Chapter 92 — What Adventus Does at Parties
The shadow dragon existed in the sky with that quality of something that had been summoned and that therefore had purpose even without revealing it immediately. The red eyes illuminated the clouds from beneath. Each breath — if that was what it was — expanded the form slightly before contracting, like something alive adjusting to the space it occupied.
Kuto looked at it.
Then at the creatures coming from the forest, which were still distance and movement and sound but which had that quality of a tide that doesn't stop because it has no reason to stop.
Then at the people around him — kings, representatives, prodigy children, nobles, ceremonial guards who had been prepared for protocol and not for this — with those expressions of people who had had very specific expectations about what the day was going to be and who were processing the distance between what they had expected and what was happening.
*I don't know what to do.*
The thought arrived with that specific honesty of a moment where the threat assessment system was functioning but where the response system was still loading. Too many variables. Too many people. Too open a space.
That was when he saw it.
To the right — Queen Angrela of Adventus was running.
Not running like someone fleeing. Running like someone with a destination.
Toward the tower.
---
Queen Angrela had that quality of movement of someone for whom physicality was not an instrument but an identity — each step with the right weight, each impulse calculated not consciously but by the accumulation of years of a body that knew exactly what it was capable of. Her feet found the external steps of the tower with that precision of something that had been done before on other surfaces and for which this specific surface was merely a variation of an already solved problem.
King SansVl was beside her, and when he was beside her the beside became narrower.
They climbed.
Not slowly, nor in a way that suggested excessive effort — with that speed of people who had learned that urgency and haste are different things and that the first didn't require the second.
The crowd below fell silent with that quality of silence that is not the absence of sound but the collective suspension of breath of people who had seen something and who didn't yet know what to do with what they had seen.
They reached the point two-thirds of the way up the tower where the wall opened onto a platform — not the top, but altitude enough for the distance to the dragon to be of a different kind than the distance from the ground.
Queen Angrela stopped.
She turned to her husband.
Her hands found his belt with that familiarity of a gesture repeated countless times, checking the fit, adjusting the position. Then they settled on his shoulders. Then her knees bent slightly, the weight distributing to her legs with that preparation of someone about to launch something heavy and who wants the launch to be right.
— Go, big man.
Said low. To him. With that tone that was not of battle but of a person who knows very well the person she is sending somewhere and who didn't need to elaborate because the understanding between them was sufficiently established for two words to be enough.
SansVl smiled.
With that quality of smile of someone who is in their element.
The impulse was vertical — force accumulated in Angrela's knees released in a single upward movement that launched her husband into the air with that speed that was not of falling but of something sent with purpose. SansVl's body rose like a projectile that knew it was a projectile and was completely at ease with that fact.
In the air, the axe came free of its sheath.
Ordinary metal, ordinary handle — in SansVl's hand it had that quality of an extension of the arm of someone who had used that specific weapon long enough for the distinction between hand and handle to have become imprecise.
The shadow dragon saw.
Or the equivalent of seeing that creatures without conventional anatomy do when they detect something in the space they occupy. The red eyes turned. The head of condensed shadow tilted with that slowness of something large that doesn't need to be fast because scale makes slowness irrelevant.
And the black fire came.
Not fire in the sense of heat — fire in the sense of something that moves with direction and that consumes what it finds in ways where heat would not be the most accurate descriptor. Black. Dense. With that quality of darkness in motion that was not the absence of light but the presence of something else.
SansVl, still at the apex of the ascending arc, saw the fire coming.
— I was expecting this.
Said to the air. To no one. With the specific satisfaction of someone whose prediction had been confirmed.
Both hands closed on the handle.
— Amplify.
The axe grew.
Not gradually — with that speed of an activated ability that has no intermediate phase between before and after. One metre became five. Five became ten. Ten became twenty — a blade the size of a two-storey structure in the hand of a man who held it with that naturalness of someone for whom the size of the problem had never been reason to change the approach.
The muscles responded.
Not with visible effort — with that quality of strength that was present before it was requisitioned and that therefore didn't need to make itself known in order to function. The axe turned. The arc descended.
It cut the black fire in two.
The blade passed through the dark substance with that sound of something that encountered resistance and did not recognise that resistance as reason to slow. The fire separated into two columns that passed on either side of SansVl without reaching him, dissipating with that quality of something that lost cohesion when what had held it together was removed.
And the arc continued.
Descended through the fire and continued.
Found the dragon.
---
The cut was symmetrical in a way that physics should not permit for an object of those dimensions in motion of that kind.
The twenty-metre blade passed through the dragon's body of condensed shadow from one end to the other, from skull to tail, dividing it with that precision of something that was not trying to be precise but was precise nonetheless because the angle was the only angle that made sense given the size and the momentum and the relative position of the two.
