A few hours had now passed since Sael had buried Aldric and his allies properly.

  Not long after returning that, it was time to visit the Corrupted he had captured during the Academy incident. Professor Carth and the others had been detained for several days now, and if Sael was going to find any leads about Corruption's presence in other regions of the world, these captives were his best starting point. They might have information—conscious or otherwise—about networks, contacts, coordinated movements.

  And to reach Professor Carth's residence, they took the Duke's personal cart. A cart was larger on the inside than it had any right to be.

  Sael noticed this immediately upon stepping through the door, because of course there was a door, hinged and everything, like they were entering a small house rather than a vehicle. The exterior had suggested cramped quarters at best, perhaps enough room for four people if they were friendly and didn't mind their knees touching. The interior revealed something closer to a mobile sitting room, complete with cushioned benches along both walls, a small table bolted to the floor between them, and enough headroom that Sael could stand upright without hunching.

  Spatial expansion magic.

  He approved.

  Not of the extravagance necessarily—though he supposed a Duke was entitled to some creature comforts—but of the application itself. Spatial magic was finicky at the best of times, requiring precise mathematical calculations and a deep understanding of how reality's fabric responded to being folded in on itself. Getting it wrong usually meant either the spell failed entirely or you created a localized gravity anomaly that tried to compress everything within a five-foot radius into a singularity.

  Sael settled onto one of the benches, thinking he should probably teach Orion a thing or two soon. Spatial magic seemed to be a good start, given the boy's aptitude for theory.

  Richter took the opposite seat as the cart lurched into motion.

  Sael reached out to steady himself against the wall, then relaxed when he realized the enchantments extended to motion dampening as well. The lurch smoothed out almost immediately, leaving only the faintest sense of movement, like being on a boat in very calm water.

  Very nice work indeed.

  He turned his attention to the window as they left for professor Carth's home, and found Orlys was... busy.

  That was the first word that came to mind. Busy in a way that felt different from normal city activity, more purposeful and slightly frantic. People filled the streets in greater numbers than seemed practical. Scaffolding had sprouted along several buildings like wooden fungi, workers perched at various heights hammering things or painting things or doing whatever it was workers did when preparing for important events.

  Banners hung from every third building. Most were the Duke's colors, but others displayed the royal gold and crimson standard.

  "The preparations are well underway, I see," Sael observed.

  Richter's expression did something complicated: not quite a grimace, but close. "Yes. We began as soon as I received the letter. Though 'received' might be too generous a word. 'Was informed' would be more accurate."

  Sael glanced at him.

  "I wasn't consulted," Richter continued, his tone felt like suppressed irritation. "About hosting the King's birthday celebration in Orlys or even about the Grand Tournament being held here alongside it, for that matter. Simply informed that it would be happening, that preparations should begin immediately, and that the crown would graciously provide five thousand dracos toward hosting costs."

  He gestured toward the window, where workers were hoisting an enormous banner up the side of what looked like a government building.

  "Five thousand dracos sounds generous," Richter said. "And perhaps it would be, for a modest gathering. But we're expecting somewhere between fifty and a hundred thousand visitors over the course of the next few months. Do you know what it costs to house, feed, and manage that many people? To ensure adequate sanitation? To reinforce infrastructure that was never designed for this kind of traffic? To provide security for not just the common attendees but for visiting sovereigns and their entourages?"

  Sael wasn't particularly interested in the logistical complaints of hosting royal celebrations, if he was being honest. But Richter seemed like he needed to vent, and it would have been rude to not at least pretend to pay attention. So he watched the workers struggle with the banner and offered what seemed like the expected response. "More than five thousand dracos, I imagine."

  "Significantly more," Richter confirmed. "The initial cost projections are somewhere around thirty thousand dracos. Possibly higher depending on how many of the major powers actually attend." He paused. "So the crown's contribution covers roughly a sixth of the expenses. The rest falls to me, to the city's coffers, and to whatever we can recoup through taxation of the merchants who'll be making fortunes off the influx."

  Oz sat beside Sael on the bench, watching the city pass by. A perch had been proposed to him earlier, but he'd nearly grilled the cart's driver when the suggestion was made. Probably found it undignified.

  Sael considered trying to include him in the conversation, then caught the way Oz was still occasionally side-eyeing him with that particular brand of pure, unbidden hatred.

