3 From Junior Duke to King Consort Bundled Arc, Part 1 (1/2)

3: Survival Games

Kars is a marvel. Regardless of how deep his hatred ran, Kilian was forced to acknowledge that every day in Kars was a day in heaven. Built on top of Lake Scharbuhel, the city's 1349 square kilometers of land accommodated 3.2 million citizens, about 2% of Orloth's population. Tourists and citizens alike could find limpid ponds in every street and tall fountains surrounded by lively parks.

Known as the City of Crystals, Kars' domed houses and sky-piercing towers were all built in the same icy-blue, crystalline material: orstalph. And though it sat in the city's center, a large stream isolated the Palace of Crystals, seat of the Duke of Kars, from the rest of the city. Visitors came and left through flying frigates prepared on either side of the stream, and palm-sized sports cars raced across coiling bridges. Indeed, Kars' cars could shrink to fit one hand, self-drive, and anticipate all collisions.

But none of this could compare to the three platinum orbs that hovered in the city's sky to manage its climate.

The three orbs browsed the minds of the 3.2 million citizens and maintained the climate preferred by the majority. If the many wanted summer, then summer reigned. If they wished for winter, winter followed, and if driven by madness they asked for a combination between both, then they still had it. Usually, Kars lay in an eternal spring. And as he sat on his room's balcony—watching drone squadrons patrol the sky to release nanomachines and eliminate all viruses or problematic bacteria—Kilian silently cursed Klaus' abilities.

There was only one city throughout the Arcadian continent where a commoner could freely argue a case against an aristocrat: Kars. After spending 16 months within its walls, Kilian fell in love with this land. Aristocrats threaded carefully, slavery neared abolition and what few slaves remained enjoyed better lives than commoners in other grand cities. The poverty rate was below 1%, and the words ”Treat Evil With Justice” shone above the execution platform where Klaus beheaded his tyrannical father.

And to those millions of commoners, Klaus was the greatest hero of all times, the harsh but fair god that saved them all from ruin. Often they attempted to erect statues in his name, but were always rejected. Across the rest of the duchy, the situation was mostly the same.

The sun's rays shafted through the sky, and an alarm chimed at Kilian's bedside.

”We will hold today's lesson in the garden,” Klaus' voice echoed and, without delay, Kilian left his room. He didn't have to touch the door handle. From light to door, everything in that room followed Kilian's brainwaves.

”Greetings, Junior Duke,” dozens of maids lined up in the hall and bowed at Kilian's passage. Although Klaus equipped the castle with a self-cleaning mechanism, they still needed hands for some mundane task. It also left jobs for those with no other options. And while Kilian could simply use a teleportation circle, Klaus forbade it. ”Crossing the palace on foot is good for self-discipline,” he often said. And while Kilian never shied from hard labor, having to cross two hours' worth of stairs every morning wasn't discipline, it was bullshit.

Stepping into the garden, Kilian caught Klaus pruning a bonsai tree as he did every Thursday. But contrary to the usual scenery, a man kneeled beside him, handcuffed and sweating like pig iron.

”Welcome, Kilian,” Klaus said and snapped his fingers. The man's cuffs crumbled, and like a blood-frenzied war fiend, he lunged at Kilian. Unprepared for the twist, Kilian recoiled. The assailant threw wild swings at his face, but all failed to connect. Yet, he didn't stop, and as if hungering for Kilian's life, pressed onward.

Never in his existence did Kilian face such an opponent, and while his foe pressed on him, he trembled, not out of fear, but with pure rage. Pivoting on the right, Kilian let the swing go wide, and kicked into the right side of his opponent's knee. The bone cracked, and thrown off-balance, he tumbled on his side.

”Aargh!” The assailant groaned, but with billowing rage Kilian seized his healthy leg, and snapped it without a second thought. Clutching at his broken legs, the defeated howled in pain. But while the broken bones wracked him from the inside, Kilian mounted him, and punched all teeth out of his mouth.

Battered and bloodied, he could only lay there, pummeled by Kilian's rage until his last breath left him. And still, Kilian didn't stop. They had neither grievance nor enmity, so why did he attack him? Why? Why? Why?

