“No. It was at the Citadel,” Eric replied as he sipped worldspine root tea, the Silence Node active and bathing the room in black and white. “I don’t know why it's different in this timeline, but my best guess is that Seraphine really wants to keep certain people away from us as much as possible.”
The day had arrived. A carriage would be picking them up and taking them to an estate on a nearby mountaintop. It was the chateau of the host: Magistra Seraphine d’Orveil.
The Summoneds’ plans the night prior had to be rapidly altered in the predawn darkness to align with the new location, with Eric and Naomi rapidly going over their notes written in English to recalculate tactics.
He held the cup of tea and felt the warmth permeate through his palms. He pointed at some of the papers spread out on the floor between them. “We should alter our plans here . . . and here.”
Seraphine came from money. Her family was one of the wealthiest in Trok, thanks to their near-monopoly on the strandvine trade. The material was better than wool for insulation, and their textile industry control made them extremely influential. She was the sole heiress, and her husband was one of the most powerful Cryomancers to ever grace the ranks of the kingdom’s nobility. He was a Reaper, and a high-level one at that.
Eric knew why she wanted to host, and she had doubtless called in dozens of favors to appropriate the affair in order to host using her accommodations: she wanted the home-field advantage. She would control the flow of the day, who would talk to whom—to some extent—and most notably affect the events.
The soirée would be a multi-part affair: a morning brunch, the king’s speech, a series of dances, and more. Each event had been carefully selected to allow for the nobility and upper crust to mingle with the Summoned in a controlled and regulated environment.
There would be many attendees, and as Eric ran down the list out loud with Naomi, he answered occasional clarifying questions from her. A final check of sorts. Shannon and Peter had already been prepared, and their main assignments were the same despite the change in venue.
The two other Summoned had, ultimately, agreed to at least talk to the old-blood families and consider courting an eligible bachelor or bachelorette of the various family they were to be assigned: for the sake of the world’s survival and ‘Naomi’s master plan’, which was really Eric’s plan fed to them through the Tinkerer.
Naomi, thanks to her inquisitive nature, wanted to be as precise and well-prepared as possible, which included prodding Eric with lots of extra inquiries in these early morning hours.
The four primary noble families would be the focus of the events. Old blood, old money, lots of influence, and political pull. If all four could be made into allies, then the Summoned would be cemented in Trok. Unless the entire kingdom was turned upside-down, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. Each Summoned would be focusing on one of the families during the party.
The first was the Marshall family, who were the architects that made the citadel, the fortifications, and much of the capital of Tenebria and its surrounding sub-cities. They also maintained the buildings and public areas. Naomi would be focusing on them, plying her knowledge of technological advancement to get in close.
The second was the Ghulara family, who owned, operated, and employed Gathering Classes on the farmlands and pastures outside of the capital. Peter would be working on them, leveraging his ‘country boy’ upbringing.
Third was the Valagonia family, who ran the criminal underworld of the kingdom, while also legitimately handling the local administration of the Global Banking Authority. Eric had the least familiarity with them.
Naomi spoke, “They are something like the Knight’s Templar during the Crusader States period, right?”
Eric nodded. “Sort of. The GBA covers loans, handles currency exchanges, and distributes scrips that can be redeemed at other branches for currency. Each kingdom has centralized mints and their own coinage, but as a neutral party, the GBA is trusted across multiple continents with exchange rates for only a small percentage of each transaction. They have been known to shut down operations when a realm doesn’t bow to their will, but they generally want to keep the status quo. They’re like the Iron Bank from Game of Thrones in a way.”
“Right.” Naomi replied, as she put those pieces together. “Since those Allied Cities of Chisholm have mercenary armies in spades, they can enforce their will across continents and topple dynasties if they aren’t paid back.”
“Correct,” Eric replied. “Should I keep going, or do you have more questions on this point?”
“I’m good on this one. Keep going,” Naomi replied, taking a sip of her own tea.
Shannon would be focusing on the Valagonia family, since she was familiar with working alongside criminal elements already. Her task would be the most difficult: trying to, over time, discern the legitimate banking operations from the criminal empire. Part of that would be getting into the family’s affairs, finding out which members were corrupt, and which were honest and upright in their duties.
And finally was the Baxter family, who ran hospitals, charity organizations, and healthcare operations. They were the family that Eric had the most knowledge of, thanks to his past life working closely with them after the war concluded, and he had begun his deeper investigation into the rot seeping throughout Trok. Naturally, he would be working on them during the event.
“What about the younger families?” Naomi asked.
Eric waved her off. “Not worth our time. The old blood, the old money—they’re the ones with the real power. We can mingle with the others: nobility, merchants, all that . . . but our focus should be on these families.” He trailed off for a moment. “And remember,” he said as he brought his attention to the last page of the dossier, “romantic engagements in the upper class of Trok move fast. Do not be surprised if there’s proposals within weeks, if not days.”
Naomi’s cheeks went red and she looked down. “I don’t like the idea of having to marry for political gain. Or having to marry at all, but I understand the necessity to cement our position here in the kingdom, so that we can then do whatever we need to to save the world.”