  Hmm.

  The dragon had been a king yesterday and was a chicken today. The change was, admittedly, very brusk. Perhaps giving him some time to ruminate in silence would be wiser than forcing pleasantries.

  Richter's lips twitched, almost a smile, though whether at Sael's silence or his own thoughts, it was hard to say.

  They passed a square where workers were constructing what looked like temporary stadium seating. The wooden framework rose in tiers, each level held up by an increasingly precarious-looking arrangement of supports. A man in what was probably supervisor's clothing stood off to one side, gesticulating wildly at something while three workers nodded along without appearing to actually listen.

  "Still," Sael said, "despite the expense, you accepted."

  "I did," Richter acknowledged. "Because refusing would have been worse." He shifted slightly, uncrossing his legs only to cross them the other way. "Cedric is... temperamental. Particularly about his birthday. Last year, Duke Harwick of Harringhale made an offhand comment during a Council session about the expense of royal celebrations. Nothing serious, just a remark about fiscal responsibility. Two months later, Harwick's trade agreements with the crown mysteriously came up for renegotiation, and several of his northern holdings suddenly found themselves subject to increased tariff inspections."

  "Vindictive," Sael observed.

  "Extraordinarily," Richter said. "So when the king arrived informing me that Orlys would have the honor of hosting this year's celebration, I understood what was actually being communicated. A demonstration of the King's authority over the duchies. Refusing would have given Cedric exactly the excuse he's been looking for to paint me as disloyal, uncooperative, unwilling to support the crown."

  He gestured toward the window again, where the city continued its frantic transformation.

  "Better to accept graciously, absorb the financial burden, and maintain the peace than fight a political battle I'd eventually lose anyway. At least this way, Orlys benefits economically from the influx. The merchants are beside themselves with excitement. Every craftsman in the city will be working double shifts. Tournament memorabilia is already being produced by the cartload. The tailors' guild will be drowning in orders."

  The cart turned down a wider boulevard, and the activity intensified. Here the workers weren't just hanging banners or building seating, they were transforming entire storefronts. New paint, new signs, new window displays arranged to catch the eye of visitors who'd have money to spend and a week to spend it in.

  A woman stood in front of what looked like a bakery, directing two young men as they maneuvered an enormous painted sign into position above the door. The sign depicted a crown made of pastries.

  "Twenty years old," Sael said quietly. "That's quite young for a king."

  "It is," Richter agreed. "He's been on the throne for two years now, soon to be three. Came to power after his father's unexpected death from illness." He paused, his expression darkening slightly. "Though 'unexpected' may not be entirely accurate. There were rumors. Nothing proven, of course. Just whispers in corridors about poison, ambitious advisors and a young prince who was perhaps too eager for his inheritance."

  "You believe the rumors?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "I believe that convenient deaths are rarely coincidental when crowns are involved," Richter said. "But without proof, they remain merely speculation. Dangerous speculation at that, given how Cedric responds to perceived slights."

  They sat in silence for a moment, watching the city transform itself.

  The city continued to thin as they traveled, urban density giving way to something more spacious. The buildings grew farther apart, interspersed with patches of open ground and small gardens. Then the gardens became larger, the buildings became houses with proper yards, and the cobblestone streets transitioned to packed earth roads lined with trees.

  Countryside, or close enough to it. Still technically within Orlys's boundaries, Sael supposed, but the kind of semi-rural area where people came when they wanted space between themselves and their neighbors.

  Sael found himself not unhappy that Richter had insisted they take the cart instead of him simply teleporting directly to the professor's home. The slower pace was... settling, in a way. He'd spent so much of the past few days rushing from one crisis to another, that this quiet journey felt almost meditative.

  He found himself less stressed when he didn't rush things.

  "We're close," Richter said, leaning forward slightly to peer out the window.

  The cart slowed, then came to a stop in front of an isolated modest two-story house set back from the road. It had a small yard in front, well-maintained but not elaborate, and a stone path leading to the entrance. The construction was simple timber and plaster, sturdy and practical rather than decorative.

  Sael stood and moved toward the door. Richter followed, and Oz hopped down from the bench, apparently intending to walk alongside them.

  They stepped out of the cart's spatially expanded interior back into normal reality. Two of Richter's guards were positioned near the house's entrance. They straightened when the Duke emerged, hands moving to rest on sword hilts.