It wasn't fair! He couldn't accept it, so he punched till that man's face became a wretched sack of gore, punched till all trace of who he used to be vanished, punched, punched and punched!

Meanwhile, Klaus stood on the side, tending to the bonsai tree. And when Kilian's rage could no longer power him, his ducal father turned to face the result.

”I give you a D. You used way too much strength to kill the man. Although guilty of murder he was just a jeweler with no martial training. If you need to exhaust your breath on the likes of him, how do you handle an ambush?” Klaus asked in an apathetic tone. Only now did Kilian snap out of his feral state and witness the result of his rage. Appalled, he sprang back, and lowered his eyes on his bloodied hands. This was his first kill, a man he knew nothing of but battered to death like some blood worshipping barbarian.

When did he become so vicious?

”Learning to dehumanize your foes is critical for your survival. Just like him, I told him that if he killed you, his sentence would change from flaying to life imprisonment. And look at how well he adapted?” Klaus stepped toward Kilian and whispered in his ear. Vines sprouted from the ground, wrapping the fallen's corpse before grinding him to dust.

”From now on, you will practice your killing arts on death row inmates. We will start with one per month, then two, three, four, thirty—until you can kill without second thoughts, we will continue. On top of your studies, I will also prepare assassins to hunt you day and night. And I do not doubt that my many enemies won't let you rest, either. Try not to die,” Klaus whispered in his absentminded son's ears.

”Now come, you have someone to meet.” Pulling Kilian by his wrist, Klaus led him back into the castle. And as they crossed its icy-blue walls, Kilian's mind lingered on his kill's bleeding face, then like a glass mirror, the face shattered, and Kilian yanked his hand out of Klaus' grasp. The duke smiled but said nothing.

Together, they reached the greeting hall. From the entrance to the main seat, portraits of Kars' past 60 dukes hung on the walls. Custom required that at Klaus' death, Kilian drew and added his portrait to the hall's walls—he wouldn't. Best burn them all to spare the walls more abuse. In any case, they didn't have much room left.

Upon the two's entrance, the eight noblemen and women awaiting in the hall bowed in greetings. On the scene, only one grabbed Kilian's attention: a 13 years old girl with the blue eyes and curly black hair of the von Karstens.

While the house's lasses typically couldn't hold his gaze, this one was hard to ignore. Like a masterfully carved doll, she would have looked flawless if not for her pale-white skin that screamed vampire vibes. And while Kilian wondered if her tiny lips hid fangs, the girl's large eyes blinked at him.

”Kilian, Anke. Anke, Kilian. Future wife, future husband. I hope you two get along,” Klaus made the presentations, then motioned for the seven kin to clear the hall. They did so without delay.

Alone, the two faced one another for three long minutes before Anke broke the silence.

”When uncle said you were a bit unstable, I didn't believe him, but you do look like someone about to murder millions.” At first taken aback by the words, Kilian glanced at his bloodied hands and realized they were reasonable.

”Well said, but it's hard to take you seriously when you, yourself, look like a bloodsucking lolita. Anyone ever asked you if you were afraid of sunlight?” Kilian countered, making Anke's large eyes narrow at him.

”My skin is snow white.”

”No, it's chalk. Don't fetishize ghosthood.”

Struck hard by Kilian's words, Anke staggered and balled up her fists. Where did this hateful creature come from, and how could her beloved uncle ask her to marry him? As if seeing through her thoughts, Kilian nodded in approval.

”I know what you're thinking—Oh my god, he's too good for me—and you're absolutely correct, so this marriage...will never happen,” Kilian said, spun and left.

On that day, as she stared at his distant back with indignation teeming in her heart, Anke swore to make him grovel at her feet—she never could.

4: What's the Point?

”One empire and four kingdoms occupy the Arcadian continent. Together, the four kingdoms only control one-tenth of the land, with the rest under the dominion of the Arcadian Empire. Nargoz north, Orloth south, Sogard west and Drucia east. Though they nominally maintain sovereignty, all four pay massive, yearly tributes to the Emperor of Arcadia—sole sovereign of the continent's five billion citizens,” a woman nigh-identical to Alina told Kilian while a replica of Viktor sat at her right.

