“Very good, young man,” Duke William smiled. The messenger was in a low bow and out of breath but still looked up to give a bright smile, a sign of a true social climber. He would’ve trusted a smirk or even anger more than that bright smile the mercenary sported but for now he let it go.

‘No matter, I’ll soon wake up anyway,’ He thought. Duke William looked upon his subjects and nodded; “The time has come; let us depart under the cover of this fog.”

Thus began the agonizingly slow progress to his family’s Maousaleum. Despite the report that the passage was clear Duke William ushered his men to approach quietly, for an extra precaution he had everyone slather some guts and blood on their armor, prioritizing stealth over speed.

The work of his late father, Ruben Von Solus, had taught him what carelessness could do. Overseeing a land far smaller than his, Ruben kept the stick much closer to hand than the carrot and was never one to shy from flaunting his wealth to the suffering masses. Looking back at those times, William was ashamed to admit that he too far off from his father. Throwing around his weight to the poor and ordering them for entertainment. It probably would’ve led to the same fate his father suffered had he not decided to change after his death.

It was a quick quiet event all together juxtaposing with the chaotic aftermath. His father was killed by the same men and women he’d deemed beneath care; those weak and meager looking workers who apparently were quite skilled in using the dagger. On one of his regular trips through the city he would flaunt his wealth and bully, abuse and commit all manner of vulgar acts unbefitting of his title, during war time! So it came as little surprise when it seemed that the common-folk had had enough. They joined together, formed a small group and overran the small number of guards protecting him at the time; it was a woman who stabbed him, a total of 15 times. At the time he was off fighting the war in his father’s stead so he wasn’t present for their execution after the failed coup.

Though he had ordered their hanging in letter, had he been there he would’ve probably congratulated her before sending her off to her death. When a man, floating on death’s river, had committed more violence than charity, no one mourns for him. Such was the atmosphere; while the nobles cried and their faces dampened with water droplets substituting for tears, the commoners danced in the alleyways and drank at the good riddance in the taverns. Even if his father didn’t know, that was the most important lesson he’d left him. What happens to a man blinded by power?

A certain sense of responsibility came to him after he’d pondered on the matter once too often. After that realization, that epiphany, he saw the actions of the actions of his actions, aligned together to the ultimate theoretical effect. He saw what could be, should he let it happen not only for himself but for the small populace under him at the time. Upon confidation; his peers and family called it ‘a noble’s intuition’ but to him it sounded like something else. Something he’d found some other commoners, discuss during his time as commander of his father’s troops. It was his first war and he’d found a few of them who showed knowledge of the same intuition. It was rare sense to the nobles but common sense to their subjects, many of whom lived on the sharp end of the sword. For almost two years he shared the same tables and grounds yet he didn’t realize this skill until after his father’s death. Pathetic.

After his death, war ended abruptly…and unjustly. The troops were immediately ordered to retreat because some old man hated by everyone died and a ceremony to hail his departure had to be done. This gave the Alexandrians the victory they did not earn and boosted their morals so much that conflicts near the border were almost onesided, with his men always getting the sharp end of the stick.

That was when he assumed control of his father’s failing dukedom. Having learnt from his failed predecessor the first and foremost thing he did, was do his subjects better. A better house, better food on their table, better clothes and more money to aquire it, all the better to run his kingdom with. However, such a goal was not achievable without some setbacks. The first few years were the worst; people rebelled and slanthered his name, his father’s wrongdoings hung over his head like a butcher’s knife he’d have to avoid every night as he went to sleep. But soon he made good on that promise, with the few people he could trust he raided his enemies, taking what was rightfully his.

He targeted the main resource cities deeper into Alexandria, as he made his way alongside his men under the cover of the nights and hiding in the forest during daytime. Before word could reach both kings he’d taken as much as he could and hauled it across the border where he could easily deal with the chasing dogs.

Expecting punishment, he was pleasantly surprised when the king not only did he not punish him but also congratulated him on the haul. It probably had something to do with how close in age they were. The king was 18 years of age and advantaged by god since he was the only male heir to the throne. The young man took the opportunity and claimed prize to his accomplishments, paving way for his rule.

