Corvis Eralith
Gideon and Himes left to return to Xyrus, the human artificer making me swear I would contact him again.
His final words were a jumble of excitement and frustration, a promise of letters and discoveries that would reshape the relationship between our kingdoms.
I watched his retreating back until he disappeared into the crowd, his scruffy hair and stained coat swallowed by the sea of dwarves celebrating the Darffest.
I sighed in relief when I was certain they were gone.
"That has gone very smoothly," I said, the words tasting like victory.
"Yes," Gilbert said, but his voice was distant, his eyes scanning the crowded street with a wariness that set my nerves on edge. "Are you sure you want to continue? I think that Ruby Drinks is still the best place for you to set up camp."
"We are already in Lower Vildorial, and my great-uncle will soon send someone to support us," I said, giving Gilbert a pat on his shoulder. "Don't be nervous."
"I am not worried about that," Gilbert replied, his jaw tightening.
"What is it about?" I asked, my voice dropping to match his cautious tone.
"After we leave the Cogs, we will no longer be in the territory of the Vildoriallan city guard," Gilbert said, his words barely audible over the din of the crowd. "But that of the Water Barons."
"Water Barons?" I echoed, the name unfamiliar yet ominous.
"Yes, the crime lords of Lower Vildorial who keep people under their leash using water as their weapon," Gilbert said. "And guess who invented something that might dethrone them?"
"Me..." I replied.
The Water Generator had been a gift to the people of Darv, a solution to their centuries-old struggle with drought. I had never considered that it might also be a threat to those who profited from scarcity.
I looked up. We were far, far deep in the belly of the earth.
I could still see Lodenhold from down there, but it was distant, like the peak of a faraway mountain.
Like Peak Firrod in Azellio, but more than a sentinel that emanated security, Lodenhold seemed more like the central tower of a panopticon—anxiety inducing.
But differently from a panopticon, down here no one would care if crime reigned like the Greysunders themselves. The Cogs were the industrial heart of Vildorial.
As long as they were safe, the Greysunders wouldn't care about what happened in the Lower City. And with the earthquake that had destroyed the Pits, I could already imagine that Lower Vildorial had taken their place as the center of exploitation of the dwarven capital.
I turned my head to look at the Anvilrun going down and down, a dark throat swallowing the light and the hope of those who lived in its shadows. Should I wait for Elder Rahdeas's help? Would he send Olfred down here? I didn't think so, but I didn't want to come down here accompanied by a group of seasoned Unravelers or other armed guards enrolled by the Warend Trading Company.
That would send the wrong message, would confirm the fears of the people I was trying to help.
"Gilbert, if you think this is dangerous, you can go back," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I won't mind it."
"You really want to go alone?" Gilbert asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "How long will Elder Rahdeas take? A couple of hours? We can go back to the inn in the meantime."
"You are right, but..." I started, searching for the right words. "What will the people of the Lower City think if I go down with an armed escort? They would think that I am no different from the Monolithic Houses."
"But you are in danger, Finn!" Gilbert hissed, his voice rising with frustration. "You can't expect to go down there and return unscathed."
I was confident I was strong enough to face some petty criminals. I was a silver core mage, a power that would have made me a legend in any other context.
But still, I would have liked to not engage in combat if not absolutely necessary. And I didn't want to make a show in front of some impoverished people.
I was the Justiciar of Peace, not the Harbinger of Doom.
I made to continue my descent, but Gilbert took my shoulder, his grip firm, his eyes blazing with a determination that startled me.
"Finn, I trust you. I trust you a lot," he said, his voice low and urgent. "But not in this. I will bring you up by force if necessary. You are a fucking genius, I admit it. By Mother Earth, Gideon Bastius just admitted he wanted to have you as his apprentice, but you are not unbeatable. These people are hardened criminals who would love to remove the greatest threat to their sick system and maybe even hold you at ransom to get something from Elder Rahdeas."
If that happened, I would like to know what Elder Rahdeas's reaction would be: sending Olfred to take care of a couple of wrongdoers? But that would risk Olfred's life, disobeying King Dawsid. The thought of the Lance being forced to choose between his duty and his loyalty was a weight I didn't want to carry.
"Gilbert, I—" I felt Gilbert's grip on my shoulder tense as he augmented his body with mana. The power surged through him, making his muscles coil like springs, his eyes narrowing.
"Finn, please," he asked, mana circling through his body, a visible shimmer in the dim light. "Don't make me do this."