  Sael looked up at the house. It was Professor Carth's home.

  Richter turned to the guards positioned by the entrance. "Is Professor Carth inside?"

  "Yes, Your Grace," the nearest guard replied, offering a respectful nod. He glanced at Sael, seeming to recognize him from the previous day's events at the Academy. "Sir Archmage. An honor."

  "Hello there," Sael said simply.

  The guard's companion also inclined his head in greeting, though he kept his hand near his sword hilt; professional wariness rather than hostility.

  Richter gestured toward the building's door. "Shall we go inside, then?"

  "No," Sael said.

  Richter paused mid-step, turning back with a slightly raised eyebrow.

  "I would prefer the professor come out here," Sael continued. "I'll need to treat him first, before we can have any productive conversation. Better to do it in the open air than in cramped quarters."

  Richter considered this for a moment, then nodded to the guards. "Fetch Professor Carth, please."

  "Yes, Your Grace." Both guards moved toward the entrance, one opening the door while the other stepped inside. The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Sael, Richter, and Oz waiting outside.

  The silence stretched for a few seconds before Richter broke it. "I've been wondering about this for a while now, but... how does one actually cure a person from Corruption?"

  Sael leaned against the cart, crossing his arms. "If the stage isn't too advanced, the process is fairly straightforward in principle, if somewhat brutal in execution. You need to put them in a near-death state; close enough that their body's survival instincts override everything else. The Corrupted energy recognizes the host is dying and attempts to escape, to preserve itself. That's when you strike with a purification spell designed specifically to destroy it while it's separated from the host's life force."

  Richter stared at him. "Pardon?"

  "It's delicate work," Sael acknowledged. "Too much and you kill them. Too little and the Corruption simply retreats back into their system. The timing has to be precise."

  "That sounds..." Richter searched for words. "Extraordinarily dangerous."

  "It is," Sael agreed. "Which is why it's often better—kinder, even—to simply kill someone who's too far gone." He paused, organizing his thoughts. "Corrupted energy isn't just some mindless blight. It's sentient. Sapient, actually. It's directly connected to the Primordial of Corruption itself, and once it's fully fused with a host, they become integrated into something like a... hive mind, I suppose you could call it. Directed by the will of the Corrupted One."

  Richter's expression had shifted from curious to disturbed.

  "They retain their own memories," Sael continued. "Their personality, their mannerisms, their speech patterns—all of it remains intact. But the fundamental nature of who they are changes at a level that's difficult to explain." He frowned slightly, trying to find the right words. "Imagine a loving mother, devoted to her children, would sacrifice anything for them. Now imagine that same woman, with all those memories of love still present, all those maternal instincts still there in her mind... and she kills her newborn child without a moment's hesitation or remorse. Not because she's been forced to, not because she's lost her mind, but because the Corruption has rewritten what she values at such a fundamental level that the child's life simply doesn't matter anymore. The love is still there as a memory, as a concept she understands, but it no longer moves her to action."

  He let that settle for a moment.

  "That's what full fusion means. You're still technically you—you remember being you, you can act like you—but the core of what drives your choices, what you care about, what you're willing to do or not do... all of that has been Corrupted now. And there's no separating it at that point. The energy and the person have become one thing. Killing the Corruption means killing the host. Always."

  Richter was quiet for a moment, and soon enough, the door to the building opened, and the guards emerged with Professor Carth between them.

  Sael's eyes immediately went to the bruises. Fresh still, mottled purple and yellow across the professor's jaw and cheekbone, remnants of the beating Sael had delivered at the Academy.

  But the Corrupted energy seemed contained properly for now. Sael could sense it, coiled tight within Carth's mana core like a serpent trapped in a too-small cage. It hadn't advanced much since he'd sealed it, which was good. Meant there was still time.

  Heavy anti-magic chains bound Carth's wrists and ankles. They clinked softly as he walked, dragged forward by the guards.

  Entirely unnecessary, really.

  Sael had completely sealed shut the man's mana core, and a pure mage without access to their mana core was nothing at all, less dangerous than a common brigand with a knife.

  Professor Carth himself looked... diminished. His previous neat appearance had deteriorated significantly. Hair disheveled, clothing rumpled and stained, eyes with dark circles beneath them. He was muttering to himself, a continuous low murmur of words that didn't quite form coherent sentences. His head twitched occasionally, like he was responding to something only he could hear.

