"No wait wait-waitwait," the shapeshifter begged, speech growing so rapid as to be nearly incomprehensible. Marcus didn't wait, closing the shield with yet another rune. Holding three shielding runes in the air like that was a strain, but honestly there wasn't any chance he'd let this one escape. "I can offer you information!"
"Don't care."
Marcus put his hand on the dome, a small section opening and arcane fire beginning to gather. The Royal Guards surrounding the creature actually took a step back, weapons drawn and shields up.
It had already seriously wounded three of them not even fifteen minutes ago. That alone sealed its fate, though Marcus was quite done with demonic shapeshifters in general. At least this one seemed young, and hadn't managed to actually kill anyone.
The arcane fire rushed forth, incinerating the shapeshifter and its stolen form. Marcus grunted, turning away as the fire died down.
"Make sure the wounded are healed, then report to your captain."
The Royal Guards snapped to attention, their body language seeming different. Not artificially so, but different. Marcus shook his head, banishing the thought and striding towards the advanced group of students. Those who'd managed to lose a shapeshifter in the first place.
Gretched was already there, the six students with her seeming utterly deflated. The old witch turned, raising an eyebrow. "Already? This is a good place for a shapeshifter to hide, so I expected it to take at least the rest of the day."
"I have some experience hunting them, and it was a young one. Half an hour seems about right," he replied, gazing at the students. Their heads sank lower, even the thirty-something druid who must have had giant's blood in his ancestry. "Where did you find the summoning seal?"
The not-giant looked up, tone hesitant. "It was shown during a demonstration."
"You memorized it?"
"We all contributed," someone else said, a younger woman. She swallowed. "We must have forgotten something."
Marcus looked it over, surprised to see how close they'd gotten. Close enough to actually summon it, of course, but there was a functioning power limiter and an identity clause. Marcus pointed to the bottom left. "Your binding seal is optional. It literally just chose not to enter it."
They looked, Gretched's scowl deepening. "Fools, all of you. Had this not been a young one you'd all be dead. As it is, you should be lucky that Dron knows healing magic. It saved your lives."
The not-giant perked up at hearing his name. Marcus sighed, shaking his head.
"You got lucky, but getting this far does show some skill. It also shows a concerning disregard for public safety, including your own. I want a twenty five page report from each of you on the dangers of summoning, binding pacts and shapeshifters. Due the day after tomorrow, so I'd suggest you get started."
The group scrambled out after bowing, leaving him with just Gretched. The witch didn't seem overly pleased. "I'm the one who has to grade those papers. I dislike grading papers."
"It was your group," Marcus replied, turning to her fully. "Your responsibility. I'm not in the habit of punishing honest mistakes, but apparently your warnings of caution have not quite sunk in. Remedy that."
The witch scowled, drawing herself up, and Marcus raised an eyebrow. Gretched deflated before she said anything, turning and walking away. Well, far be it for him to demand utter subservience. As long as the woman respected his authority he'd respect her right to be upset at failure.
Marcus left the empty room after a few minutes, taking a mental breather and ensuring his magic was replenishing as it should. With the healing and sparring and demon hunting he was definitely feeling the strain, though he'd always been blessed with robust reserves.
Enough so it didn't really matter during a battle, though if he combined four arcane fireballs it would drain him dry quickly enough. It was for that very reason one of the Archmages couldn't single-handedly wipe out a dungeon break, actually.
Some were rumored to be able to hold eight or even nine matrices at once, which gave them enough theoretical power to shatter the continent in half. Yet he'd never heard of anyone having that much magic, let alone survive channeling that much raw power.
Marcus looked outside, seeing the sun already beginning to descend towards evening. Hunting the demon had taken up all of his break, so the scribes were waiting for him.
He could reschedule, the fight gave him enough of an excuse for it, but he'd rather get it over with. Besides, he was delivering bad news. Being late on top of it seemed unnecessarily rude.
Despite what outside observers might conclude, he didn't hate the scribes. He'd just taken a glance at the Crown's finances and found a rather large discrepancy between their budget and duties, something his father had seemed content to ignore.
The man had used the words 'political' and 'holding necessary functions', but Marcus could read between the lines. His father was old and didn't need one more group plotting against him. And scribes held power, no matter their disdain for swords and all matters martial. Their power was in information, and only fools discounted information as a source of might.
Good thing Marcus was young and more than happy to abuse his personal power to enact change.
The walk to the Royal Library was a surprisingly long one, castles were built with a winding interior by design, and by the time he got there, his legs were aching something fierce. Another round of healing would probably do more harm than good, though, so he endured it, but he'd definitely have to take it easy tomorrow.
Marcus pushed the doors open, finding several dozen Royal Scribes sitting around a long table. Food and drink were being served by the younger members, but the core leadership was there. Old men and women, some frail and some not, all assembled to resist whatever request he was about to make.