Facing the two, Kilian lay on his stomach, enjoying the brush of a gentle spring breeze within a verdant prairie. It was in moments like these that he discovered a passion for cramming.

”And what does this year represent?” Alina's replica asked.

”The 3,018th year of the Arcadian Empire, 50th year of Emperor Niklas' reign, and the time of my 18th birthday,” Kilian said like a well-programmed automaton while his attention shifted between the two.

”The three grand eras that preceded?” Viktor's copy chimed in.

”First, the Theocratic Age ruled by the clergy. Second, the Holy Rebellion led by the Grand Orders whose leader, Eginolf von Skoll, went on to establish the Arcadian Empire. And last, the Eternal Night that back then saw the death of half the human race.”

”Why does the empire maintain the four kingdoms?”

”No one kn--”

Before the words ended, a foreign grip forced Kilian out of the dreamland, returning him to his room where his body floated in a magenta bubble. With a light explosive sound, the bubble popped, and Kilian tumbled on his bed.

”As the future Duke of Kars, how can you spend hours idling in a Dreamscape? Shame on you,” a mischievous voice came from Kilian's left. But even without turning, he knew who it belonged to.

”You have three seconds to roll out of my bed before I make you a single mom,” Kilian replied, but still didn't turn to face the voice's owner. With a snort, she leaned over, locking her sapphire eyes on his as her wavy black hair fell at either side of his face.

”And how would you do that?” Anke asked and leaned in, eyes still glued on Kilian. Her lips closed on his, and at first, he didn't evade, welcoming her with a few gentle kisses before tugging on her lips with his. But as the kiss grew more passionate, and Anke stuck out her tongue, Kilian flipped her on the other side of the bed and replied:

”By entertaining your hopes long enough to get you pregnant and then abandoning you like the cunt I am.”

It was always like this. Across the six years since they first met, Anke would run after Kilian and get rejected daily. Sometimes she'd chance on him wrestling with Klaus' assassins, and they'd fight them together. Yet, she made no progress. At first, her wounded pride drove her. Now it was a mix of conflicting emotions she couldn't handle.

”We're getting married, though. There is no escaping it. In a few months—at best—we will be married,�� Anke stated the facts they both knew so well. Before they could walk, the marriage was set in stone. And though surnamed von Karsten, Anke was heir to Arcadia's highest-ranked noble. Legions would divorce their wives to secure her hand in marriage. Yet here she was, bound to someone with zero interest.

”I said it before, it won't happen,” Kilian replied, kissed Anke's cheek, and got out of bed—another one of those cruel reminders that they could be many things, just not lovers.

…

The six years deadline had reached its end, and having mastered all of Klaus' lessons, Kilian was now prepared for magic. But as he crossed the icy-blue hallways leading to the duke's study, Kilian knew that of all the things he learned, acting came first.

Day and night he wore masks of sarcasm, of treachery and cynicism, facing subjects, guests and relatives alike with the same smile—while burying his loathing in the recesses of his black heart.

Those six years in Kars carried more weight than his 22 years on Earth or the 12 years in his tribe. They redefined his mind and perceptions, turning him into an individual he could no longer recognize. Bits by bits, madness crept in.

At the entrance of Klaus' study, two guards stood, clad in amethyst, crystal power armors that covered them from head to toe. Thanks to Klaus' strength, resources and leadership, Kars by far possessed the highest technological level of Orloth, and ranked third among the empire's top cities—another reminder of the gap between father and son.

”Greetings, Junior Duke. His Grace is waiting for you,” the two said with polite bows and sidestepped to let Kilian pass. As soon as he reached it, the door opened for him. In the study, Klaus sat at his office table, with a bearded old man facing him. Ignoring the visitor, Kilian stepped toward Klaus, arms crossed behind his back.

”Your Grace,” Kilian bowed toward his father, making both the duke and his guest turn toward him.

”You still call your father by his title? What are you? A soldier?” The bearded guest said, and Klaus smiled at the words.

”Grandfather, you sneak into the duke's study early in the morning or late in the evening. Matter of fact, you're the only one with the privilege. Does that make you his private cock-sucker? Mhm?” Kilian countered, making the old man's eyes twitch.

