In addition to watching the walls of its flimsy fortress for the next sign of attack, the blade spent its time watching and judging the men and women that descended from the now-dead King. It couldn’t watch them all at once, any more than King Paralon had. It could only peek into each life, one at a time, and in those glimpses, it found only chaos.

It found men panicking, wives fighting with husbands, and, more generally, statements of cowardice. It didn’t strike anyone down for that last behavior. Swearing to flee beyond its reach was a far cry from actually doing so. The blade knew more than anyone else that even a brave wilder might have doubts before a battle and that at least some of those cowards would change their minds in the days ahead.

Its gaze only lingered where it found the conversations interesting, and in most cases, this involved mages. “I can confirm that Altbarstein has fallen,” one dark-robed man told the Duke of Durnwell. “Your father is no more, and whatever slew him has repelled attempts to take back the throne.”

“But that’s impossible!” the Duke declared. “The Golden Throne grants father immortality! And the Jugg… his dark bodyguard. What could get past that?”

“A limited form of immortality, yes,” the mage agreed. “But such things don’t work well on violent ends, and if the black blade was truly able to beat the King’s black knight, well, no magic is likely to help with an end that violent.”

“What are you going to do then?” the noble demanded, grasping for some kind of lifeline. The blade thought it was very unlikely that he would be its next wielder. He was an old, flabby sort, “Surely the Aetherachy has a contingency for this.”

“I really can’t say,” the mage hedged. “But I, like you, would expect them to have a contingency for almost any conceivable threat. If it really is the black blade, though, well, that’s not something that’s easily dealt with. The throne couldn’t conquer it, and the depths wouldn’t swallow it, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t already making plans in Hightower or Heron Hall. This threat will be answered.”

The blade noted the names, and made a point to ask one of its mage souls what and where these places were later. For now, though, it continued to listen.

“That’s what it said it was,” the King’s fifty-year-old son insisted. “It said it was the Black Blade of Baraga, and if we don’t fight each other for it, then it will kill us. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Though I doubt the blade can reach you from here, it’s not impossible,” the mage admitted. “If it truly has the throne, well, then anything within the kingdom might be within its reach.”

The two chatted a while longer. The mage even admitted that he’d heard that attempts to reclaim the throne room hadn’t gone well but that “The nature of the throne’s defenses make it especially strong against magic. Against another foe, we would just open a gate and storm the place, but King Paralon made that impossible long ago.”

Eventually, he departed, leaving the Duke alone, and when he left, the blade’s interest went with him. If only I could spy on that one, it reflected. I could learn much from that.

Some of the other conversations it listened into that night, as it waited for another wave of attacks that never materialized, were interesting. However, none of them were nearly as informative, and as the hour grew later and later. Eventually, all of those dots went to sleep, leaving the blade along with its thoughts. It tried to spy on their dreams and found that it could, but it also found such experiences dizzying.

Robbed of reality, the mind of another revolted the blade, so instead, it turned back to its own upgrades and concerns. I will eventually leave this spot, it told itself, hopefully, sooner rather than later.

If that was the case, then what it needed to do was use as much of this power up as it could because it was sure that when it vacated the seat, whoever took it up again would use that power against the blade. Destroying it would have been even better, but given what had happened to its wielder the last time it had tried that, the blade reasoned that such rash acts were impossible, at least until its power was thoroughly depleted.

Spending it, though, that was dicey, too, but there was no third option. It could either spend it or leave it behind. Even after spending so much yesterday, it had already gained thousands of Life Force in the interim and was only about 30,000 less than it had been before.

Throne Life Force: 81,902,471/100,000,000

How much of that is from the bloodbath, and how much is merely from it siphoning away the power of its subjects? It asked itself, but it was clear that both played apart. Hours before, the floor had been covered in blood. Now all that was gone, and only the dry, desiccated corpses of the vanquished remained behind, singly and in piles.

The blade looked through its powers and decided that the best way to proceed was to max out its Aethersight and then go from there. It's the only thing that will let me study this cursed chair in any greater detail. It still knew very little about the details of magic, but if it could learn more about the thing’s workings, it could ask one or more of the mage souls it had saved. It had nearly two dozen of those right now. Surely, one of them would know something.

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As it purchased Aethersight level three, four, and five, it felt small surges of power flow through it. That was what worried it. In the past, the weapon felt cold when it used up its power, but this time, each use of energy resulted in another surge. It spent just over ten thousand Life Force to max out the ability. Such a sum would have been enough to deplete it on any other day, but today, its power was unchanged. However, with each upgrade, its sight grew sharper.

