Chapter 74: Twelve Ancient Families
14th September, Rune Era 1420
Bloodstone City, Territory of Thornevale
The rhythmic churning of metal wheels slowed as the train hissed into the station, releasing clouds of white steam that curled into the dusky air. The scent of coal, oil, and damp stone mingled in the wind — the unmistakable breath of Bloodstone City.
Beyond the platforms stretched a city forged between rolling hills and shadowed forests, its veins pulsing with iron and machinery. Brick buildings rose shoulder to shoulder, blackened chimneys exhaling ribbons of smoke into the gray sky. On the eastern horizon, the smoke thickened over clusters of factories, muting the sunlight and tinting everything in shades of copper and soot.
As the whistle faded, Raven stepped down first, followed by Stephane and Selene. Behind them, Jacob carried their luggage with his usual mechanical grace, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd.
"This city acted as a fortress before the age of wizards," he said, his tone respectful but lined with quiet pride. "For centuries, it was the last defensive wall against monsters and magical beasts from the Great Hillcrow Woodlands. But with the rise of machinery and Aether weapons, Bloodstone grew stronger — untouchable even during the beast tides."
Raven's eyes wandered toward the forest line visible beyond the city's smoke-veiled walls. "And the beasts?" he asked.
Jacob gave a brief shrug as he led them through the crowd. "Driven deeper into the Woodlands. These days, only Rank-1 or Rank-2 Magical Beasts wander close. Even those appear rarely. Most are hunted before they reach the outer gates."
Raven studied the people moving past them — Walkers with swords slung across their backs, traders shouting prices, guards in navy armor clutching rifles etched with faint blue runes. "Still," he murmured, "this city draws many Walkers."
"That's to be expected, my lord," Jacob replied. "The hunted became the hunters. In the old days, even a Rank-3 Walker needed ten companions to slay a beast of equal strength. But Aether Equipment changed the rules." He tapped the long rifle strapped across his back. "Now, one Walker can wound what once took a squad. Add a few Warlocks for support — it's victory."
The words carried quiet awe, though a trace of caution lingered beneath.
"Improvements in medicine helped too," Jacob continued. "Modern potions made recovery faster. No longer do Walkers die of infection or poison days after battle."
The four of them exited the platform and crossed into the station's grand hall. Iron beams arched above, lined with dull gas lamps that flickered against the rising smoke. The floor, paved with black marble, reflected the chaos of movement — soldiers, merchants, and scholars brushing past each other like rushing tides.
Jacob lowered his voice, leaning closer. "This city is ruled by Margrave Lucus Thornevale. His household — the Thornevale Family — is one of the Twelve Ancient Families of the Empire. Old as the Empire itself. They're famed beast tamers. Men and women who sign contracts with magical creatures, binding them through ancient rites to share power in battle."
The mention stirred something in Raven's mind — a flicker of recognition. Reece, too, had tamed beasts.
"Is Reece one of them?" Raven asked. "From Thornevale's main line?"
Jacob smiled faintly. "No, my lord. Reece was once an external recruit. He joined the Thornevale family's ranks three decades ago, but his progress stalled. They expelled him before he could rise further. Later, he joined the Red Sepoy Corps under my command as a common foot soldier."
"External recruit…" Raven repeated softly. "So the Thornevale Family accepts commoners?"
Jacob's laugh was quiet and hollow. "No noble bloodline truly welcomes commoners, my lord. External recruits are… tools. Chosen from Knight Training Schools, raised, and tested for years — sometimes decades. A few pass the trials and become internal recruits, receiving support, titles, and resources. But even then, they rarely touch true nobility."
They stepped outside the station, the noise dimming behind them. The afternoon sun, veiled by smog, cast a dull bronze glow over the cobblestones. Carriages rattled past, pulled by black-maned horses with metallic bridles.
"Tell me more," Raven said as they walked toward the carriage house. "About how noble families work — and about these twelve families. I've heard of them, but never studied the structure."
Jacob's gaze sharpened as they neared an elderly coachman waiting beside a four-wheeled carriage. He exchanged a few quiet words, then opened the door for the group.
"Go to the Merchant Borough," he told the driver, then entered and shut the door behind them.
The carriage lurched into motion. The rhythmic clatter of wheels filled the silence as Jacob drew the curtains and locked the door.
"Each Noble Family," he began, "seeks talented children from the common class. External recruits — students who show promise. They're trained for ten or fifteen years, sometimes longer. Tested through duels, missions, and examinations. Those who excel become internal recruits, chosen heirs to the family's honor. The rest… disappear quietly."
He looked out the small window, the streets blurring past. "If an internal recruit performs miracles — achieves something legendary — the family might grant knighthood. Rarely, a baronetcy. But that's it. They never mix bloodlines."
Raven listened in silence.