For his work, William received additional land and the right to have a quarter of the resources he’d publically amassed. From everyone fighting tooth and nail for everything, he was able to change it to only a select few fighting while the rest knocked the nails into wood and cleansed their teeth.

Even with a lacadaisicle lifestyle, however, he did not stop. He gave out charity and showed modesty towards the poor in hopes of proving himself his father’s better with each and every nod of acknowledgement. With each display of power his subjects revered him and slowly but surely he earned his own reputation. But life like all things, wasn’t all good times. There were times when failure came and went occasionally and it was during those times he realized how little control he had over his subjects. They could change from proclaiming him a saint to bickering and gossiping behind his back.

“Let those peasants speak ill of their lord behind the cover of their homes, but do not let one man proclaim it publically.” His father had let these kinds of things run. He was not his father.

So, big boss was born; an underground lord of thievery, murder and arson whose love for the city rivaled that of Duke William von Solus. Through his darker persona he was able to create a functioning system of spies through whom he could take out the undesirables without any political backlash from the other earls and dukes. All this was financed by the heavy taxes paid by the ashen merchants, traders whose products fell under ‘questionable origins’, whom he’d allowed entrance to his city.

Unfortunately, the increase in ‘crimes’ in his city forced him to create the infamous guards. Conscripted men and retired soldiers who were brought back to duty to appease the angered populace. He gave the guards power and freedom rivaling that of a baron. It was a dangerous game he played but a game it was nonetheless. The William of that time didn’t know what true horror of war was and he paid dearly for it.

Not seven years after he had begun conscription the order to prepare for war suddenly came from the capital. The king had decided to go to war with the Chimerans, probably revenge for that nearly a decade ago…. The war was long; a lot happened during that war and it was a miracle they didn’t repeat that decade old mistake. By the end of the ten years, after continual wastage of resources the kingdom was held out on the figurative edge of a cliff, when they had won. Luckily, no other nation joined after giving them enough time to recover form the backlash of the war. A lot of good men and women were lost during the war; most of those were from Yikensworth. An army of orphans was what the war produced, aside from improving his reputation.

During the war he had distinguished himself as a powerful Magus de Elementa and for his efforts, given control over the free villages which separated Alexandria’s Alexandropolis from his Yikensworth. The morale had been falling by the day so eventually a time came when he had to bed greed, hiding behind the mask of smiles and love.

The time had come for him to marry and his mother…she had picked someone from the Willus family. Seeing her as just another woman he had kept his guard down around her, doing as he pleased and thus unaware of the jealousy that had begun to brew from her. On their marriage day, his so-called peerage congratulated him, sang long convoluted praises in his name or fame and had him strut around like a peacock, ignorant to what the future held for-.

‘My thoughts are drifiting too much,’ he thought. ‘Thank goodness this all isn’t real or else I would’ve had to have been more alert. So, back to reminiscing…’

…On one sunny day, his ignorance caught up and it wasn’t holding back any force.

He had been training his control of the flow when he noticed Mathilda appear out of the corner of his eye. Mathilda and Bertrand were the servants that had come along from with his wife and often kept him company during his hours of training. So when she approached him during an incantation with her hands around her back he paid her no mind. Unlike most practitioner of the strange language commonly known as ‘Flow’, he’d added some medium of physical excertion during his chants and it was due to this extra training that when he went into a horseback stance the knife his plum maid had thrusted at him, did not pierce his heart.

Out of instinct he’d attacked her with the morbum incantation he’d been practicing, deteriorated her body until her skin sunk to her bones and she vomited uncontrollably. After taking care of her he sought out that Willus woman to whom the maid belonged to, his guard was now up.

Having awoken from his swim in the lake of devotion it wasn’t very hard to see through her poorly constructed lies. It wasn’t until after he’d punished her for attempting his murder that he found the truth; it was all jealousy. He had married the eldest daughter of a superior house, before he taken over Yikensworth and turned it into the dukedom she now lived in. That constant reminder of how poorly her family did in comparison to his, coupled with her loses in the self-implied contest of flow reading led to her forcing Mathilda to kill him. He didn’t know about the contest and she never talked about her feeling with him, unless it included lust or duty; his marriage was void of many emotions.