The dragon did not cry out.
It exploded.
Darkness separating. Shadow losing form with that speed of something that only existed while it was held together and that when the cohesion was cut simply — ceased to be. Fragments of darkness dispersing in the atmosphere like the ashes of something that had never been completely solid, each one losing intensity before disappearing entirely.
The sky did not immediately return to what it had been.
It retained that quality of a sky that had been through something — not dark, not completely clear, but with that specific tonality of a space that had been disturbed and was recovering.
SansVl descended.
Not with the drama of a combatant making a memorable landing. With that practicality of someone who had climbed, done what he went to do, and was now returning.
The axe met the surface of the marble plaza — not as a blow but as a support, driven into the stone with its point while SansVl used the handle as a slide, gliding from the top of the giant axe to the ground with that naturalness of an improvised solution that worked so well it seemed planned.
The plaza received the impact with that memory of stone that will hold that specific mark for as long as stones hold marks.
Angrela descended the tower and arrived at her husband's side exactly as he landed, with that synchrony of people who don't need to coordinate because the habit of being at each other's side long enough makes coordination automatic.
The Adventus prodigy — who had stayed exactly where they were throughout the entire sequence with that stillness of a child who is genuinely hypnotised by something — began to shout.
Not articulated words. Just the sound of pure enthusiasm that had not yet found the right verbal form.
SansVl looked at the marble plaza — at those present in various states of shock and relief and confusion — and said with that satisfaction of someone who had exactly the opinion they were about to express:
— It seems this festival is going to be more entertaining than I imagined.
---
The plaza took time to return to conversation.
Not much — people who had arrived representing kingdoms did not stay silent long enough for the silence to become a problem. But the kind of conversation that emerged first was of murmur, not of declaration. The kind that starts between two people and expands by contagion until everyone is saying versions of the same thing.
— This kingdom is supposed to be the safest on the continent.
The voice came from Autolara's nobles — two men with the autumn aesthetic Kuto had learned to associate with the kingdom, now with those expressions of people who were very far from home and who were recalculating what that meant.
One of them turned directly to Kuto.
— What is happening? Why are we being attacked? — The voice had that quality of a complaint that was not a question but was formally presented as one. — And where is Zenk? Precisely when he would be needed—
Kuto didn't respond to that.
He was looking at Killvis's envoy.
Who was standing with that posture of someone trained not to reveal information through body language and who was applying that training visibly enough that the application itself was information.
— Do you have something to do with this?
Cold. Direct. With that tone of Kuto's that carried no inflection of accusation because accusation required emotion and this was observation.
The envoy met Kuto's gaze with the calculated serenity of an experienced man.
— I can assure you that our kingdom has no connection to this attack. — A precisely measured pause. — Nor does His Majesty Pendris.
The name hung in the air.
Kuto neither confirmed nor denied that the name had landed where it intended to land.
Cardinal Ezequiel approached.
Not with urgency — with that quality of movement of a man who had learned that urgency communicated loss of control and who preferred to be useful to appearing useful.
— Allow me an observation, Your Majesty.
The voice had that quality of an ecclesiastic who had learned to use another person's title in a way that communicated simultaneously respect for the title and assessment of the person who occupied it.
— That dragon was composed entirely of concentrated darkness. — He said this with that precision of a man who was distinguishing between categories that most people would treat as equivalent. — Not dark magic. Not a destruction spell. Concentrated darkness specifically. According to the Church's records, there exists currently only one category of documented entities capable of producing that type of manifestation.
Kuto waited.
— The Mages of Fear.
The memory arrived without being called — Zef. The Novuero. The hood. The distorted voice that came from every direction without coming from any particular one. The Mage who had fled through the portal after wounding him.
— That means—
— That this attack has an author — said the Cardinal, before Kuto finished. — And that authorship is not political in the conventional sense.
Ezequiel's gaze had that quality of additional information held in reserve — of a man who knew more than he was saying and who was deciding, in real time, how much more to say.
— The Church has been tracking the activity of the Mages of Fear for several years. — The voice lowered slightly. — There are indications that they operate under the coordination of a superior entity. Someone who uses them as instruments for objectives we have not yet fully understood.
*Cassius.*
Kuto said nothing.
But the Cardinal saw something in the silence.
The soldier arrived running before they could continue.
Zordis armour. A face with that expression of someone carrying information they considered urgent and who had run faster than usual to deliver it sooner.
— Your Majesty. — Breathing slightly irregular. — The tower guards have spotted creatures emerging from the forest. Converging on the city.
— How many?
— Thousands. We can't get an exact count. They keep emerging.
The murmur in the plaza grew louder with that speed of information in a space where everyone is close enough to hear and where close enough is too close for containment.
Autolara's nobles went visibly paler.
