B5 Chapter 29 – An Army of Gold

“You think they turned back?” Worthy asked, his brow raised. The Hammerman leaned back in his chair and scratched at his chin with one thick finger. “I don’t know much about the imperial army, but I didn’t think they did much turning around. That’s the reputation, at least.”

Tyron could only shrug.

“I can’t expose my ghosts too much. Every single one of them has magickal weapons which can cut through incorporeal undead. I lost more than a few to the scouts.”

“And you killed two of them?”

“I crippled two of them. Once they started fighting back, I had to let them go.”

Worthy grunted.

“Level seventy-nine. A whole army of them, at such a high-level.” He shook his head. “Even stepping a single foot into the gold ranks seemed impossible to me not that long ago. This lot are a single level away from a power most people can only dream of.”

“And the Empire will never let them take that step,” Tyron said, reaching up and tapping his shoulder. “They even have an insignia with their level on it. A badge of pride to show they’ve advanced as far as they’re allowed.”

“Do they let any of them advance beyond gold?”

“They must. They allow a tiny number of platinum ranked Slayers to exist in each province. People like Magnin and Beory would never have been tolerated if there weren’t some capacity to contain them. The Emperor himself must be platinum ranked at least, wouldn’t you think?”

Worthy sneered as if he wanted to spit.

“Living with their shackles off me has changed my perspective a bit, I have to admit. Fighting without both of my hands tied behind my back makes a bit of a difference. All because of the Empire’s obsession with control.”

An obsession that had spanned thousands of years. As the world had slowly slipped off the precipice and succumbed to corruption, their stance hadn’t changed in the slightest. Active Slayers had been almost entirely restricted to the silver ranks, strong enough to fight back, but never strong enough to win. Gold ranks had been coddled, kept in reserve, used to give the rest something to aspire to and as unwitting breeding stock. Endless grist for the mill.

However, Tyron knew the real origins of this obsession, and it wasn’t the Empire.

“The Five Divines are the ones who are obsessed with control,” he told his uncle, resting his head on one of his hands. “They want to prevent anyone from rising up to challenge their authority, but I feel like there’s something more. The Empire was almost designed to fail. A slow, controlled collapse.”

Worthy didn’t look convinced.

“For what reason? Wouldn’t the Five suffer and cease to exist if this realm failed? Like the Three?”

Tyron’s brow furrowed. There was a thought there, a lead that perhaps he might be able to tease out into something more substantial. For now, it would have to be put aside; there were more pressing issues at hand.

“Who can say? Can you talk to Rurin and the others for me? We’ll need to work out a coordinated response.”

Even if there weren’t as many as he thought would come, the forces from the Empire still represented an existential threat. Underestimating the Golden Legion would do nothing but get them all killed. He had no idea why they had retreated back over the mountains, but now that they had this chance, Tyron was reluctant to let them go. Why let these thousand go only for another nine to come and join them later? As dangerous as it was, this was a chance that needed to be seized.

If he were successful, just thinking about what he could do with such high-quality materials was enough to make his hands twitch, reaching for his butcher’s tools subconsciously.

“Aye,” Worthy agreed, bringing him back to the present, “I’ll speak to them, but you’ll need to show your face over there, I wager. There’s more than a few Slayers who want nothing more to do with the Empire and would rather leave them alone.”

Tyron stared at his uncle blankly.

“But that’s idiotic,” he said. “The Empire won’t leave us alone, ever.”

“Some people would rather believe there’s a chance of peace, even if it’s remote.”

Worthy stood and left, closing the door behind him, leaving Tyron shaking his head. Who could possibly be so foolish? The Empire had proven itself to be just as vicious, vindictive and rotten as the most pessimistic of its citizens had ever believed. He was convinced the only reason they hadn’t been attacked so far was that the Empire had simply never believed anyone would survive the mountain crossing, let alone the wasteland on the other side. Hence, they must have assumed Tyron had fled somewhere else along with any survivors.

The bloodthirst of his enemies suited Tyron down to the ground. He had no intention of accepting any sort of peace, even if it was offered. Many of those directly responsible for the deaths of Magnin and Beory had fallen into his hands and now served as undead, souls screaming for a freedom they would never be granted.

Extracting his vengeance had tamped down the flames of his rage, but only for a time. It burned brighter than ever now, an endless heat inside his chest that would flare up to consume his thoughts and haunt his dreams without warning.

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There were still Magisters out there. More Nobles. Members of the Divine Church. The Emperor himself.

Above them all, the Five Divines themselves. He still didn’t know how, but he was going to bring them down. They would crash back down to the earth while everything they had worked for over thousands of years crumbled around them.

Only then would his vengeance be complete.

There was a polite knock at the door.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Tyron called.

Footsteps retreated from the door, prompting Tyron to stand and gather a few volumes from his desk. His three students, along with Dove, were waiting for him in his sitting room, already at home in their own chairs. Except for Dove. For some reason, the skeleton had decided to perch on the mantle like a bird of prey. Not wearing his robes, or indeed any clothes at all, he looked like a grim decorative piece more than anything else.

Acknowledging his nonsense was always the first mistake, a painful lesson that Tyron had learned only with experience. Studiously ignoring the ridiculous presence of his former teacher, Tyron greeted his students as he sat down, an unusually warm smile on his face, given the circumstances.

His students sensed his good mood and straightened, their faces easing a little, releasing tension that they hadn’t even realised was there.

“The Empire has come to kill us,” Tyron announced, his tone calm and relaxed.

Georg, Briss and Richard each froze, their faces falling.