For the most part, everyone seemed to be happy with The Council's decision. The only voice of dissent was, of course, Igneus, though he did begrudgingly admit that Arthur’s abilities were the real deal. It seemed the main point of contention wasn’t his continued existence, but rather his placement in The Nether Corps.
“There is no reason to risk Arthur’s life with such a dangerous assignment,” Lantris argued. “We can have him join any one of the Great Academies. Have him put on one of the streamlined courses reserved for tier 4 nobility.”
“Arthur’s track record shows he won't respond well to formal training,” Makora sniped back. “You think he got to where he is by taking the tried and tested path. The child broke every rule in the book. A Great Academy will smother him, not—”
“The Nether Corps will kill him,” Igneus interrupted. “While I dislike the upstart, his potential is the real deal. Throwing him to the wolves is tantamount to killing him ourselves. I’d much rather use my own hands to do the job than go about using such a roundabout method.”
Arthur didn’t understand a lot of what was being said; the conversation was interspersed with fragments of law use that seemed just as integral to the discussion as spoken word, but he understood enough to get the gist of it. The Weaver, who’d apparently been on his side all this time, was pushing for him to join The Nether Corps, an organisation of such ill repute that even Igneus didn’t want him going there.
“For once, I’ll have to agree with Igneus," Ezrial finally provided his two cents. “While I understand the limitations of the Great Academies, The Nether Corps is a step too far in the opposite direction. That and Iris will start bugging me to join the kid there. Arthur might be durable enough to survive the trip, but that's not a risk I’m willing to take for my daughter." Ezrial at least had the courtesy to speak in a way Arthur could understand.
“Enough with this,” The Weaver shouted, seemingly having run out of patience with the argument. “Your fatherly concerns are not my problems to deal with. The Council has made their decision, and it is final. Arthur Ward must serve in The Nether corps, in one capacity or another, for a minimum of one assignment undertaken every Earth year, and a maximum duration of three months spent in the field. This is non-negotiable. Whatever he does in his free time, be it breaking the market with his elixirs or staging a rebellion against some backwater idiot, is not my problem. So long as he breaks no System law, he is guaranteed more freedom than any man or woman present here.”
“I’m sure those terms are agreeable. Aren't they, Mr Ward?” The Weaver said, making her the first person to address Arthur in this whole fiasco.
“I was wondering if I had an opinion on this,” Arthur said sarcastically. “I can’t really make an informed decision until I know what The Nether Corps is.”
The polymorphed dragon answered his question. “It’s The Weaver's pet project, or at least she’s got her fingers all over it. You might be the first ether-nether hybrid we’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t mean we’ve been above using corrupted forces in our war. You’ve heard of Fell creatures before, right?”
Arthur nodded. It had been a group of Fell humans who’d started experimenting on Earth with some of his blood. They were people who’d spent too long around corruption but hadn’t fallen to it yet.
“Well, The Nether Corps consists of members a little beyond that point, all the way up to soldiers who have succumbed entirely. Everyone selected is forced to swear the strictest of soul oaths and has to take part in a mandatory psych evaluation every three months. We end up terminating as much of The Nether Corps as our enemies do.”
Arthur frowned. Serving in such a place sounded like hell on Earth, and it went against everything he thought he’d known about fallen people. Being enslaved in such a way diametrically opposed what corruption stood for, the chaotic release from any kind of restriction and structure of life.
“Why would a fallen person ever swear such oaths?” Arthur asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You're right,” Makora said. “It doesn’t. Which is why we’ve never managed to get a corrupted creature to sign on. That process happens long before. We carefully select Fell soldiers, men and women who’ve passed the point of no return, who no amount of intervention will ever be able to save. People who are inevitably set on the path to corruption.”
“They’re presented with a choice. Sign a contract that’ll only come into play once they succumb to corruption, or go about their lives in the hopes that it won't ever reach that point. Should they choose the latter, they are killed like any other monster once the inevitable occurs. The former is what gives us The Nether Corps.”
Every word she spoke made The Nether Corps sound more damning, and Arthur’s distaste must have shown on his face.
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“It’s not a nice place, but it's a necessity,” Makora explained. “There's no force involved in recruitment. In fact, we advise everyone to opt out when we present them with the choice. Only the most bloodied soldiers ever reach the position where they're forced to choose. They're the backbone of our entire society, the men and women who’ve sacrificed their entire lives to maintain our freedom.”
“But that doesn’t stop you from asking them to continue serving.” Arthur didn’t mean it as an accusation, only a statement, though he realised how it might sound only when the words had left his mouth.
The Weaver shook her head sadly. “That is the reality of war.”
Arthur mentally went over everything she'd said. “How long would I have to serve?”
“With the yearly assignment and limitations I mentioned, ten years. After that, The Council will reconvene and decide how to adjust things depending on your performance.”