One of them began to say something about guarantees of safety and about what they had expected when they accepted the invitation and about the responsibility of the host kingdom. Kuto heard enough to register the content and turned away before the man finished.
— Anseff.
The lackey was there with that readiness of someone who had learned to be exactly where he could be called without that appearing like surveillance.
— My lord.
— All guests inside the tower. Prodigies, royal families, representatives. Everyone. — A half-second pause for the order to be complete before continuing. — Elite knights remain inside with them. Responsibility for the safety of visitors. No one leaves without my authorisation.
— Yes, my lord.
— To the soldier — Kuto turned — I want all available knights on the outer perimeter. Archers in the towers. Everything the kingdom has in the way of defences, active now.
The soldier nodded and left before Kuto finished the sentence, with that efficiency of someone who had received a clear order and therefore needed no further information before acting.
— Don't forget about us.
Haru was beside him, with the daggers and that expression of someone who had been waiting for the right moment to say that.
— Same — said Romeu, with that smile of someone genuinely pleased with the direction things were taking.
Beside him, Selina had her staff. Sônia had that energy that Sônia always had but which in that specific moment had a different quality — concentrated, directed. Jack was a step ahead of the others with the posture of a leader who didn't need to say he was ready because the posture said it without needing words.
Kuto looked at them.
*Tools that became people.*
The thought arrived and went with that speed of something that exists and that is not convenient to process in that moment.
— You can come.
He turned to Adventus's monarchs.
— The safety of visitors is the priority. I can't guarantee what happens out there.
SansVl smiled with that smile Kuto was learning to recognise as the expression of someone who had heard exactly what they expected to hear.
— Our kingdom is the central continent's main adventurer recruitment hub — he said, with that voice of someone explaining context they consider relevant before reaching the point. — Who takes the throne is not by lineage. It's by accumulated deeds. The king and queen with the most victories and conquests in the year. — The smile widened slightly. — We are adventurers who govern while they are the best. If we defeat the Mage of Fear here, our continuation on the throne is guaranteed for another cycle.
Angrela was beside him with that posture of someone who agreed but was withholding comment on the way her husband had presented the situation.
— At your own risk — said Kuto.
— Understood.
Kuto turned to Raimi.
She was there with that expression of a queen who had assessed the situation and reached a conclusion before anything was said.
— I'm staying here — she said, before he opened his mouth. — With the wounded. With the people.
— That's at your own risk too.
— That as well.
The smile Kuto didn't completely let appear stayed somewhere between the expression he had and the one he would have had if he had let it.
Then he looked at everyone.
— Ready?
---
They left the marble plaza toward the city gates.
The sound of the approaching creatures had changed in quality — it was no longer distance and movement, it was imminent presence with that mass of sound of many things at once that arrives before the things themselves.
Kuto ran at the centre, with the group around him, with Haru two steps ahead out of habit that neither of them had deliberately established.
Zordis's knights had begun to organise with that urgency of a garrison receiving a clear order and with enough training to convert a clear order into formation without time lost in interpretation.
The gates were ahead.
Beyond them, the sound.
SansVl and Angrela ran alongside, with that specific energy of people who were not making an effort to keep up but who were genuinely pleased with the direction everything was taking.
— Big man — said Angrela, while running.
— Yes?
— After this I want a proper dinner.
— Guaranteed.
Kuto glanced at them sideways.
*NPCs.*
The thought arrived with less conviction than the other times. Much less.
He stayed silent about it.
The gates opened.
And what was on the other side was not a number that a field of vision could completely contain — it was that quality of many that exceeds the capacity for counting and that is therefore felt before it is assessed.
Shadow creatures. Wolves that had the form of wolves but not the substance. Werewolves with that impossible geometry Kuto recognised from Zef. Ogres of condensed darkness. Nameless things that no kingdom's bestiary had probably classified.
All with red eyes.
All advancing.
Kuto activated the HUD.
**[ADAPTIVE CLASS: ACTIVE]**
**[AVAILABLE SKILLS: 23]**
He looked at SansVl — at the axe, at the way his muscles had that quality of something that didn't need warming up.
**[COPYING: Amplify — SansVl of Adventus]**
He looked at Angrela — at the angle of her feet when she prepared for impulse, at the way she distributed her weight.
**[COPYING: Maximum Impulse — Angrela of Adventus]**
He looked at the field of creatures ahead.
*Tools. Strategy. Result.*
But beneath that — just beneath, deep enough that it didn't need to be named — there was something else.
The boy from Zef who had said *those people don't like us.*
The people of Zordis who were inside the city behind them.
The eight-year-old prodigies who had come from different kingdoms with inventions they thought were going to be evaluated today.
*To hell with the game mechanic.*
*They're in there.*
— Let's move — said Kuto.
And the group entered what was waiting for them.