Jacob continued, voice steady. "Noble blood is preserved through sons. A knight who earns a baron's title elevates his entire family — his wife, parents, even grandparents become noble. But when daughters marry into other lines, their titles vanish. They become commoners again. Sons, however, retain their blood status, even if they aren't heirs. Over generations, the branches multiply. The Thornevale Family, for instance, has over a hundred branch families."
Raven leaned back, processing the scale.
"Even a poor branch family," Jacob said, "owns more wealth than all of us combined, my lord."
Raven's lips curved faintly. The truth weighed heavier than he expected.
He had wealth — the remnants of the Holmes estate — but compared to this, it was nothing. For all his cunning, he was still an outsider staring up at an ancient tower that touched the clouds.
[Wealth is not in gold or land, lad,] Zera's voice murmured, faint and steady in his mind. [True wealth lies in knowledge. Use what's hidden in your Memory Library — and you can buy and destroy ten such families in time.]
Raven's eyes flickered with thought before he gestured for Jacob to continue.
Jacob adjusted his gloves and spoke, his tone lower now, like a storyteller revealing forbidden truths.
"The Empire's twelve ancient families… They are the pillars that uphold the Emperor's throne."
He began with two names spoken in reverence.
"Maddis and Gravestone. The two Archducal Houses."
"The Maddis family," Jacob said, "are masters of swordsmanship and the owners of the Western Bank. Their knight order — the Golden Regime — is unmatched. They are the Empire's blade, its pride."
He paused before lowering his tone. "The Gravestones… are its shadow. Cold and silent. They move through the Empire's affairs unseen, weaving strings of influence and deceit. They are masters of Dark and Illusion Magic — the most secretive of all the twelve."
Raven's gaze deepened.
"Next," Jacob continued, "come the four Ducal Houses — Warfield, Heart, Arcturus, and Raynor."
"Warfield holds the Crimson Fortress. They are the Empire's shield — loyal, honorable, unyielding. Knights and warriors form their backbone, though they sometimes produce Fire-affinity wizards."
"The Heart family…" Jacob hesitated. "They're different. Isolated. They stay clear of politics. They believe in pure martial strength. Fist techniques — ancient and brutal. Some call them the Pugilists of the Empire."
"That explains Leona," Raven murmured, his tone light but thoughtful.
Jacob nodded. "The Arcturus family commands the cavalry — the 'Iron Cavalry.' They train the Empire's finest horsemen and spearmen. When their banners rise, even monsters scatter."
His tone darkened for the last name. "And then… the Raynor family. They are necromancers. Forbidden arts flow in their blood. The Empire permits their practices — barely — under the condition that they summon only beasts, not humans. They're despised by the masses but feared for their power. Some say the Imperial Family keeps them close as a weapon, a last resort."
Raven frowned slightly. "The Empire allows necromancy?"
Jacob shook his head. "Only in moderation. The Crows' Misery Academy houses many of them, under surveillance. But yes — the practice continues."
[Different world, different order,] Zera whispered, her tone calm. [There are no divine powers here, no heavens to judge. To them, necromancy is merely another branch of Wizardry.]
The carriage turned sharply, wheels bumping over uneven stones.
Jacob went on. "The remaining six are Margrave families — Harrowmont, Ravenshield, Thornevale, Sterlinghart, Blackwater, and Findlay."
"The Harrowmonts," he said, "specialize in assassination and intrigue. Masters of manipulation and chaos. They once ruled a small kingdom before being absorbed into the Empire after the Stonelake War. Their loyalty lies in profit."
"Ravenshield," he continued, "is a family of alchemists and potion masters. Half the army's potions come from their workshops. Brilliant minds — and dangerously eccentric."
He allowed himself a thin smile. "Thornevale, as I said, are beast tamers. The Sterlingharts — archers and rune craftsmen. They supply nearly twenty percent of the Empire's total artifact production each year."
"Blackwater," his voice grew quieter, "deals in poison and espionage. They're assassins, spies, alchemists of death. Their concoctions can kill a man before he feels the blade."
"And finally," Jacob exhaled, "Findlay Household. The youngest of them all."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a reverent whisper.
"It began with a forbidden love — a female wizard and a slum-born boy. The Wizard Alliance cast her out. Yet, after her exile, her strength surged. She bore a child, and her magic grew tenfold. Within a century, she reached Rank-5. Within two, she ascended to Legend."
He looked up at Raven, his eyes glinting faintly. "They call her the Ice Princess — the founder of House Findlay."
The carriage rolled to a stop. Outside, the lamps of the Merchant Borough flickered, their light painting the cobblestone streets gold and gray.
For a long moment, Raven said nothing. The twelve names hung in the air — heavy, ancient, and sharp as blades.
He finally drew a slow breath.
Twelve houses. Twelve roots that fed the Empire's endless hunger for power.