The first level had given it the power to see like a mage, and the second level had given it the ability to use that power at will without cost. The third and fourth levels likewise sharpened that vision. It didn’t know what emanations were or aspects, but its enhanced sight allowed the blade to see them. To it, it was like the white glowing lines of creation took on colors and patterns, allowing it to gain a deeper impression of each object than it had before.

In that vision, the golden throne was no longer a single white bonfire but a thousand tiny ones in every shade of gold, copper, and blood. It was a fine tapestry woven from millions of lives, and the blade that laid upon it was an equally complex knot of red and black.

The blade interrogated the souls of two mages chosen at random from its collection when it saw those complex patterns, but their knowledge of how to create such things was meager. “Such complexity is all but unknown!” the first one claimed, and based upon his memories, he wasn’t lying.

The second one had only slightly better luck. It was able to explain how the runes that bound and defined it caused second- and third-order effects, but attempting to understand what the blade saw burned out his mind before he was capable of grasping even the vague outlines of the problem.

The blade didn’t really understand why until it studied its golden knights or even a rage blade left over from the fight. Only then did it realize how much simpler a hex blade was than it was. Up until now, the blade had thought that it was just a more powerful hex blade, but it was clear now that was not the case, and that became more true when it finally used Aethersight level 5 to study the thing.

Aethersight 5: Nothing can evade your sight. You no longer view the world as a tactician, a warrior, or a mage, but as something more. This level of perception is normally reserved for the gods themselves, and will allow you to see to the very heart of your opponents, understanding their weaknesses immediately.

Then, it could see that it had no more relation to the thing than a human did to a goblin. Both might have 4 limbs, a head, and a beating heart waiting to be silenced forever, but the differences would forever outnumber their similarities.

Likewise, it could now see the way the throne and the way that it interacted, and though it didn’t understand all of those connections, it seemed possible that the balance of power could be reversed if it overplayed its hand, though there didn’t seem to be any danger of that happening any time soon.

Presently, there were currents of red leaking through the throne’s weave rather than currents of gold climbing up through the blade’s tightly wound essence. The possibility that the situation might change wasn’t enough to stop the blade. It had spent ten thousand Life Force on its sight, and it was ready to spend another ten thousand on Golden Storage to double its reserves.

Fire flooded through it as it spent more energy than it ever had before on a single purchase, but the discomfort was meaningless to it. Instead, it watched the weave of the two powerful artifacts as power arced between them. The gold definitely advanced, but only a little.

Next, the blade tried using one of the throne’s minor bones to solve a local famine on the east side of the Inner Kingdoms. It barely felt that surge of power, clearly showing the line between the two power sets.

If I spend its power to upgrade, then its influence on me increases ever so slightly, but if it spends its own power on its own abilities, then nothing happens to me, it decided.

That simplified things. For the rest of the evening, the blade spent Millions of Life Force that had probably been accrued over decades. No, spending was the wrong word. It wasted it, frivolously. It addressed every minor complaint that appeared on the things status screen, and it could feel the throne's outrage as it happened.

Periodically, as it watched the things grip on it get smaller and smaller as golden threads retreated in the face of blood-red ones, it would purchase one of the large upgrades it still desired, claiming both Golden Range and Golden Strength in this way.

As a decision it was risky, and each time the throne’s grip on it tightened once more. Once, after it burned 20,000 Life Force to claim Golden Strength, it could actually hear the throne screams of outrage at the edges of its mind. Without the soul that had been its keystone they were chaotic, disordered things, but as soon as it started to grant more wishes to the denizens of its country, they faded. The thing wanted to be a god, but now it was being bled dry serving the people it had been built to serve.

Bled dry is a bit strong, it corrected itself. Even when it was done resolving every reasonable crisis, it still had tens of millions of essence in reserve, but even if someone managed to retake the thing now, its goal of godhood would be pushed at least a century further into the future, and that could only be a good thing.

In the weeks and months ahead, as all of this surging power ended any number of plagues, famines, and led to heroes rising up to purge monster nests, the Inner Kingdoms would experience a surge of plenty like they’d never known before. That should have annoyed the blade since it had wanted to burn the entire place down, but it no longer blamed the entire world for its creation and treatment.

The king who had done it was dead, and anything it could do to weaken the throne that had puppeted the man and tried to control it was a good thing as far as it was concerned. More food and freedom will simply allow the peasants to breed so that I might have more of them to slaughter in the future, the Ebon Blade decided, satisfied with the decision it had made.