Leslie enter the room, her expression that of panic. It was as if I only had to consider an assistant and they would arrive before me. When her eyes met mine, she immediately began rushing towards us.

I turned back to the nobility, “I will consider it further, it appears I have something I need to deal with.”

Count Wilchrest and Baroness Nix smiled. Baron Aide did nothing to hide his look of relief at my words as we parted.

It was only a few minutes later that I found myself following the woman as she hustled down the fourth set of stairs in the keep. The stairs let out into a dungeon built beneath the storeroom. Guards walked up and down the hallway in silence and I heard the cries and muttering of prisoners held within. Even louder than the other prisoners, a man’s voice screamed from the end of the hall.

“Stormslayer! Stormslayer! Bring him to me! Stormslayer!” the voice cried in a mixture of agony and desperation.

“He will talk to no one but you,” Leslie whispered as she stood beside me. I could see the night hadn’t gone easy on her, as her dark curly hair was strained from sweat and her face lined with weariness.

I simply nodded and walked with her to the end of the hall. There, I could see a man chained to the ground, the formerly rotund fifth-tier pyromancer. Now, he looked deflated. The one hand he had left was locked into a gauntlet that would keep it from moving. His entire right side and chest were covered in bloody bandages with no arm or shoulder to speak of. His face, panicked and sweaty was matched by feverish eyes.

Beside him, one of the Sisters of Elora was using her priestly magic to try to heal his wounds, but it didn’t look like it would be successful.

“Stormslayer, it is you! Listen quickly, as I haven’t much time!” he cried hoarsely.

“I am here,” I answered and watched as the tension fell away from his body.

“Good, good! You must know. You must—Magus Ison was lying. The kings know nothing of the Pestilence. They don’t care.”

“Oh?” I asked and stroked my beard. I had been hoping for magical secrets that had laid hidden for centuries, but this might be fruitful to hear as well.

“The priests, the Binders, they have both kings’ ears and want them to spend their strength against each other. Then, when the Pestilence comes, they plan to summon the Dominator.”

Beside the pyromancer, the Sister of Elora paused in her administrations to stare in shocked fear.

“Who is the Dominator—” Leslie began, but I squeezed her shoulder softly to urge her to silence. If the priests were trying to summon the slave-god’s avatar, then I needed to hear what the man said. Not that I trusted him entirely.

“Tell me more. Do you know when, or where?”

His voice was growing raspy, and I recognized the signs of a man on the verge of death, “The winter equinox, but I don’t know where. For their ritual, they need to enslave an entire kingdom. That’s—all that I know. We three, we were slaves as well. We were never meant to kill you. Only die ourselves so our king would have no other recourse.”

My brows furrowed as I considered his words, “If you were slaves, how can you speak to me thusly? Why tell me?”

The man barked sharp, forced laughter, and glanced at his missing shoulder. “The slavers' chain was on my arm. And if the Binders were to spend my life for nothing after all I had done for them, then I will tell any who can grant me my vengeance.”

He spoke so firmly and defiantly as he stared at his missing shoulder, I couldn’t help but believe him. I waited for several breaths to see what else he had to say before I realized that those were his last words.

It was a week later when I finished the tunnel within the plateau that would lead to the outside. Mena, Meathead, Leslie, Tond, and—for whatever reason—a Sister of Elora stood behind me waiting to go off on their grand quest to stop the ritual to summon the slaver god. Each had achieved fourth-tier Classes, and I had given them what protections I could against the slave-priests’ magic.

I had also given them the holy silver stake that had been part of the artifact used by the Grand Magus Ison. Given my heritage, I wanted as little to do with ancient gods as possible. I feared the longer I held it, the more likely some ancient power would seek me out.

Standing behind them were the assortment of mercenaries, soldiers, adventurers, and freed slaves that were eager to leave the plateau. Some had agreed to undertake missions to prepare against the Pestilence. Others sought to join the war. More still had their own desires to work towards. I would be wishing them all success as they departed the tunnel to achieve greater feats.

Earlier today, Count Wilchrest had done the same as these men and women entered the tunnel. A planned ceremony of sorts that the two of us had agreed upon. Many of those that remained would be joining the town of Gold Castle. There was still the matter of some of the slaves that adamantly refused to be freed. I had long ago learned my lesson in trying to free a person who didn’t want it and didn’t seek to repeat it. Instead, I spoke neither for nor against the matter and would let the nobility learn that lesson on their own.

I finished the spell and the wall of stone before me pushed out and slid to the side. Light burst into the tunnel. Outside, I heard a number of swords being drawn and shouts of soldiers readying for battle. I wasn’t surprised by their presence, having seen them camped around the plateau yesterday, but I was taken aback by their preparation to do battle.

I cast a few additional wards on myself and stepped out into the light to see the men and women surrounding the exit. I didn’t respond to their provocation, instead, I called out in irritation, “What is the meaning of this?”

Before me, dozens of Paladins of Bi sat proudly on their bulls. Archers and swordsmen of ill-repute were gathered around them. One man in full-plate armor walked his bull forwards and his voice thundered through his helm.

“I am [Paladin] Adam, and I have come seeking to free the good wizard Nemon Fargus from Mirktal’s evil clutches. Release him, and be spared!”

I rubbed my temple to try to abate the oncoming headache, as I heard the laughter of those behind me echo back from inside the tunnel. Unfortunately, Meathead chose that moment to misunderstand the situation. He drew a great ax from his back and stomped out into the daylight with an angry expression on his face.

“Second boss is my boss! You can’t have him!” Meathead roared from where he stood beside me, oblivious to the incredulous look I gave him.

While others attempted to stop the two from their ensuing argument and possible battle, I removed a specific tome from my bag to further document reduced intelligence in Paladins and Holy Champions. With this, I believe I had enough proof for a full thesis.