Damned REmould and its cloaking side effects, I sighed in my head. It was the same reason I had managed to keep my status as a mage hidden from my family for so long when I was a toddler.
Gilbert didn't know I was a silver core mage.
Furthermore, to hide my elven nature and shape me into a dwarf proper, REmould masked my mana signature even better, doing so disturbingly well. It was an incredible perk most of the time—whoever was weaker than me wouldn't know what was coming his way—but in this case, it was a liability.
Just like REtrocurrent's waves of Insight, I couldn't control the cloaking effects of REmould very well. I would need a string of Fate to do so, but I lacked them right now. The golden threads that connected me to the river were still frayed, still healing from the strain of my battle with Agrona's will.
"Gilbert, you don't have to do this," I said, keeping my voice calm, my hands raised in a gesture of peace.
"Then let's get back to Artisan's Rest," Gilbert said, making to pull me toward him. He failed. My feet remained planted, my stance unyielding.
"Gilbert, you already know I am a mage," I told him, taking his hand away from my shoulder. My grip was gentle but firm, a silent assertion of my strength. "I am a better mage than you think. Far, far better."
I activated Massbinding. The ochre runes of the Kain Clan appeared on the backs of my hands, glowing with a faint, pulsating light. The power of Berna's Beast Will surged through me, a familiar warmth that settled into my bones like a second heartbeat.
"This is a Beast Will," I told him, showing him the runes on my hands, which he hadn't seen previously while we were in Frederock's Tools & Tempers.
"That doesn't change the fact you have a single affinity for earth magic," he said, his voice stubborn, his eyes fixed on the glowing runes.
Finn Warend didn't, yes. He was a dwarf; he couldn't use wind and water magic. But I could.
"Gilbert, you said you trust me, right?" I asked him, and the Hammerfell nodded, his jaw tight. "Then let me show you something."
We moved to a secluded alley as far away as possible from the Anvilrun and from other people. The walls pressed close, the shadows deep, the only light a faint, amber glow from a distant lantern. Then I tapped the ground with my Servo-Foot and used REmould, becoming Corvis Eralith right in front of Gilbert.
The transformation was instantaneous—a ripple of light, a shift of features, a change of form. One moment I was Finn Warend, a dwarven boy with round ears and brown eyes. The next, I was Corvis Eralith, an elven prince with teal eyes and gunmetal hair.
"What? You—you are an elf?!" Gilbert exclaimed, his voice cracking with shock. Then he took a better look at me, his eyes tracing the lines of my face, the color of my hair, the shape of my ears. "Teal eyes, gunmetal hair... an Eralith."
Gilbert threw himself on me.
What? This wasn't what I expected! I expected shock, but not this! The force of his tackle knocked me off balance, and I fell to the ground, Gilbert on top of me, his fist raised behind his back.
Metal magic answered his call, conjuring a makeshift knuckleduster around his fingers, the surface gleaming with a dull, lethal light.
"Who—what are you?!" he shouted, his voice raw with fury and betrayal. "What have you done to Elder Rahdeas's grandnephew?!"
His fist fell on my face. I was quick to withdraw the jade bracelet Evascir had made for me from my storage ring.
The impact was mostly absorbed by the Asuran artifact, leaving only a light bruise on my cheek. But the force of the blow still rattled my skull, sending stars across my vision.
"Gilbert, let me explain!" I shouted back, my hands raised in a defensive gesture.
"Silence!" Gilbert said, his hands around my neck, trying to choke me. His grip was strong, fueled by rage and fear, but the jade bracelet absorbed the pressure, making the pain almost bearable. "I won't listen to an elf! Much less to the spawn of Virion Eralith!"
Was this about the Second War? I asked myself. Dwarves had sent aid to Sapin. Perhaps Gilbert had lost someone and blamed my Grandpa for their death.
I used Ars Ariamorph to blow a powerful gust of wind from my mouth. The air rushed out with a force that sent Gilbert staggering backward, his grip on my neck breaking.
Then I moved fast—taking inspiration from Chul's Phoenix martial arts—and gave a kick to Gilbert's side while I used sound magic to create a large sound barrier all around us, ensuring no one would hear our fight.
"Gilbert, let me explain!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the confined space. "I am Finn! I and Elder Rahdeas have been in agreement for months! Listen: isn't it strange that Finn Warend has no family other than Elder Rahdeas? And that the same thing is true for Elder Rahdeas himself other than his foster son?!"