But he did his duty. He’d taken care of her, given her food, a home and the best clothes he could afford. He took her to the borderwall like she always wanted; showed her the beautiful ponds and forests in his region. He did his duty and she betrayed him. He didn’t talk to her and she tried to kill him. Looking back, he felt justified in the actions he took next.

He spoke to no one about it, only Betrand knew and he had prostrated himself so deeply in asking forgivness for his wife that he wasn’t sure that the man even cared about what had happened to his mistress.

In those following days the duke did not appear to the public which led to rumors circling the city on the reasons why. Rumors which he lay to rest after announcing that his wife was expecting, unfortunately the very next day of the announcement she had been assassinated and he had reverted behind his house’s walls to mourn.

From the incident he had gained two very loyal servants, though losing his wife was unfortunate it was nothing that could not have been replaced. After some political tension between the Von Solus and Willus family he was provided another wife, another flow reader, a smarter flow reader.

Fortunately, she was not one to pursue revenge, for when she found out knowing who was in the wrong she kept silent and did her duty. Even though he’d never touched his new wife, in six months’ time his daughter, Lidia, was born and his previous wife was properly buried back at her family plot.

Almost all his ‘friends’ recommended a maid or two to take care of her, but seeing the effects of such practice first hand during his own childhood he forced himself to live in the undignified manner. Taking care of his daughter and making sure she did not grow with anything usless filling up her brain. He raised her with the love his mother lacked and the discipline his father forgot. The Willus woman helped from time to time but she knew her place and kept to it most of the time. A child needed both a mother and father to raise her, anything less could be harmful.

This undignifying method was truly a blessing in disguise for where his popularity dropped amongst his peers it was raised amongst his subjects. Although the problem of his marriage had been solved he had never distrusted people more than he did at the time. Fortunately for him, just a few months later he would meet his enforcer; the man who took up the sword to the neck and didn’t falter when he gave his soul.

William ducked under the cover of the tall gravestones and watched the back of the man, who made everything possible, who laid his life before him and took the lead. He couldn’t help but smile at that gesture, if it was anyone else he would’ve asserted his dominance but since it was him he let it happen without consequence.

His first enforcer; Volvo Inkertan.

The man’s life was as twisted and complicated as the curles on his beard. Upon their first meeting, despite the rumors of his ruthless persona, which the mercenary obviously knew of, he had offered himself at his service. At first William cautiously sent him to do the worst and riskiest tasks he could think off but each time the man would return back to his side, asking for another one and then some more. Task after task, the man remained underterred.

William then sent him to pillage a village by himself thinking a suicide mission would surely reveal the man’s true nature. He judged wrongfully. The man knelt before him and offered his life in his servitude and after a week had accomplished the task with more cuts and bruises than one could count while keeping his manchet bread in his stomach. From then on whatever William deemed too dark to delve into personally, he would send Volvo and for a good ten years this served him well. Eventually his circle grew, as more and more strong joined him every year until it had become what it was today…or what it had been a few hours ago. However even after they all joined not one was more or even as faithful as Volvo Inkertan. But it would matter not to dwell on reality, he needed to find a way to wake up from this dream, a way that did not require a sword through his heart.

He himself was unclear of his own reasons to act as the way he did during the meeting, but what was done had been done and only a future action could mend what he’d done. Why did he so vehemently go against his plan, William could not figure…why? It was like watching himself in a dream, yet he couldn’t control what he saw himself doing. He valued the man’s word yet he acted so poorly against him that he felt guilty. Perhaps that was another he kept the man so close to him, backs bent and statures crouched, under the cover of the fog and gravestones he followed Volvo…until they met the monstrosity.

