The ride to the airport was quick and ambivalent. Some parts of the large vehicle were silent, others parts were filled with uproarious laughter, and the rest was filled with incoherent bickering that added to the disorderly ambiance.

Weasel had unsurprisingly fit right into Bastion and Nemean’s bickering like a final puzzle piece.

The likeness of the irascible and shameless behavior left Weasel feeling particularly light, not weighed down by some of the mental burdens pushed to remote corners of his mind to lessen their torment.

It was different for Kieran, though.

His mind wasn’t present, enjoying the moment or noting the growing relationships between his teammates and friends. His mind visited the future—well, his version of it at least.

‘So many things to accomplish. So little time to do them.’

Virtually all of Kieran’s duties and aspirations had execution dates attached to them. The Trial of Inheritors, accomplishing what Hekaina required of him, acquiring the power needed to war against the Arcane Dominion, and turning his guild into something uniquely magnificent.

None of this could be accomplished in a night or day, but they all possessed due dates.

A time would come when the Arcane Dominion became an unstoppable force, their descent inescapable. A horde of monsters Kieran could only assume to be some unique kind of Undead.

The Arcane One had mentioned his people were not humans. They were the realization of Souls, created through some mystical practice beyond his realm of understanding. While Kieran did not know if they possessed the traits of the Undead—resistance to strictly physical attack and never tiring—he felt with great certainty that a Soul couldn’t be damaged through physical means.

Kieran’s expression darkened, his focus grimly dour.

‘Should I focus on cultivating a large detachment of magic users? That’s one of the most difficult routes of advancement, though.’

Mages and other magic-attuned professions were the greatest weapon against physically-resistant enemies.

Was this his most pressing issue, though? Not really.

Kieran’s expression gradually lightened as his focus shifted from a broad view to a selfish aspect. The Trial of Inheritors was the most pressing issue. Scar treated it gravely, but more than that, without its completion… Kieran could never become an authentic Blood Fiend.

He’d remain a True Berserker, with limited access and understanding of the power he wielded.

That begged the question… what was the Trial of Inheritors? He had asked this key question once before to gain a crucial understanding of his future struggles. But, he was met with caution and sealed lips.

Apparently, it was part of the tradition… or maybe something enigmatically binding and limiting—like an oath. An oath that what? Kieran did not know.

But he remembered glimpsing in an ancient text that oaths held power, primarily when bound to a source of great power. What extraordinary powers could make a Myth, wielder of unimaginably profound might, become Oathbound?

The deeper Kieran thought, the more suspicions he aroused and the more questions he engendered.

‘The Endless—however many there are—are ancient, powerful, and perhaps irrefutable. Eni’s dominion over mystery, knowledge, and answer was incredible. Then… there’s the Hecate, the Endless Hekaina is beholden to. The Endless of Fate’s Strings…’

Hekaina had paid a grave price to summon the Hecate and gain insight into what Kieran was and what he represented. It lacked depth, but it pushed them upon the right path—a path rife with terrible unknowns and prophetic demise.

To call upon the prescient speakers was to scar the psyche with horrors that could be. Danger lurked everywhere. Peril lingered in all places. But scars affect people in varying ways. Some sunk into madness, defeated by its bizarre weight and agonizing torture. Some gained a redoubled conviction towards combating those dangers.

Then, some remain unchanged.

Those unaffected by the chilling winds of fate were known as the Unshaken—steadfast in their bearing, they wield the mind of Forgedsteel.

‘How does the mind become Forgedsteel? I have only ever heard Hekaina speak of it in passing. Perhaps it is only the Wykins that are privy to this information. But, if I’m to become the Harbinger I’m apparently destined to be… then I need it.’

Mind of Forgedsteel.

What abilities did that offer? What suffering did that entail?

Suffering… there was always suffering. To bring about great change, a tremendous amount of discomfort was required.

Before he knew it, Kieran had sunk deep into a mire of contemplation and brooding. His shirt was tugged several times, only that last of which was felt.

He turned and realized Lillian was calling for him to follow. They had arrived at the airport, a gargantuan edifice of tempered glass, steel, and stone designed with sleek splendor. .𝙘𝒐𝒎

Allan ensured a streamlined experience in the airport, and it was true. Boarding was no issue. They showed their credentials, and they were outside on the tarmac approaching the private jet’s opulent interior.