“And I won't be beholden to the same contracts as everyone else.”
“Avoiding contracts like this is why we decided to go this route, Mr Ward. They won't be necessary, though you’ll still have to take part in the quarterly psyche evaluations and an additional one that will be conducted at random.”
Arthur considered everything. It seemed like this was the best deal he was going to get. Pushing for more would probably be unwise.
“What exactly would I be doing in The Nether Corps?”
“You’d be delving into tier 3 and 4 fallen worlds. Nexuses of corruption that risk destabilising entire swaths of System space. You’d also get sent to the frontlines, where we battle against the organised assault of Nether on the Myopan realm. It’d be a mix of guerrilla warfare and participating in massive battlefields.”
It sounded plenty dangerous, and also exactly what he needed right now to continue growing stronger. His last core consumption had been a little underwhelming, and this sounded like the perfect place to find some good ingredients.
“I can agree to your terms, but I have two conditions.”
Arthur hadn’t forgotten the promise he’d made earlier that day. Ten hours had passed since then, which meant he had fourteen to go before his deadline. The Weavers' shoulders visibly tightened, though Arthur put no stock in the physical cues she showed him anymore. He had a feeling he’d been dancing to her tune all along. If she was as powerful as he thought she was, she almost certainly knew what he was going to ask for.
“I want to receive some formal magic training. Nothing so tedious as joining a Great Academy, though I wouldn’t mind if I had the chance to pop into a lesson from time to time."
Arthur took a deep breath. "I also want the chance to formally declare sanctioned combat against Lady Melania. A single hour where no one will intervene, no matter what, after which I request that I’m brought back to Haadran regardless of the outcome."
“The first request we were already planning to fulfill," The Weaver replied. "You’ll become the personal disciple of twin archmages, Niressa and Nicholas. They’re rising stars within the Systemic Empire, and it’s about time they start taking on personal students. It’ll put you under some scrutiny, but you’ll need to get used to moving in noble circles. The second request, however, is impossible. Think of something else.”
“Why are you protecting her? You must know all the illegal experiments she’s running.”
“We’re aware of them, yes, but we tolerate it.”
“She’s a damn slaver, and not just to criminal scum. Her victims are children.”
The Weaver's presence shifted, and suddenly he wasn’t talking to the cowled woman who wore her heart on her sleeve. This was Lady Makora, the woman who wove fate, and she was as alien to him as he was to a mundane gold fish. Looking at her was like staring into an infinitely complex puzzle, the kind that would break mortal minds. Arthur was no mortal man, though, and he glared into the abyss.
“You would seek to lecture me on morality, child." She whispered. "I was old before your world came into being, born before your middling universe even existed. Any words you speak in the next thousand years, I have heard a million times before; any thought that passes through your mind that you think is unique, one that I have already analysed from every possible angle. You are useful, but Melania’s work is no less integral to our armies.”
The Weaver's voice was cool, almost machine-like, clinical and dispassionate, in a way that was almost antithetical to life.
“Let me guess, another reality of war,” Arthur drawled. “I was going about this wrong. Let me speak to you in terms you understand. I’ll extend my maximum yearly assignment duration from three months to four. That’s what you wanted, right? Some extra time for me to be under your thumb.”
“Five months.”
“Four months, or I'll go after her in my own time. I promise you, things will get a lot messier that way.”
There was a disconcerting twist in reality, and suddenly, The Weaver was back to her usual self.
“Lady Melania crossed the level 300 barrier two centuries ago. In that time, she’s managed to learn two laws to early mastery. That's more power than the weakened Duncan you fought could output. It’s not a fight you can win, Arthur.”
“I’ll be the one to decide that.”
Makora shrugged. “We won’t let her kill you, but we won’t stop her from beating you within an inch of your life, nor will we heal the likely permanent harm you suffer as a result. It’ll make your next decade an agonising one.”
“That's fine with me,” Arthur said, shrugging his shoulders. “Right now would be a perfect time, actually. I’m on a bit of a deadline, you see.”
Ezrial patted him on the back. “I hope you know what you're doing, kid. Lady Melania is a talented scientist, but she didn’t get to where she is by being weak. She’s a terror on the battlefield.”
“I’ve thought things through, don’t worry. Everything will be perfectly fine if you bring me back here and put me in my house as soon as the fight's over.”
“You have my word, kid.”
Arthur cracked his knuckles. Lady Melania had crossed the line and fucked him over one time too many. It was time to serve the noble bastard her just deserts. It would be difficult, some would say impossible, even. A foe stronger than Duncan Ishfall's vessel. Arthur would finally use the part of himself he feared most, the trait he’d never called upon, no matter how dire things had got.
The Perfect Homunculus would hunt.
Links to the audiobooks.
Etherious: Originator
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