”The duke is the duke, so out of respect I call him Your Grace. He doesn't care, why do you care? Mind your goddamn business—unbelievable.” Shaking his head to and fro, Kilian shifted his eyes back to Klaus. In Kars, this bearded old man was a mystery. He came as he pleased and left just the same. And while none ever saw his face, he'd been by Klaus' side since he was a child, tutoring him in magic and more.

In fact, many assumed that he was the true foundation of Klaus' meteoric rise—Kilian jokingly called him grandfather.

”Impudence!” Enraged, the man leaped on his feet, towering above Kilian at almost 1.9 meters. But knowing that with the right skillset, shapeshifting was child's play, Kilian distrusted the old man's current appearance.

”What? You can't handle me with words, so you must use your fists? Barbarian! This is Kars, not the imperial arena. The 31st century, not the dark age! Here we have laws that protect children from mad bitches. If you don't behave, I will call the cops!” Kilian placed his hands on either side of his hip and bawled at the elder's face.

Reeling back from the words' impact, the cloaked man stared dumbfounded at Kilian. Although by now, he should have gotten used to Kilian's ways, he couldn't believe that Klaus could raise such an anomaly.

Seeing the show end, the duke beckoned for Kilian's attention.

”Enough. The King of Nargoz is dead, skinned alive and left to rot by the emperor this morning.” The words snatched Kilian's attention, and he spun toward Klaus, ”Skinned alive? Nargoz rebelled?”

Ranking among the most brutal execution methods of the Arcadian Empire, execution by flaying was reserved for rebel leaders. But how could the tiny Nargoz dare rebel against the empire?

”No. The annual tributes were just...three days late,” Klaus replied, making Kilian's eyes widen in disbelief.

”Now that's a man that knows how to make himself respected.”

”You really think so?”

”No. Unless there's a bigger plot here, he's just a fool. But how does that affect me?” As he observed the prompt exchange between Kilian and Klaus, the bearded man frowned and fell back on his seat.

”The Grand Prince of Nargoz is an old friend of mine. Go and reassure him of Kars' support. Lay the groundworks for an official alliance and bring me an exclusive trade deal for orstalph and zuri sales. Your team and bodyguards await. When you return, we will summon the kinsmen and handle your Dra Root Ceremony,” Klaus said and pushed a letter of credence toward Kilian.

Inwardly, he sneered. Having been by Klaus' side for so long, Kilian knew that under the guise of an assignment, he wanted him out of Kars. But since he'd long been plotting a trip to Nargoz, he didn't object.

”Do I have full negotiation powers?”

”Anything is fine as long as it doesn't disadvantage Kars.”

”Very well, as you command, Your Grace,” Kilian half-jested before leaving for Nargoz.

”I don't understand. Nargoz will be wiped out within three years. An alliance has no use,” the bearded elder said.

”Although King Erik remains docile, since I became Grand Justiciar of Orloth, the elder princes allied with the imperial aristocracy and some of my dissatisfied vassals to plot my house's destruction. I may not care for Orloth's forces, but imperial nobles and princes require more considerations. I need a few days to handle them,” Klaus replied with a lopsided smirk.

”If every time it truly matters, you send him away, what's the point of all this training? The Gate will never open,” the elder sighed, Klaus' smirk vanished, and a dreary pause followed.

”Of all people, I thought you'd understand.” Flinching at the words, the elder lowered his head and faded in a swirl of amber winds. Alone, Klaus reclined in his seat and closed his eyes.

5: Nargoz's Upheaval

Crossing the central courtyard leading to the castle's gates, Kilian came across a squad of 14 men, 12 of which stood in a horizontal line, as immobile as the two ancient busts in Klaus' study.

The 12 men wore Zurishells, platinum muscle fiber armors crafted in zuri. A rare mineral unique to Arcadia, zuri was primarily used to produce top templar armors. Its flexibility, robustness and reception to magic transcended that of all other minerals. It also served as an alloy for various electronic parts.