"I... shut up!" Gilbert refused to listen to me. Damned kid!
The Hammerfell threw himself again against me, his fists flying with a desperate fury. I used Wind Surfing to make air currents under my feet—my natural feet, as REmould had made my Servo-Foot a Servo-Hand again—to easily dodge his blows.
"Gilbert, please!" I shouted, dodging another fist, gliding over a wind current. "If you are angry with my grandfather, then let me fix it! I just want to help the people of Darv! I made the Water Generator for that reason! These Servo-Limbs too! The problems of Darv made me think of them!"
"What right do you think you have to come here and 'fix' our problems?" Gilbert hissed, venom dripping from every word. "What right do you have to run for the Throneholder position? Answer me, elf!"
I rushed at Gilbert and locked him against the wall of the alley. My forearm pressed against his chest, my face inches from his, my eyes burning with the intensity of my conviction.
"Because I am a Dicathian, Gilbert," I said, my voice low but firm. "We all are. We are not different people. We are a single people that need to stand united. This is the dream that brought me and Elder Rahdeas together!"
I paused, letting the words sink in. "I am the same person you thought I was five minutes ago!" I shouted, restraining Gilbert. "Because I am dwarf, I am elf, I am human! I may be Corvis Eralith, I may call myself that in my head. But more than everything, I am Dicathen, Gilbert!"
"You want to know what I am?" I asked him, letting him free as he fell to the ground. "Dicathen. Dicathen is what I am."
Gilbert raised his tear-filled eyes and looked at me. The will to fight left his body, replaced by a hollow exhaustion that seemed to age him a decade. I clicked the fingers of my Servo-Hand and became Finn Warend again, the spells I had set up previously disappearing like morning mist.
"Please, Gilbert," I said, offering him my hand. "You are my friend. I want you by my side in this. I want you by my side to make Dicathen a better place. A place where no Third War will ever be."
I hated to lie to him like this. Yes, a Third War would never come, but I couldn't stop the Alacryan invasion. However, I would make sure that Dicathen—that I—would be ready for it.
"I need your help for that, Gilbert."
The sideburned boy wavered, looking at my hand. His face was a storm of emotions—anger, betrayal, confusion, and something else, something that might have been hope.
"...Okay," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "Dicathen."
He took my hand, and I pulled him to his feet. The weight of his trust settled on my shoulders, a burden I would carry with pride. We had a long way to go, but we had taken the first step. Together.
—
Silence dominated the space between me and Gilbert as we returned to the Anvilrun, the people of Lower Vildorial around us having seen nothing of the fight we had just had.
The crowd flowed around us like water around stones, oblivious to the storm that had passed between us.
The sounds of the Darffest celebrations continued—the distant laughter, the tinny music of street performers, the low rumble of conversation—but they felt muffled, distant, as if we were walking through a world that existed just slightly out of phase with our own.
The pressure of what had just transpired between me and my dwarven friend was still heavy on both of us.
I could feel Gilbert's eyes on me, the questions he was too afraid to ask, the accusations he was too tired to voice. But my mind was working on something else now.
Water Barons; the title of Lower Vildorial's crime lords resounded in my head.
They were the hidden rulers of this forgotten level, the ones who profited from the suffering of the poor, who turned water into a weapon and used it to keep the people in line.
How should I deal with them if they provoked me? Killing them was out of the question.
While I could use it as bringing the heads of criminals in front of King Dawsid himself, I doubted these Water Barons worked alone.
Someone in the high spheres of Vildorial could be funding them in exchange for free workforce, money extorted from Lower Vildorial's population, or simply to have control over some neighborhoods of the level.
Finn Warend—and Elder Rahdeas—already had enough enemies in Darv. I didn't want to add more names to the list.
The buildings here were nothing like the architectural marvels of Upper Vildorial, the solid and well-kept structures of Middle Vildorial, or the functional ones of the buffer zone that was the Cogs.
Everything here was squalid, maintained just to the bare minimum so that nothing would crash down on these poor people's heads. Dust fell from the many cracks in the bricks used, and there were no windows: glass, one of Darv's main products, being absent here.
The walls were stained with years of grime, the mortar crumbling, the roofs sagging under the weight of neglect. It was a place that had been forgotten by the city above, abandoned to rot.
Colors too were bland and monochromatic.
