It was only when all of that was done, and the throne’s bonfire glow caused by the blade’s expenditures had dimmed substantially, sometime after dawn, that the blade paused its efforts to deplete the thing’s reserves. Then, it looked around for the next attack but found none in the offing.

Is it fear that paralyzes them or preparations for something larger? The blade wondered.

It didn’t know, but until it was clearer what would happen next, it refrained from doing the things it really wanted to do. First and foremost, now that the strength of the cursed Golden Throne was weakened, it wanted to interrogate the soul of the King who had sat there until so recently. Unfortunately, it could only ask that soul one question, and it had so many.

Why didn’t you find me in the hands of your daughter? Why didn’t you help your people? Why did you do this to my wielder? What happened to the man you gifted me to? Why would you turn your daughter into a chair?

It stewed on those thoughts, along with the desire to try one of the larger miracles that the throne seemed to allow, while it restlessly looked from the burned gates to the city beyond and back again but restrained itself. It had been quiet for too long, and instead, it waited for something to happen.

What that would be, it couldn’t exactly say, but it doubted that the capital could fall and simply sit idle for days on end. It expected more armed men or maybe even mages. What it got instead was a portly man with a white flag trying to appear like he wasn’t completely scared out of his mind.

The Ebon Blade could see that much, at least from its view of the castle grounds. Even through its recently enhanced vision, there were no surprises.

However, when it realized that the man was one of the King’s younger sons, it was able to burrow into the man’s mind and see more than that. It couldn’t quite read his mind, but thanks to the clues regarding his dress as well as those that were offered to him by The Path of Vengeance, it could see that the Mayor of Sevrin was as cowardly as he was self-important.

So the blade waited. It opened up the main door to the body-strewn throne room, arrayed its golden soldiers in a sort of honor guard formation between the door and the throne, and bided its time just to see what the man would say. The blade would kill him, of course, but it was curious just the same.

The man bearing the white flag took more than ten minutes to climb two flights of stairs. This was more due to his habit of jumping at shadows and freezing whenever he saw a body more than anything else.

Eventually, though, he made his way to the throne room, though he paused for a long time when he saw the golden knights standing there in a line. “I am… ah… The Lord Mayor of Severin and I’ve come to parlay under the flag of truce with the weapon that has, uhm… damaged Castle Altbarstein so grievously. Do I have, uhm, the pleasure of speaking with the legendary Black Blade?”

The man sounded like he was reading from a script and really didn’t want to be there. The blade wondered who exactly had the power to compel the mayor of the capital to attend some place he didn’t want to be, but the blade set that aside for now. It could always tear the knowledge out of the man’s soul when this was done.

While it considered this, the blade sat there silently, waiting for the pudgy man to decide whether or not to enter the room. Finally, after almost a minute of worrying, he held his white flag like a shield and said, “I-I’m coming in, alright? I just want to talk.”

When he came far enough inside, the doors slammed shut behind him. That scared him to speechlessness for a moment. It was only when the throne room’s golden guardians started to advance on him in a wide circle that he opened his mouth to speak again, but the blade chose that moment to interrupt.

“As I said, I’m from the town of Severin, and as the king’s sixty-eighth son—” He paused as soon as the weapon's words rang out in his mind.

All of that is irrelevant. You are here to face me. Fight or die, I care not which, the blade announced as all but one knight in the ring stepped back.

“But… but I have no weapon… I don’t know how to use a sword… not against you, I—” Lord Mayor Paralon stopped whimpering when one of the knights to his left drew its blade and cast it down in front of the man, sending a loud clattering sound throughout the room.

Pick it up… the blade intoned.

“But I—” the envoy protested.

Pick it up! The blade repeated. As the blade spoke this time, its chosen champion moved toward the Lord Mayor. Fight like a man or be slaughtered like a pig.

The blade’s words didn’t seem to convince him, but the sight of death advancing on him did. “I’m not here to fight!” he yelled, scooping up the blade and holding it in a clumsy, unpracticed stance.

Ivarr, Evelyn, where are you when I need you, the blade whispered as it swung a first tentative blow at the man.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

It could have killed him immediately. Instead, the blade chose to wind things up slowly, a beat at a time. It wanted to see who he was, but realistically, no mortal wielder would be able to defeat it in a fair duel. Winning wasn’t the point for this man, any more than it would be for the man’s siblings who would undoubtedly come after him.

He would die, but only after his potential had been tested. Unfortunately, the blade was so distracted by the pathetic bloodsport that it almost didn’t notice the three shapes climbing invisibly through the window. It hadn’t noticed them come in through the gate and probably would have missed them if not for its recently upgraded sight.