At least all of them were sound of mind. The order was bloated, yes, but they had the good sense to retire those who started failing in their duties.
The moment he was done ensuring they actually earned the budget they had, he was probably going to ignore them. Marcus had far too much to do to spar with old men who argued and read for a living.
"I heard there is some unfortunate business at the Academy," Gratham began, standing. The leader of the scribes smiled, the rest of the scribes following and bowing as Marcus took a seat. His armor made it rather uncomfortable, so he'd likely have to have it adjusted to account for his increased muscle mass. "Your presence here assures me it has been dealt with."
"It has. Magic comes hand in hand with danger, which is the main reason I separated it so thoroughly from the rest of the castle. Neither you, nor anyone else, has anything to fear."
"Your foresight is a boon to us all," the scribe said. How the man managed it without sounding sarcastic Marcus would never know. "Would you enlighten us about the nature of this meeting, my Prince?"
Marcus leaned forward. "I shall be blunt, Gratham. I've been keeping an eye on your organization. Specifically, I've been keeping an eye on your scribes since they have started copying magical tomes for my Academy."
"Has there been an issue with the quality of the work?"
The man sounded actually worried. Marcus shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. However, I have found that despite the increased workload placed on your order, there are still members that do not meaningfully contribute to the rest of the kingdom. I have come up with a solution."
There was some uneasy shuffling at that, though that all stopped once Gratham raised a hand. The scribe leaned forward, and Marcus could see why his father had never pushed too hard to bring the order to heel. There was steel in the old man's eyes, steel and energy.
"How may we be of service, my Prince?" Gratham asked, tone perfectly mild. "We, as a Royal institution, faithfully serve the Crown."
"And the Crown serves the people. To that end I would like your order to begin literacy projects in Redwater. Basic, low-cost high-reward lessons that elevate educational levels within the capital. Teaching people basic history, reading, writing and mathematics will be the main goal."
Gratham raised an eyebrow. "Which in turn will let you recruit educated souls for the Academy. Should we focus on the magical students first and foremost, my Prince? With a population of five hundred and sixty thousand I am sure many could be found."
"No. Let us know if you find promising students that show an interest, but no. Those skills will be good for general prosperity regardless, and frankly I'm struggling to find a better use for your order. Unless, of course, you would be willing to accept a reduction in your budget?"
The scribe didn't even blink. "Teaching others is one of our core functions, my Prince. We would be more than willing to assist the Crown in this task."
"Very good. Requisition some clay and wax tablets for the students to practice on. I'll find you some buildings in the city for you to teach in. The City Watch will be available to ensure your safety, of course, and to deal with any particularly vocal critics."
Gratham bowed his head, a light—almost grandfatherly—smile appearing. "You have become determined, my Prince. I am glad to see it. Without a strong head to rest on, the Crown holds very little power at all, and when the Crown is weak the Kingdom suffers."
"So I am beginning to see, Gratham."
Perhaps all they had needed was purpose. One could hope.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
"The day after tomorrow," Vess said, unprompted and without even so much as a greeting. Marcus raised an eyebrow, lowering his hand from where he'd summoned her. "Your bride to be, I mean. She'll arrive the day after tomorrow."
"And why are you so excited about this?"
"Because I simply cannot wait to see how you'll interact with her."
Marcus hummed, lightly urging Xathar onwards. A visit with one of the stable masters in Redwater had made crafting a long-term contract with the demonic horse much easier, and frankly he liked riding a horse he didn't need to control.
He wasn't a born rider, but if Xathar played along he certainly looked like one. Which, as someone who had an image to maintain, was very useful. It also saved him from having to slowly steer his horse through a forest, though keeping a shield active was necessary.
Being hit by branches stopped being fun roughly a split second after one whacked him in the face.
Marcus grunted as Vess conjured her own mount, apparently having acquired one since they last travelled together. The rules about what succubi could and couldn't summon from their home seemed inconsistent, too, though that might have something to do with her age.
Demons, generally speaking, got stronger the older they got. Smarter, too. Visits to the material plane, be that through summoning or otherwise, allowed them to acquire more goods and knowledge. The Hells were vast, impossibly so, but from what demonologists had learned most of it was barren. Barren and hostile. New demons materialized all the time, of course, but not enough to ever fill it.
Fortunately for any plane that wasn't the Hells, they acquired enemies almost as fast and regularly died in power struggles on their home plane. Equilibrium, as always, was reached.
"Maybe I'll keep you at a distance for the first few days. Let the Princess breathe before throwing you at her."
"You need me," Vess replied, smug. "I help run the Academy, ensure the scribes actually do their job, mediate hostilities between your mages and vet the new recruits coming in."
Marcus hummed. "So you do. I'll be sure not to succumb to baseless suspicion and break our contract for no good reason."