In the upper levels, dwarves managed to bring colors to their buildings using ingenious building techniques in Middle Vildorial, or expensive materials in the Upper City.
Here, not even color dared to hope. The buildings were the color of old bone, of dried mud, of everything that had been left behind.
The only splashes of brightness came from the few lanterns that still flickered, their light struggling against the encroaching darkness.
Illumination was scarce, even for Vildoriallan standards, and the air was dry like the Darvish desert on the surface.
The heat pressed down on us, thick and oppressive, and I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead, the dust coating my throat. It was an awful place to walk through, let alone live in.
I thought of the families huddled in these crumbling buildings, of the children who had never seen the sky, of the old ones who had spent their entire lives in this darkness.
The thought made my chest ache and my mind churn.
Gilbert kept his gaze lower than usual. I didn't know if it was because of what had just happened, or for the potential danger of these Water Barons—maybe both.
His shoulders were hunched, his steps heavy, and I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were clenched at his sides. He was afraid, I realized.
I took a glance at my jade bracelet. Differently from Arthur's acclorite, I could easily remove it from my wrist.
Did it mean I could lend it to Gilbert momentarily?
"Gilbert," I called, and the Hammerfell boy gave me a side glance. His eyes were wary, guarded, as if he was bracing himself for another revelation.
"What?" He replied, his tone unfriendly, but not hostile at least. I offered him the jade bracelet.
"Wear this. It will protect you," I told him. "In case things go bad."
"I can take care of myself," Gilbert replied, his tone low. "I do not need your help."
"I am not asking," I said back, refusing his answer. "You are following me, which means in some way you still want to be part of my entourage, as you put it. I have already demonstrated I am stronger than you, so wear it."
"If someone is at risk here, it is Finn Warend," Gilbert said, sharpening the name "Finn Warend," as if to remind me I wasn't him—that I wasn't a dwarf.
"And if you are used against me?" I asked, trying to make him see my reason. "Taken hostage? Or simply just killed as soon as possible because you are not as worthy as Finn Warend to be kept alive?"
I deliberately didn't say "me" when referring to Finn Warend. For now, it was better to agree with Gilbert on that if I wanted him to accept my help.
Gilbert looked away, seeing my point. His jaw worked, his teeth grinding together, and I could see the war within him: the part of him that wanted to refuse, and the part that knew I was right.
"Fine. Give it to me," Gilbert said, taking the jade bracelet as we continued toward the depths of Mother Earth. The Anvilrun looking more and more like a road straight to hell with each step we took.
While we walked through the poor district of the Lower City, we found ourselves with the Anvilrun occupied by a large group of people that were chanting and rejoicing together even if in such lowly conditions.
The sound was a strange mix of joy and desperation, a celebration that felt almost defiant in the face of their circumstances.
"Rolleykeg," Gilbert murmured, looking at the people gathered in front of us.
The Anvilrun was completely blocked by a thick group of dwarves that circled what I could only describe as the playing field—just the widest area of the Anvilrun in this part of Lower Vildorial.
Put opposite each other were two shelves that I guessed were the nets of this strange sport. The crowd was pressed tight, their bodies swaying with the rhythm of the game, and I could see the intensity in their eyes, the way they leaned forward with each roll of the barrel.
"Rolleykeg?" I asked Gilbert.
"I guess you do not know what it is," Gilbert commented, giving me another side glance.
"I only know it was Darff's favorite game," I replied, having read that information in The Legend of Darff, but other than that I didn't know rules, traditions, or anything else outside the name.
"A full point for Lord Felsen's team!" someone shouted to the air, and one side of the rallied people exploded in an outburst of celebration.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wave of sound that washed over us and carried us along with it.
"It is the national sport of Darv," Gilbert replied quickly. "Very popular amongst poor people. Burim has a large field for it—a stadium—in the Band of Four, but I guess you never visited it. Elder Rahdeas funded it."
The way he made that comment sounded as an insult, as if he was constantly reminding me I was an intruder and that Gilbert was letting it pass only because of Elder Rahdeas.
"How do we pass through?" I asked Gilbert.
"We wait for the match to end," Gilbert said, shrugging his shoulders. "All the space is being used to host it."
I hummed when the dwarf that announced the points made exclaimed that the other team scored a two-thirds. The crowd surged with the news, a wave of emotion that I could feel in my bones.
I tried to get on my tiptoes to see the playing field, above the many gathered dwarves I could see that the two teams were made by four players.