In the eighth year of Klaus' reign, his Technomancy Department devised a way to craft zuri into muscle fiber armors that not only provided superhuman strength, resilience and speed, but incorporated the latest advancements in Technomancy. Supersonic propulsors, stasis fields, plasma lasers and a 360-degree vision ensured that whoever wore those armors could rip the average High Emissary to shreds.

”Junior Duke, by His Grace's orders, I have selected these 12 members of the Seared Hearts as your bodyguards. I believe you're most familiar with them,” Wilfried said, and the 12 bowed in greetings. Out of courtesy, they kept their faces exposed, enabling Kilian to identify them all.

Ignoring Wilfried, Kilian's eyes stopped on the agent at the seventh place from the left, ”Your face...you're new. But did I not kill you? Or was it a twin?” He asked with as much tact as the king of oafs. But without straightening his back, the agent nodded.

”My brother failed the Seared Hearts' examination, and in a moment of weakness, was bribed by enemy forces and attempted to murder Your Lordship. He shamed our family and deserved one million deaths,” the agent replied with no ripple in his voice. Klaus wasn't the only one that sent assassins after Kilian. Disgruntled vassals, princes, dukes and marquises, all those that'd rather see Kars fall in the hands of Kilian's imbecile of a younger brother, gunned for his life.

”Were you close?”

”Very much so.”

”Do you want vengeance?”

”Some people don't deserve to be avenged. Anyone with the nerve to threaten His Grace's world merits a brutal death. If Your Lordship didn't kill him, I would have.”

”Is that so?” As if bored by the exchange, Kilian spun to face the 14th man on the scene, his younger brother, Florens von Karsten.

”Why are you here?” He directly asked. Undisturbed, Florens flashed him a fake smile and stepped forward.

”Father wants me to follow your lead and gain some experience. This is an opportunity to cement our brotherhood, grow closer, and show the world Kars' unity,” Florens said, barely able to suppress his glee. Though two years younger than Kilian, he always saw himself as the true highborn and heir of Kars. On this trip, he intended to prove it. However, Kilian tilted his head to the left, and eyed his brother from head to toe.

”I screwed your mom,” he straightforwardly said, and startled by the words, Florens blinked in confusion.

”W-what?” To say nothing of him, Wilfried aside, all others' faces experienced drastic changes.

”I screwed your mom. No, I screw your mom. Matter of fact, I'm the only one that banged her in the last two years. Father's orders, couldn't stop it.” Slammed hard by Kilian's casually spoken words, Florens staggered and whirled to face Wilfried. The silent acknowledgment he saw in his uncle's face sapped all strength from his legs, and he neared collapse.

But at that time, Kilian gently tapped his right shoulder and whispered in his ear, ”I hope our brotherhood survives it.” He then walked past his dazed brother and led his men toward Kars' gate where a Mach 2 frigate awaited them. Only now did Florens tumble, and after a brief observation of the boy's state, Wilfried pressed his earchip to contact Klaus.

”Your Grace, I'm afraid Lord Florens can no longer join the delegation.”

...

”Before we reach Nargoz, let me make something clear. You have to drop your Arcadian, human supremacist views, less you cause me needless trouble,” sitting in a beige cabin, Kilian told his bodyguards who now had their faces covered by dark-gray helmets. Thanks to the empire's millennia of propaganda, the belief that humanity stood supreme clouded the citizens' eyes. In the Arcadian humans' mind, other races were either inferior or abominations.

The view worked in most places, but in Nargoz, would only bring them hatred.

”Your Lordship needs not be concerned. As you know, His Grace has always advocated tolerance and reformed much of Kars' culture. Although some prejudices remain here and there, they don't affect the likes of us. Still, I'm confused. Aren't the Nargozis human?” A bodyguard inquired.

”Depends on whom you ask. In short, Nargoz is a remnant of the Eternal Night. Founded a century before the empire by the bloodkins to act as a base for their chiropteran masters. The rulers of Nargoz, house Veidt, are direct descendants of the bloodkins that survived through a timely rebellion against the chiropteran invaders. Although they lost some of the original bloodkins' features, their blood-red eyes and innate abilities remain, reminding the world that they aren't quite human,” Kilian explained, making the 12 exchange curious glances.