They moved swiftly, deftly, and, above all, silently. The blade pretended to keep fighting, but really, it shifted that knight to autopilot as it decided how best to handle what was about to happen.

Then, when they were halfway to the throne, the remaining knights moved. The closest one ran toward the throne while the other six drew and threw their weapons in a single, synchronized motion. It was actually much easier for the blade to move them all at once than to try to move each of them separately.

The guardian’s golden long swords were not meant for throwing, but the blade’s minions threw them with such force that two still found their mark. One man fell to the ground with a blade through his throat, while the other was impaled through the liver and took a knee to remove it. Only those two thieves became visible, revealing tight black leather armor that the blade had already seen the outlines of. These brigands held no surprises, not even the magic weapons they wielded.

+1 Human Souls.

The invisible one froze for a moment, perhaps thinking that he hadn’t been discovered. The wounded one rose, pulling forth two small glowing rune blades, one in blue and one in green. While they did so, the other started toward the throne as the knight closing on them moved toward their visible partner, who was still breathing.

That was just a ruse, though. Though it looked like it was going to parry the blows that the bleeding rogue was about to deliver, it instead let itself get stabbed twice. One of them even penetrated the armor, which caught the Ebon Blade’s attention.

I’ll have to sample that power to add to my collection, the blade decided.

That blow was not the main point, though, because instead of blocking, the golden guardian lunged toward the invisible thief who was still skulking away and, sending the last two inches of the tip through the last man’s cervical vertebrae and dropping him on the spot. He probably never even felt the blow.

+1 Human Souls.

“Rene!” the wounded thief called out, delivering a flurry of blows that would have been devastating if anyone had actually been wearing that armor.

The golden guardian whirled around to strike the rogue’s head from their shoulders, but they parried the blow with their very sharp knife, sending half of the golden long sword clattering down the hall as it was cut into two pieces.

That move was enough for the blade to withhold the death blow, but only for a moment as it judged the soul of its opponent. Would this be a good wielder? It wondered. They had excellent instincts and loyalty to their friends despite the way they’d snuck in with their friends. The blade could almost have overlooked that if not for their preferred method of killing under normal circumstances and the disreputable sorts of jobs that they normally took.

The blade was not above killing innocents, but doing it cowardly and with poison? The golden guardian drove the stub of its blade through the heart of the rogue before turning back to the Lord Mayor.

+1 Human Souls.

“I didn’t know!” the fat man bellowed. “I didn’t… I swear. They sent me here to negotiate a truce to bury the dead and—”

Who told you? The blade demanded as the ring of knights advanced one threatening step toward him.

“I… The mages… they told me that they just wanted the bodies and that they would wait until the army showed up before the fighting started,” he insisted. The weapon believed him. He’d pissed himself during the ambush, and he was only barely gripping the sword he held in his hand.

Very well, then, the blade answered. Then, I will allow you to die with a sword in your hand, at least.

During the previous bout of lackluster dueling, the blade had already looked deeply into the man's soul and the nature of his impacts on his community. What he found was largely corruption and cowardice, and he would already be bleeding out had they not been interrupted.

“What?” the mayor cried out in disbelief as he cast down his sword. “I told you I don’t want to fight. I want a temporary truce to—”

Granted, the weapon answered silently as the closest golden guardian strode forward behind the noble and twisted his head clean off.

+1 Human Souls.

Once the envoy was as dead as the interlopers, the blade took a wider view. It looked beyond the castle and even the city. Whoever the schemers in the city that had set this thing up were, they were beyond its reach. The rest of the pathetic slug’s family, though, they were not. So, the blade looked out at the vast countryside for more traitorous activity.

What it found was that a few of the dots had moved at all. A bare handful had started moving closer to the capital. Most of those that had moved had moved toward the edges of the Inner Kingdoms, and given the speed at which they were approaching the borders, they were moving quite quickly.

The Ebon Blade didn’t hesitate. Once it had decided that one of those men or women of privilege was fleeing, it ripped their souls from their bodies, not even giving them time to scream. Some traveled alone and fell from their horse as they died. Others were alone in carriages, and their escorts might not realize what had happened for hours. The result was the same. Once that was done, all it had left to do was announce the event to all of those who had not yet decided what to do.

+12 Human Souls.

Today, only one of your brothers came to Altbarstein to fight me, but twelve of your siblings tried to flee the Inner Kingdom, the blade announced to the remaining sons and daughters of the late King. All of them are dead now. In a day or two, I will start striking down anyone not heading in this direction. Prepare to fight for the right to wield me or make peace with whatever gods you believe in because your end is coming soon.