Then I made a small pillar of earth with Ars Terramorph—just tall enough to let me see without standing out—to have a better look.
From what I could see, they were competing to place a barrel, the keg, on the opponent shelf that, just like Vildorial, was divided in three levels.
The game was a blur of motion and strategy, the players working together to advance their barrel while blocking their opponents.
As I saw a sturdy dwarf with a competitive grin on his face roll the barrel toward the shelf of his opponents—while his team faced the opponents to protect the barrel from being stopped—I also spotted two figures that stood out even more than the match itself: Water Barons.
It was impossible to not connect the title to these two as these dwarves, unlike all the other ones—players included—wore noble clothes and bore themselves like true members of nobility, separated from the common people by a wooden platform that made them sit higher than the others.
They watched the game with the detached interest of predators observing their prey.
Before my eyes met with one of these Water Barons and before I could fully visualize them, I felt Gilbert pulling me down from my conjured stone pillar.
"Don't gaze at those who might recognize you," Gilbert said. "Just lay low and wait for the match to end."
"Yes, right," I replied. If these Water Barons truly wanted Finn Warend dead, they wouldn't be surprised by my actual age.
Moreover, REmould couldn't help me right now.
One of its downsides with changing my appearance and body was that I needed to have Insight about who I wanted to become. I could make my hair longer, my face look a bit younger or older, but I couldn't make drastic changes to my identities, and the more I got used to them, the more REmould became... "solid" around them, making them more and more difficult to modify.
That meant that there would be a time in the future when REmould would make those bodies unchangeable.
I would still be able to shift from Finn to Corvis to Eralith and to whatever new identity I would need, but my body would stop aging, stop growing, stop changing.
Gilbert and I kept our distance, watching the Rolleykeg match unfold from the safety of the crowd.
Fortunately, the spectators were entirely dwarf-brained for the game, too absorbed in the action to spare me a second glance, let alone connect my face to the reputation of Finn Warend.
—
A Stoneflute—a typical instrument of Darv used to alert miners, like the one Olfred had once gifted to me while we traveled to the Red Gorge—resounded, played by the match referee who was also the same dwarf that announced the points.
"The team of Lord Marko Felsen wins against the team of Lord Pelieterk Boor!" The match referee declared, and the side of the crowd cheering for the team of this Marko Felsen rejoiced. "Ten points and a third to seven!"
The players did so too, but the losers, instead of being saddened by their loss, were terrified, refusing to even risk getting near the gaze of Pelieterk Boor.
Their faces were pale, their eyes downcast, and I could see the fear radiating from them like heat from a forge.
Through the crowd of Lower Vildoriallans that was now starting to move as the match ended, I glared at Water Baron Boor.
The scene unfolding was eerily similar to many one could see on Earthen sports—from football to boxing: corrupted and criminalized games.
Those losing players were about to have a bad, bad time.
I stepped forward.
"Hey," Gilbert said behind me, but I didn't turn around.
A Throneholder that stepped as low as to arrive to Lower Vildorial couldn't shy from facing these crime lords, especially if that Throneholder's objective were the Pits. If I was going to climb from the depths of Vildorial to its heights, I had to start somewhere.
And this was as good a place as any.
Pelieterk Boor was flanked by two augmenters in Darvish military uniforms, the same type that I saw Olfred wearing as royal guard of the Greysunders, but without any insignia of the Greysunders nor of Darv itself.
They were private guards, I realized, hired muscle to protect the Water Baron's interests.
"Lord Boor," I managed to hear one of the players—the captain, judging from how he put himself before the others—say. "We apologize for losing."
Boor... as I approached the Water Baron, the name clicked in my head. I had already met that name somewhere, but where?
Right, Boor was the same surname of one of the first dwarven students to ever attend Xyrus Academy in The Beginning After The End. It made a grim sort of sense.
The Boor family was surely rich thanks to this criminal, but they were still non-nobility—perfect to promulgate the opening of Xyrus Academy to everyone of all races and statuses.
"Apologize for losing?" Pelieterk Boor's voice wasn't the usual lower tone I was used to hearing from dwarven adults. It was more squeaky and high-pitched, like that of a sewer rat or a broken steam pipe.
"I lost money, status, and prestige when I lost to that Felsen bastard! Every single one of you will pay me back. Is that clear? You'll pay me back with your wives and children if necessary—I will starve your families to death before I let this go!"
I grimaced at the brute threat made by the Water Baron.