The most secretive and isolationist of the four kingdoms, Nargoz rarely involved itself in Arcadian struggles. Likewise, information about that kingdom rarely circulated among aristocrats, to say nothing of commoners. Thus, it became a mythical land, with endless legends pouring from gossipy mouths. Yet, while most stories presented no truth, one was quite accurate.

Though the most powerful of the four kingdoms, Nargoz failed to thrive because its aristocracy, the Blood Court, lived in perpetual strife. But as his frigate crossed 20,000 km of blue sky to reach the foreign state's border, Kilian's thoughts remained glued on the two things he truly came for, and how to snatch them right.

...

Within Nargoz's royal palace, Grand Prince Oliver, heir to Nargoz's throne, sat alongside top-ranking nobles of the Blood Court and senior members of the royal council. Anxiety strained all faces.

”Who could think that the empire would shoot down our tribute-delivering aircrafts, force a three days delay, and then use that as an excuse to execute our king. Again, the emperor proves his cruelty unrivaled,” said an old Nargozi councilor with gray hair and blood-red eyes. Aware of their helplessness before the empire's tyranny, several councilors and nobles sighed.

”Nargoz was never a thorn in the empire's side. We administer this land because they allow us to, because we forsook human-blood-drinking, and remained docile to their laws. If the empire wishes to replace us, it doesn't need such petty excuses. What then is this? A warning? A reminder?” A duke followed, but with a wave of his pale hand, Oliver dismissed the words.

”I'm afraid Emperor Niklas is branding us traitors, forcing us to renew the Covenant, break the Peace Barrier, and contact the Balmarian continent to ask the Chiropteran Dynasty for assistance. He must be ready for war and wants to use our despair to lure his foes into a fatal trap. But so long as I breathe, this will not happen,” Oliver said, making councilors and nobles nod in approval.

Still, their hearts soured. Nargoz couldn't survive by lobbying the Chiropteran Dynasty. But for how long could it endure the Arcadian Empire's pressure?

”August Orphan, can't you ask the Duke of Kars for help? After all, aren't the two of you great friends?” The gray-haired councilor offered, but instantly, Oliver sneered.

”Friends? Besides that mysterious man that groomed and protected him throughout his younger years, Klaus has no friend.”

6: Bloodkins

Even at Mach 2 speed, it took Kilian's delegation eight hours to reach Nargoz's territory and dive toward its capital. Having warned the Nargozi beforehand, they didn't face any hurdle. Shrunken to palm-size, the drone-like frigate dropped on the private landing platform reserved for foreign dignitaries. But while the frigate's size and speed gave no one the time to gaze upon it, the racket left by twice the speed of sound startled many citizens. And as Kilian's aircraft landed, his bodyguards stood up, ready to line around him.

The aircraft returned to initial size, Kilian's eyes opened, and alongside the 12, he stepped out of the frigate. Thick icy-blue mist welcomed them all, but activating their visors, the bodyguards saw through it and stood in a perfect military formation.

The blue mist dispersed, revealing three figures dressed in black wizard robes embroidered with red flame patterns. Silver belts tied their waists, and they all possessed the same blood-red eyes. While commoners and women in Arcadia's cities dressed in a similar fashion as on Earth, due to their clerical and thaumaturgic heritage, male aristocrats adopted a more austere look. Kilian, for example, wore a long-sleeved white robe with large golden epaulettes, and the von Karstens' eagle emblem on either side of his belt.

”Welcome, Junior Duke, to Nargoz,” the three men said and bowed in greetings. At first, the move surprised Kilian. After all, Kars may be Arcadia's number three city, but in traditional hierarchy, Nargoz ranked higher. However, when he saw the red half-moon marks on their foreheads, he realized why.

”Whose huntmasters are you?”

”The August Orphan, the chancellor and the chamberlain's,” the three answered Kilian's inquiry. During the Eternal Night, bloodkins were hunters and herd-keepers for their chiropteran masters. Equipped for the job, bloodkins were all born or reborn with a huntmaster and several hunting dogs.

The huntmaster remained one level weaker than his bloodkin, and the hunting dogs, a whole rank below. And while in Nargoz they possessed a lofty status, on Arcadian law, huntmasters were household slaves.