It did not speak, nor did it screech instead it seemed to seethe with anger as it mindlessly pulled out chunks of broken rocks off of what he feared was his family’s Mausaleoum. The creature had two heads from what he could tell; one on the back placed in the middle of four shoulder blades poking out and one between the shoulders pointing upwards all mounted atop a mountain of legs and arms. He looked to his men and noticed them fidgeting, amongst them only the real loyal men crouched in serenity in front of such beast.

Volvo met his gaze and pointed to another grave to their far left where the shadow of an arm and leg could be seen through the fog. Scouting around William found the short enthusiast that he’d sent a few minutes ago laying against a grave with his his back to them. He seemed to have died writing a smudged message in blood on the gravestone.

Volvo motioned for them to follow as he slowly circled around the beast, coming over to the dead body. The midget had died smiling, being able to write only as much as a ‘Lu-’ before his breath was taken away.

“Luvrit?” Volvo whispered.

“Doesn’t matter, two-strikers, take the lead,” he ordered. Before anyone could move Volvo pointed his spiked mace at the team captians neck, re-enforcing the duke’s command. They gulped audibly and slowly approached the beast, hoping to catch it off guard at it’s blindside. William kept the others back while the two-strikers waded deeper in the fog.

He watched them move closer before one of them suddenly yelled and fell down. The rest began stabing at their feet and around their fallen comrade. If William squinted really hard, he could see small hand-like figures emerging from the graves. It seemed that the magic was only affecting a certain area around the Mausoleum.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as the beast’s two heads turn to five as its attention was drawn to the idiocentric dancing of the two-strikers. It simply jumped from the steps, easily passing over the fence and smashed the leader into red goop. Blood flew everywhere, covering the graves and those struggling in the ground with streaks of red.

They didn’t stand a chance. The taller of the remaining two members jumped and stabbed the beast in the shoulder, losing his head in the process. As the blood showered over them the only standing mercenary made a blind run for it. The beast smashed the head of the fourth person being pulled into the ground before making its chase.

William took this opportunity and ordered his three-strike men forward. They reached the rumble and began clearing it out as quickly as possible while he and Volvo stood guard. The man had reached quite far before the beast caught him, ripping him to pieces in the seconds that followed.

“Sir, it’s clear,” Olly said.

“Protect me,” William laid down his hands and looked at the stone coffin housing his great ancestral bones. The machinery was worn down and had been recently chipped off because of the beasts anger however there was still a chance. William could hear the yells and shouts behind ascertaining his suspicions on the beast’s speed. He took a quick look behind him and saw Volvo smashing one of the beast’s arms off of Olly while another took hold of him from the back and dragged him away. He set to starting the mechanism as sounds of stabing and hollowed screeches of being sabbed blew past him.

The familiar sounds of grinding stone were welcoming. William grabbed his metal rod and turn just in time to see the beast finally screech out and run towards him, his men were scattered and none could reach fast enough…he didn’t need them to anyway. Pointing his staff William began read the words coming out of the blue thread he'd chosen.

The beast came up the stairs, it's hands were only a few meters away when he shouted; “[Ignis Maxima]”

For a second nothing happened, during which the beast scurried up the steps and was a mere foot away. Then came the ringing in his ears as the metallic rod glowed orange and sparks flew out. The beast grabbed the end of the pole and attempted to pull him closer before it howled and jumped away. It flailed around in vain, trying to estinguish the blue flames on his hands yet only succeeding in changing its colour to orange. The thing ripped off its arms as it screamed. This was no beastial scream he had heard before, but the wailing cries of many females in synch.

William, however, did not hesitate to push forward and press the staff to its exposed spine. Out of fear or understanding, the creature jumped back, narrowly missing the attack. It stared at the duke atop the stairs before something caught his attention elsewhere in the cemetery. Screeching out it turned around and ran away from the Mausoleum, leaving the group bewildered.

“Everyone!” he yelled, slamming his staff to estinguish the blue flames at its end. “Let us depart. We are to face the root of all this evil and I swear to you, after this we shall celebrate with only the best food and drinks in us.”

So they descended; a proud duke, a man lost in love and four of the strongest mercenary teams Yikensworth had to offer. They approached the dark chasm, unsuspecting of the trap lying beneath.