I scrambled back up the stairs, eager to field test my accomplishment. My armor clanked with each step, the sound echoing through the cavernous library. I dashed through the displays and jumped through the portal, my heart pounding with anticipation.
Damn, I forgot the exit was a good distance into the air.
"OoooaaOAOAHhhhhhhh!" I screeched as I fell, quickly and hard.
The ground rushed up to meet me, and I struck it with an impressive energy, kicking up a massive cloud of dirt. As the dust settled, I found myself surrounded by fifty armed men, their weapons alit with magics pointed directly at me. They parted to allow the Grandwarden through.
"Are these beasts yours?" he asked fiercely, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Nay." I flipped my helmet up, revealing my face. "Remember me?"
Master's expression softened with recognition. "Squire! What manner of armor it that?"
"My own," I replied, pride swelling in my chest. "Now let me look at that thing."
I climbed over the gruesome field of separated anatomy, the remains of the slain dragon strewn about. "Where is it?" I called out, scanning the area.
Magnar's voice cut through the chaos. "Boy, what is it?"
"Its obsidian heart. They all have them," I explained, urgency in my voice.
"Buried," Master Beswick replied, his voice strained. "Everyone grew sick when trying to touch it, so I quickly hid it beneath the earth as it drew away my strength."
Idiots, all of them. "Where?" I asked, annoyance creeping into my tone.
"Over yonder, just outside the wall," Beswick indicated with a nod of his head.
Before I could move, the captain interjected, "Can we tread back to what the lad is wearing?"
"Armor," I replied curtly. "Touch it, I made it special."
The captain reached out and quickly withdrew his hand the moment his finger touched the surface. "What forsaken artifact have you made, boy?"
"Enjoyed it?" I smirked beneath my helmet. "This is my rough draft. Now I need that crystal."
"We can't let that happen," the captain protested, his voice rising. "That thing almost killed the guy who touched it. If it fell—"
I interrupted him, my patience wearing thin. "Into the wrong hands? I am a Warden of the Realm, Squire to the Grandwarden. Last son of the Morleys. I am the right hands. Give me, please."
"Only if you enlighten us with your wisdom, young man," one of the elders said, his tone both challenging and curious.
"Vexcrystals," I began, my voice steady and confident. "Remember the Balderstone ruins? Somehow, every creature that has appeared today has small fragments of vex embedded within their hearts. I assume the goliaths did as well." I cast a sarcastic look at the two heroes, "I wish they had been left intact."
Magnar threw his hands up in exasperation, his robe billowing to match his gesture.
"It's fine. I have plenty. Especially with this hunk." I said.
I finished uncovering the black crystal heart, its sharp edges glinting ominously. Kneeling down, I grabbed the jagged heart.
"That's dandy," the captain said, "but that deadweight almost sapped my left tenant dry. Why are you different?"
"A good question," I replied, "I cannot even hazard a guess."
I placed the obsidian heart into the chest with the rest, this one the size of my torso. I locked the box and scooped it into the storage space.
The killers around me murmured among themselves, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear.
The captain, still skeptical, stepped closer. "Squire, what do you plan to do with that... thing?"
I met his gaze, my eyes steely. "I'm going to use it to protect this realm. To ensure that no more lives are lost to these abominations."
Magnar stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. "Your armor... it's infused with vexcrystal dust, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Yes, it is. Fantastic, right?"
Beswick, looking weary but determined, placed a hand on my shoulder. "Micah, Let's train you properly now."
"Of course, my master," I replied, my voice firm.
The captain, still wary, finally relented. "Very well, Squire. We'll trust your judgment. But if anything goes wrong, it's on you."
"I accept that responsibility," I said, my gaze unwavering.
The battlefield, once a scene of chaos and destruction, was now eerily quiet. The air still crackled with residual magic, and the scent of charred flesh and burning embers hung heavy. The soldiers, magicians, and Expulsors moved methodically, their faces set in grim determination as they worked to package the beast.
The warriors, their weapons now sheathed, used their enhanced strength to lift and move the larger pieces of the dragon's carcass. Each part was carefully examined and cataloged before being transported.
"Careful," The head elder called out after one of the men almost dropped a leg quarter, "The less hide we salvage the less armor we make for you!"
I worked alongside them, my new armor feeling both strange and empowering. As I helped to move the dragon's massive claws, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the creature. Its black scales, each the size of a shield, shimmered with an eerie, almost otherworldly light.
Magnar and Master stood nearby, discussing the next steps in hushed tones. The Grandwarden's presence was a steadying force, his calm demeanor a beacon of strength for the rest of us. Magnar stared blankly past my master. He observed the scene around him like an experience guard watching a tavern from its bar. His eyes occasionally drifted to my wrist.
"How long will it take to clean this mess?" one of the soldiers grumbled as he hauled a particularly large chunk of dragon flesh onto a cart.
"Longer than we'd like," the captain replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "But we have to ensure every piece is accounted for. We can't risk any part of this creature tainting the world."
The elders nodded in agreement. "Aye, Captain. Especially since its whole body has a milder version of the boy's armor's effect."
As the night wore on, the piles of dragon parts slowly diminished, replaced by oddly-shaped parcels wrapped in canvas. The magicians channeled spells to purify the ground, removing any lingering traces of death. The Expulsors, separated the packages into enough to split between everyone, mage and fighter alike, with a teleportation talisman, before themselves grouping together with their captain.
The eldest of the magicians stepped forward, his voice carrying over the quiet murmur of the cleanup efforts. "Expulsors, you have done well. Now, it is time for you to return to your barracks. Until we call again."
The Expulsors nodded, their expressions resolute. One by one, they activated their teleportation amulets, shimmering briefly before disappearing from sight. The elders followed suit, their departure marked by a faint ripple of mana that echoed through the air.
Magnar, Beswick, and I stood in silence as the last of the magicians vanished. The battlefield, now cleared of the dragon's remains, felt strangely empty.