  "The reports I've received from the other detained professors mentioned similar behavior," Richter said quietly, watching Carth approach. "Talking to themselves. Attempting self-harm when left unattended. Two had to be restrained after they tried to claw at their own faces."

  "The Corrupted energy generally takes refuge in a mage's mana core," Sael explained, still watching Carth. "It's the densest concentration of magical energy in the body, the most secure place to anchor itself. That's why Carth can't do any harm at present, I've sealed his core completely, trapped the Corruption inside with nowhere to go, no way to spread further."

  He paused as the guards brought Carth closer.

  "But because the energy is sealed with no avenue for expansion or expression, it becomes almost like torture for the host. The Corruption wants to grow, to consume and to spread. Being confined drives it to lash out at the only thing it can still reach: the host's mind. It hassles them constantly, whispers at them, tries to convince them to break the seal, to hurt themselves, to do anything that might weaken the binding. Sometimes it drives them to madness before the seal can be properly removed."

  "Fucking Corruption," Richter muttered, disgust heavy in his voice.

  "Agreed," Sael said simply.

  Carth raised his head as he was brought to stand before them, and his gaze locked onto Sael.

  For a moment, there was no recognition. Just empty, confused staring. Then his eyes focused, and something like awareness flickered across his features.

  He hissed.

  Sael looked at him calmly. "The last few days must have been terrible for you, Professor."

  "You," Carth spat, the word barely intelligible through the continued muttering. "You... you bastard. You did this. Locked it away. Won't stop screaming. Make it stop. Make it—" His voice broke into incoherent mumbling again, head twitching to the side like he was listening to something.

  Sael raised his hand.

  "[Unbound]," he said quietly.

  The anti-magic chains fell away, clattering to the ground.

  "[Cancel: Seal]," he continued without pausing, placing a hand on the man's chest.

  The air around Carth shimmered as the seal on his core dissolved.

  Everyone stared at Sael.

  Even Carth, whose muttering had cut off abruptly, looked at him with wide, shocked eyes.

  "What... what have you done?" Carth whispered, his voice suddenly clear.

  "I freed you," Sael said.

  Silence.

  The guards were backing away slowly, hands moving to their weapons, eyes darting between Sael and the now-unsealed professor.

  Richter looked at Sael but said nothing, though his jaw was tight.

  Carth stood very still for a moment, and Sael could sense it—the Corrupted energy rushing out of the mana core like water breaking through a dam, flooding back into the professor's system, spreading through his magical pathways with terrible eagerness.

  Carth staggered back a few steps, away from Sael.

  His expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession: confusion, shock, and lastly relief.

  "It... it stopped," he breathed, his voice hoarse. His hands came up to his head, fingers pressing against his temples. "The voices. They... they stopped."

  For a brief moment, there was clarity in his eyes. Then something darker flickered across his face, and Sael knew the Corruption had reasserted itself.

  Carth's hands dropped from his head, mana igniting around his fingers with vicious speed.

  "[Inferno's Wrath]!"

  A massive column of fire erupted from his palms, roaring toward Sael and Richter with the intensity of a forge blast. The heat was brutal and the air itself seeming to combust.

  "[Aegis Shield]," Sael said, his voice barely audible over the roar of flames.

  A translucent barrier materialized in front of them, and the fire crashed against it like waves against a cliff. The flames spread around the shield in a perfect sphere, turning the world into orange and red, heat shimmering the air, the ground beneath them scorching black. Through the fire, Sael's enhanced vision caught movement.

  Carth was already preparing to flee, his feet carrying him toward the treeline with desperate speed.

  Sael's hand shot out through the flames.

  He caught Carth by the ankle.

  The professor went down hard, slamming face-first into the ground with a pained grunt. Sael dragged him back through the scorched earth, pulling him close as the fire spell guttered out, leaving smoke and the acrid smell of burnt grass.

  Carth struggled, trying to twist away, mana already gathering for another spell—

  Sael grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, forcing eye contact.

  "This is going to be hard to believe, Professor," Sael said, his voice calm despite the violence, "but I am going to save you from this. And to do so, I will have to almost kill you."

  Carth's eyes went wide.

  "Please hang in there," said Sael, in an absolutely serious tone.

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