Around me, no one was defending the Rolleykeg players; in fact, most of the crowd tried to get as far away from them as possible, fearing the ire of the Water Baron.
The players stood alone, their shoulders hunched, their faces pale. They were trapped, and they knew it.
I gave a last glance behind my shoulders and Gilbert was still following me. He may still hate me in some way or another, but he hated this behavior enough to not leave me alone in this.
"I actually found their game very entertaining," I said, smiling, as I stepped in full view for the Water Baron. "And quite encouraging indeed—to continue playing despite the clear disadvantage, after going down three full points and a third."
The Water Baron turned, his eyes almost bulging from his head. Up close, Pelieterk Boor looked like a bulky dwarf, but with arms thinner than his size would have suggested. His face was flushed with rage, his hands trembling with barely contained fury.
"Entertaining?! Seeing them dying of thirst will entertain me!" Pelieterk Boor shouted my way, saliva spitting from his mouth.
He looked like a Sebastian Wykes made dwarf.
Dicathen truly had problems with disgusting and corrupted nobility. Boor's way of behaving was exactly how I had seen Sebastian Wykes treating Drogo Lambert in the Red Gorge six years before.
"Bring them away, and I want this kid too!" Pelieterk shouted.
"What?!" The captain of the Rolleykeg's team asked. "Why the kid?!"
The two guards flanking the Boor Water Baron acted. I gestured for Gilbert behind me to not do anything as I stepped in myself.
The Rolleykeg players were not mages; I guessed there were rules that separated mages from non-mages in this kind of sport, so I had to protect them from the two augmenters.
One of the dwarves working for Boor made to block the Rolleykeg captain as he tried to fight back, but I was faster.
Massbinding active, the ochre runes of the Kain Clan shone on the back of my right fist as I used REmould to make it heavier, faster, and stronger at the same time.
Mana flowed in my fist and it connected with the light armor the augmenter wore under his uniform.
The dwarf, despite being almost twice my size, was hurled against the wall of a building like a leaf in a storm.
The impact echoed through the street, and I heard the crowd gasp.
"Mr. Boor, I am sure you know who I am," I told the Water Baron as Ars Terramorph answered my call.
The remaining augmenter tried to protect his employer, but I was fast to use Massbinding to create a pushing force under my feet and avoid him.
When I landed by his back, I sent the cobbles of the Anvilrun to encase the augmenter in a prison of red bricks—similar to how Olfred had once done in the novel. The bricks locked into place, forming a cage that held the augmenter fast.
I stepped closer to Pelieterk Boor.
"My name is Finn Warend, Mr. Boor," I said, and recognition sparked in the Water Baron's eyes—hate and envy all at once. "And I want one thing to be clear."
I empowered my voice with mana, making it louder less effectively than with sound magic, but still good enough. The words rolled across the crowd, carrying my declaration to every corner of the street.
"I am the future Throneholder of this Kingdom," I said to Boor and to all of Lower Vildorial—to all the other Water Barons. "And I shall wage incessant war against the scum that you represent: Water Barons."
I stepped closer to Pelieterk Boor, letting out the mana signature of a silver core mage on the dwarf.
The Water Baron shrunk back in fear, unable to even speak, to grovel before me. I took a little red pebble from the damaged Anvilrun and made it hover before my finger, not dissimilarly to a Bubblespell.
The pebble started to spin as I stood above the Water Baron, my projectile above his face as it spun faster and faster as I made it spin from the inside thanks to my Ars Terramorph. The motion was hypnotic, a blur of red and brown that seemed to pulse with its own life.
"May this send a message to all your disgusting peers," I said and let the projectile go.
Boor screamed in primal fear, but nothing happened. The pebble crashed against the Anvilrun right by his head, making a small crater that started to smoke.
The sound of it was the sharp, final punctuation mark on my declaration.
I turned back and looked at the Rolleykeg team, at Gilbert, and at the few people that haven't run away from the Water Baron's ire. Their faces were a mix of shock and hope, as if they couldn't believe what they had just witnessed.
"We still have far to go, Gilbert," I told the Hammerfell. "Let's go."
The dwarven teenager didn't object as we left the humiliated Water Baron behind.
If I understood the Water Barons's little crime society, then Boor was done for, having lost all shreds of honor and respect after what I had done.
He would no longer be a threat.
The crowd parted before us, and I felt their eyes on my back, their whispers following us like a trail of smoke.