“I told you about James Marshall,” Eric replied. “He’s ace as well. If you can pin him down at the party and explain that you’re the same in that regard, he will see the pragmatic benefit of your pairing. It’s about the best you could hope for if you want freedom in the kingdom: a marriage of convenience. Appearances only. That’s not abnormal.” Eric leaned back. “I would suggest the same to Peter, in all honesty. I know that there are a few daughters in the Ghulara family that are lesbian, who would be willing to do the same.”
She looked up at Eric and nodded. Then, her face shifted into a frown. “I’ve been thinking. You’re mentally thirty-three, but in the body of an eighteen-year-old. Yet you’ll be courting young women who are, what, eighteen and nineteen?”
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“A handful of early twenty-year-olds also,” Eric replied. “Your point?”
“Isn’t that a little creepy?”
Eric shrugged. “At the most it’s a seventeen-year difference. Back on Earth, people had way bigger age-gap marriages. You had eighteen-year-olds and twenty-year-olds marrying rich, sixty-year-old men for their money—and that came with the old-body stuff as well.” He chuckled. “Not only that, but these young bachelorettes could be married off to men double or even triple their age if prospective age-appropriate matches aren’t found soon enough.”
He gestured to himself with a broad flourish. “At least I am eighteen in body. It’s just my mind that’s older. If anything, that means I’ll treat them better than some dumb, cocky, eighteen-year-old guy who was just Summoned and given immense magic power. It’s a win-win for whoever I end up with. I’ll be respectful, perfectly appropriate, and treat them so much better than some old creep.”
Naomi sighed and nodded. “I suppose you make a point.”
“Yes, I do. Now, onto this set of merchants one of us absolutely needs to make contact with . . .”
As the sun rose, the Summoned rode in a fine, white-wood carriage pulled by two massive draft horses that put the Budweiser steeds to shame. The horses had gorgeous, pure-white fur with silver threads braided into their manes, and were bedecked with barding that was a deep, cherry red. Benson and Mari were seated next to the driver and would remain present in the periphery throughout the day to assist the Summoned if they needed help with anything.
It was not uncommon at these events to have one’s own servants present. But Eric, through Peter, had tasked Benson and Mari with the job of trying to keep their ears open while they walked among the other servants. Peter asking for the favor was less suspicious, as he and Benson had already established a rapport.
The air became colder and thinner as they ascended the mountain. The altitude was something that most of them were not accustomed to, and Eric already looked forward to getting indoors where windstones and heatstones would provide climate-controlled interiors.
All four of the Summoned were dressed in the fancy clothing they had been fitted with the previous day. Shannon was wearing a black dress that left very little to the imagination, but she also had a nice shawl that went over the whole outfit and almost acted like a rogue’s cloak. It screamed to Eric, ‘I’m a rogue at a fancy dinner party. Don’t trust me near your coin purse.’
Peter’s attire was much bulkier, with big shoulder pauldrons of stiff cloth, a heavier shirt, pants lined with furs, and large, heavy boots with metal heels that clacked as he shifted on the cushioned bench.
Naomi was dressed in very similar attire to what Seraphine had worn when they’d first met her, though Naomi’s outfit was made of a thicker material and included a form-fitting jumpsuit underneath that was quite flattering. However, she seemed quite uncomfortable in the outfit, and kept adjusting it.
Eric’s clothes were just as comfy as when he had tried them on, if a little stiff in some places thanks to the general fashion trends. Fortunately, Benson had made the alterations he had requested, since Eric wanted to move the sleeve back for a special demonstration. He still did not look forward to divesting himself of the layers when he inevitably had to excuse himself to the privy throughout the day, but it couldn’t be helped.
They had to be dressed to impress.
The air grew even colder as they ascended one of the several roads carved into the mountain. Each truly rich noble family had their own mountaintop estate, connected directly to the capital by these raised routes. Many even had almost miniature cities built into the slopes of their personal mountain, with no way down to the ground except risky climbs, and no way back to the capital save for these roads.
It was both an insurance policy and defensive countermeasure. A means for nobles to shut themselves off should there be general unrest in the city proper. Peasant revolts had happened in Tenebria’s past, and while the citadel was practically impenetrable thanks to being almost fully inside the mountain itself, these separate promontories were not nearly as well defended, save for these means of egress that could hold off thousands with a force of ten.
Shannon sniffled a bit in the cool air and wrapped her cloak up around her nose. “It’s so cold up here!”
Eric nodded. “It’ll start snowing when winter arrives. This is actually just early fall. It will get much colder.” He glanced out the window. “The near-perpetual rains haven’t started yet, but they should soon.”
Peter leaned over to Shannon and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, throwing his much heavier cloak over her. “I hate the cold,” he muttered.
Naomi laughed. “This isn’t cold. You haven’t experienced cold until you’ve been in the Sierra-Nevadas with negative-thirty-degree wind chill.”
The carriage began to even out in its course, rather than at its previous slightly upward angle. “We’re about to arrive,” Eric said. “Get ready. Remember the proper introductions and bow. Full names, you introduce yourself first unless they approach you.”