Allan grinned. His eyes glimmered with glee.

“We may not have flown here in style, but we’re damn sure leaving in it. This trip was too stressful and overwhelming for me not to enjoy myself.”

Sithik, Aspaira, Sera—the entire team, really—boarded the private jet in awe. With ample space between the seats, the team could spread out without encroaching upon one another’s privacy.

Nemean called out as the plane door closed.

“Next stop… home! Off to New Metro City, we go. To get slaved and whipped. Oh, wait… I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.”

Altair spared him a strange, contemplative look.

“If you wish to be whipped and slaved, that can be arranged. I think it calls for a threefold increase in your training regimen. Let’s spike the difficulty.”

A smile lingered on Kieran’s previously dark, brooding visage.

“Careful what you ask for. With our resources, you just might get it.”

Somehow, no one on the team was assured by what Kieran had to say. On the contrary, it terrified them! An eerie chill traveled down their backs.

The beginning of the ride was slightly bumpy, filled with unavoidable air turbulence. After that, however, it was smooth sailing in the skies.

An hour of luxurious respite—give or take some odd minutes.

The experience outdid the hotel in that they were given a couple of attendants that tended to their every need. Even Bastion’s and Weasel’s more outlandish ones that some dare not repeat.

All good things came to an end, unfortunately.

Kieran and his teammates departed from the plane after touching down in New Metro City, a glorified **-hole compared to what Minence City could offer.

Now home, there was no reason for everyone to stick together as a cohesive unit. As much as Kieran wanted to step away and tackle some remaining issues, he chose not to.

‘I don’t think I should appear there yet. I’m not in any position to offer a better solution.’

That trip had been a windfall of spending. Excellent but pricy results.

While the business accounts had not hit zero, they were essentially empty. Caelum Lenders had taken their exorbitant piece. The order on the virtual equipment had completed its processing, and the offer on the facility was approved.

Herald and Sanguine Requiem now possessed operational costs that would increase all the same. By the day, Kieran presumed.

‘Selling gold and streaming as the main sources of income won’t do. Gold is about to become a commodity that every player will crave. A dire need is coming. I’ve let go of what I could spare. But now… now is the time to put it to good use.’

Kieran beckoned for Allan to walk with him.

“Before our return, I had asked you a question, and you said you would consider it. So… have you thought on it enough?”

Allan slowed, his lips becoming dry and parched. His eyes betrayed how deeply nervous he was. He believed this was a leap of faith, leaving security for unpromised serendipity. Many of the means Kieran employed were of questionable morality.

If this pattern remained, how long would Herald last? How long would Sanguine Requiem? Gamer Republic, Inc. was a long-standing company with immense security. Though his position wasn’t the best, it was comfortable.

But did Allan only want comfortability?

If that were true, he wouldn’t have searched tooth and nail for a solution to his stagnancy. Ennui started to settle in, but deep down, Allan knew the monotony of his current employ wasn’t enough for him.

The other side offered excitement he couldn’t disregard.

The excitement was attractive, seductive, and perversely addictive. Allan had begun to like this company where he wasn’t forced to be something he was not.

Allan licked his dried lips and looked Kieran in the eyes.

“I’d become your Administrator?”

Kieran nodded.

“Correct. But you’d also assume to role of high-level management of Herald. The guild, the business… they’re mirrors of each other. A mirror that allows only people of passable integrity and ability to pass through.”

Kieran’s voice had a steady and gratifying dignity as he spoke. In this life, he was proud of what he was accomplishing. It was not without its tribulations, but sovereignty and choice were worth the struggle.

“…Passable integrity.”

Allan mulled over the words, repeating them in a decreasing volume until inaudible. He had questioned Kieran’s integrity but looking back, he had never acted in a way that would call for question.

He had only manipulated the options given. And considering his starting point, orthodox routes couldn’t be followed.

Rising to the challenge took time. An amount of time that no new business truthfully possessed. Those “orthodox channels” were rigged to hamper unpredictable threats to the current world order.

Allan made the inevitable choice. He joined.

Kieran heralded in new management.