Lucian finished stripping the Roundtable envoy of his possessions and made no effort to nd the man's broken jaw. The fellow was insufferably annoying, and if he bit through his own tongue to end his life, it would be troubleso explaining it to Edgar. The castellan would surely want to interrogate him thoroughly.
Though little of value was likely to be extracted from such assassins, a living prisoner was always more useful than a corpse.
Leaving the envoy to his fate, Lucian turned toward Edgar. He had intended to ask the man to guide him through the castle—perhaps find a new suit of armor and a proper weapon.
The Grafted Blade Greatsword he carried now was powerful enough—its skill granted five points to all attributes—but it was nothing like the one from the Lands Between he rembered. This blade was steeped in sothing far darker, and its strength requirent was far beyond what he had yet planned to invest in. Until he decided how to distribute his runes, he would set it aside.
His remaining arsenal was sparse: an Ornantal Straight Sword and the envoy's reforged Broadsword. Both serviceable, but neither sat comfortably in his grip. If possible, he wanted a greatsword, halberd, or greataxe… or perhaps a dagger for swift footwork and Ashes of War like Quickstep or Bloodhound's Step.
For now, Edgar and his daughter Irina were lost in their own reunion. The grizzled castellan—his cheeks wet with tears—had no thought for his image. The rebellion of the past two days had weighed heavily on his spirit; as lord of Castle Morne, he had been forced to remain unshaken. Now, at last, he could let the burden slip.
Seeing that their conversation would not end soon, Lucian abandoned the idea of having Edgar guide him personally.
A soldier nearby noticed his gaze lingering on the father and daughter and spoke quietly.
"The commander may seem stern and unapproachable, but he is kind, my lord—treats us common folk well. Everyone in the castle loves and respects him.
"But fate has dealt him cruel blows. The lady of the castle died soon after giving birth to Lady Irina… and the young miss was born with her eyesight afflicted.
"So I am truly grateful you reunited them."
He began to kneel, but Lucian caught him by the arm.
"If you truly wish to thank , take around the city. I need new armor and weapons… and we can clear out any remaining misbegotten along the way."
The young soldier nodded at once, handing the envoy's watch over to another guard, and led Lucian into the heart of the castle.
Castle Morne was far larger than its counterpart in his mories—what the "ga" had shown was little more than its walls, the internal chambers never revealed.
As they walked, Lucian learned his guide's na: Julius.
The lad's father was a blacksmith—an enviable trade in the Lands Between, for one never wanted for coin or food. His mother did fine handiwork, and together they had given Julius a good life within the castle walls. He even had a gentle childhood sweetheart awaiting him.
When of age, Julius had joined the garrison, showing such promise that Edgar himself had once called him the most likely to be knighted in recent years. His future had been bright… until the rebellion shattered it.
Julius led Lucian straight to the armory, pointing out the purpose of each chamber they passed, until they arrived.
The place was in disarray. When the misbegotten broke in, they had looted freely, carrying off most of the short swords, daggers, and lighter arms.
Julius, moving with the familiarity of a man who had served here long, took Lucian to a corner.
"Because my father is a blacksmith, I took on the work of resupplying the armory when I joined the garrison. I know every inch of this place. In fact, I fetched the crossbows and nets from here earlier to aid you in the fight.
"These racks hold longer, heavier weapons the beasts have no skill for—so plenty remain. But they're all standard-issue, nothing special in quality. Longspears, straight swords, greatswords… so lost, so damaged, but the types are complete enough."
Lucian glanced over the racks. Common iron—no Ashes of War to be seen. Nothing worth taking.
"There's a deeper storehouse," Julius added. "The weapons there are of far finer make. You'll like them."
He led the way into a rear corridor. As they passed a wooden crate, a misbegotten burst from hiding, dagger raised high to plunge into Julius's unguarded back.
The soldier reacted quickly, shield rising—yet another hand moved faster.
Lucian's left hand clamped the creature's wrist, arresting the dagger's fall. His right arm swept around from behind, palm engulfing its face. With a sharp twist—crack—the misbegotten's head spun nearly one hundred and eighty degrees before it collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
He dusted off his hands. Killing such foes barehanded was no effort at all to him now.
"You're incredible, my lord!" Julius breathed, eyes wide in awe.
No further ambushes ca, and soon they entered the inner storehouse—a small room without weapon racks, its arms stored in chests.
"What's inside these?" Lucian asked, noting the lack of labels.
"These wooden chests hold weapons once wielded by our most distinguished warriors," Julius explained, opening one to show a small collection, each sheathed.
Lucian drew a Knight's Straight Sword from the pile. Its edge was well-kept, and its skill was the Spinning Slash.
"Better than the armory's stock," he admitted. "And the stone chests?"
"Those hold Castle Morne's finest," Julius said with pride.
He heaved open a stone coffer to reveal a single Claymore without a sheath. Though old, its edge still glead with deadly promise.
Lucian lifted it, admiring its broad blade, thick leather grip, and the signs of four reforgings. But what truly caught his eye was the skill etched into its steel—Lion's Claw.
"This one. I like it."
No warrior could resist the call of Lion's Claw.
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