Peter gave a thumbs-up. “Ready,” Shannon said, quickly mimicking his gesture.
The carriage came to a stop, and the doors opened. Benson smiled in that perfect, professional way and said, “Summoned, welcome to the Chateau d’Orveil.”
Eric waited for the ladies to exit before accepting Benson’s outstretched hand for assistance in stepping down from the carriage. He had never been to the d’Orveil chateau before, and even with their plans in place and contingencies readied, he felt nervous. If he made a misstep, if he committed a single mistake, if he said the wrong thing to the wrong person, he would have to do a lot of work to make up for lost ground. Swallowing down his discomfort, he smoothed his dress attire and followed the ladies up the stairs.
The enormous mansion they were walking up to was an incredible feat of architecture. It was akin to the Athens Acropolis: a singular, massive edifice that looked like the entrance to a grand temple, built into the mountain. Graceful, jagged spires that were an interconnected series of snowflake designs dominated the edges of the rooftop and blended seamlessly with the white-painted mountaintop that would look incredible when the snows began to fall.
If the estate’s grounds held true to form for the other high-nobility strongholds, much of the building would be inside the mountain, molded from intricately shaped and carved chambers. Glancing back, Eric spotted a line of carriages behind theirs. . . but they were all of the lower merchant class. Those who had bought tickets because they weren’t on the named-invite list.
Peter was right behind him, with Benson and Mari just a step behind and in side-by-side at the rear of the group.
Eric turned his attention to the front. They were the last to arrive out of the important guests, and the moment they entered, they would be announced. As he reached the top of the steps he could only breathe in rapid inhalations. He felt tension he had not experienced in a long time curling around his lungs like a constricting serpent.
What if I fuck this up? Overplay my hand? If I make a single mistake, then I might be back to square one.
. . .
No.
. . .
We’ve planned. I’ve looped the others in. I’m not on my own, and know what is coming.
I’ve got this.
That tension began to fade ever so slightly. Once they had all been allowed in by the immaculately dressed guards, they grouped together abreast of one another. Eric on the far left, then Naomi, Shannon, and lastly Peter on the far right.
The keeper of ceremonies, a young woman who was quite elegant with a ravishing appearance, tapped a staff on the ground. The cavernous entry vestibule, filled with the upper crust of society, members of prominent families, the small council, and the king himself on a throne in the far corner, quieted.
“It is the pleasure of the d’Orveil family to host this wondrous occasion,” she said. “Our guests of honor have arrived: the Summoned.” There was applause, a few whoops, and whistles. She tapped the stave once more. “Quiet, please.” The room silenced after a few moments. She turned to the group and whispered, “Go ahead.”
The Summoned were expected to state the place their Class, full name, and place they were from. Given that the names of countries would have absolutely no meaning to the residents of Elyndor, Eric had advised that the group use the names of their home cities.
Peter took a step to be in the front of the group. “I am Reaver Peter Steele, Summoned from Austin.”
Naomi joined him. “I am Tinkerer Naomi Takinaka, Summoned from Seattle.”
Shannon shuffled up to join the other two. “I am Stalker Shannon Murphy, Summoned from Boston.”
Eric strode forth, raised his hand above his head, and activated Blackflame Bolt. The tense, black fire crackled above his head. An agreed-upon show of the unique power, even though the other Summoned knew it would cause him to be a central focus for conversation.
It was means to bring people to him, so that the others could focus on their assigned old-blood families and he could rapidly deal with the bulk of the less-important people, which he would be able to deftly manage given his past lifetime of experience.
“I am Blackflame Mage Eric Mercer, Summoned from Oakland.” He sucked the mana back into his body with that reverse-sneeze feeling and lowered his hand. “We are delighted to be here.”
We have met the first Review Threshold! As of 2/27/26 @ 9:14 am, 20 / 20 for Threshold #1 has been achieved!
Threshold #1 - 20 Reviews = Poll to determine which 'Action Scene' I commission from the fantastic For samples of some of his work he has done for me, look and
There are still 2 more Thresholds to meet, at 30 and 50 reviews, respectively. Click the spoiler box below for a reminder of the goals!
Threshold #2 - 30 Reviews = I will commission a 'group portrait' of the Summoned from the fantastic ! You can see some of the work she has done for me , and . I hadn't planned on a group portrait, but I figured I'd toss this 'in-between' as a fun midway point. I'm also going to put up a poll as to whether the 'group portrait' will be them in their soirée attire, or their Twilight Depths dungeon gear.
Threshold #3 - 50 Reviews = Poll to determine which 'soirée interaction' I commission (the sub-plot romance interests Eric has, which appear in Chapters 23 and 24, respectively, which are coming up soon on a triple-chapter-drop day!). I am still looking for an artist to do this one, as I need to figure out a style that fits what I'm looking for.
March 17th is when the Poll will go up to determine which Action Scene I commission from my fantastic friend, Naofaro! The reason for the delay is because I want you to have a nice, chunky selection of some amazing action scenes without me spoiling anything.
Thanks so much! Enjoy the continuing daily chapters!