"Sometimes it's hard for me to tell if you're being sarcastic or not."
"No, it's not."
"No it's not," Vess sighed. "You know that this is simultaneously the most entertaining and boring contract I've had? It feels like those should be mutually exclusive, but you've found a way. One day I'm helping shape the future of a Kingdom, which is quite fun, then the next I'm running after you like a maid to ensure you drink your potions."
Marcus didn't reply, the fact that his bride—who he'd never met—was arriving in a matter of days hitting him all at once. He'd somehow always thought of it as 'soon but not now', and suddenly it was pretty much 'now'. "I'm getting married."
"You are," she replied, tone softening. "Try to be friends. Trust is more important than attraction, doubly so for a political marriage. If you fall in love, great. If not, being able to work together will secure your future. I don't know much about the Parnanian continent, which doesn't matter now that it is an undead wasteland, but I do know that their Life Enhancement is strong. It could be quite an asset to the kingdom."
"Then how did they lose their continent?"
"Someone created zombies that adapt to magic. By the time people stopped trying to burn, freeze or electrocute them there were far too many with far too many resistances."
Marcus looked at her, curious. "They adapt to all kinds of magic? Spatial, temporal, summoning?"
"I'm not sure. This was quite recent, so all I know is what the demons who fought there told me. It wasn't pretty. They didn't have Archmages like your continent does, not really, and neither were their kingdoms unified. Too many people going 'not my problem' for too long, and then there were millions of undead."
"Damn. I assume they can't cross the ocean, going by the fact that the Empire isn't sending over an Archmage to deal with it?"
"For all of their terrifying combat prowess, the individual undead is stupid. Whoever created them didn't seem to care to spread the plague, or can't control it, though I only know that much because of an unreliable rumor. Focus on your own issues, not those half a world away."
Marcus acknowledged the point, Xathar breaking into a clearing with a muttered complaint about horse meat all the while. Kleph was there alongside Barry, looking over the students. Their combined class counted nearly thirty students, all of whom were at least somewhat proficient with summoning.
Proficient enough that a small army of minor elementals were walking around, from globes of water to little fire golems standing on wobbly legs. Almost half the students were druids, which was one of the main reasons Kleph was here, the other one being that they were technically in the man's grove.
It wasn't much of one yet, but it was starting to grow. The trees were growing lush and a few animals were stalking around the outskirts, cautious but less afraid than they should be. It was a reminder that while druidism was a discipline of magic, it was also different.
Marcus had never been too interested in dissecting the true lines between magical disciplines, in truth. Application and mastery mattered more to him than semantics. Yet animals felt more at ease around those who practised druidism, even when no spells were involved.
As much as they tried to categorize and understand magic, there was always an aspect of feeling about it. Of intent more than understanding. Spiritual, almost.
"What am I doing here, again?" Marcus asked, keeping his tone low enough only Vess could hear. She shot him a look, making Marcus raise an eyebrow. "What?"
"You summoned me while you were already underway. I've no idea what we're doing here."
Well, that was unhelpful. She'd distracted him with his fiance's imminent arrival and now he'd lost his train of thought. Marcus dismounted and dismissed Xathar, moving closer towards the class. Barry was animatedly explaining something to a student, the older man nodding along to the near rambling explanation, and Marcus turned to Kleph.
"What?"
Marcus hummed. "I'm not sure. I distinctly remember coming here with some purpose, yet now I've no idea what it is."
"That doesn't seem like an issue I could help with." Well, that's one way to say 'not my problem.' Kleph took a breath, raising a hand. "Apologies. I asked you here for a meeting to discuss the future of my grove."
Ah, yes. It was a bit annoying to be summoned all the way out here just for that, but it was good to get out of the castle. "You're wondering what I'll use your druids for?"
"You seem to have a use for everyone." Kleph nodded to the summoners. "Those will give you disposable, high-impact troops for combat. The healers you have Margaret training will make the people love you. The scribes are laying the groundwork for your future recruitment efforts in Redwater. I'm just wondering what ours will be."
"Agriculture."
Kleph raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"That and animal husbandry, technically, but yes. Agriculture. I want your grove to bless fields, encourage healthy offspring in cows, pigs and sheep. I want them to make our fields more productive in general, for every farmer in this Kingdom to see nothing strange about a druid walking through their crops. I'll settle for the lands around Redwater for the moment."
"You want me to increase crop yield so that fewer farmers will be required, allowing for more industry in different areas."
Marcus gave the man a pleased smile. "That's exactly what I want. You'll need hundreds of druids for that, of course. Perhaps more. The largest grove in the Kingdom."
"And all under the control of the Crown."
"I do think we've had this conversation before," Marcus dismissed. "You'll be the leader of the most organized, biggest grove for a hundred miles. In return you answer to me, helping the people instead of sealing off a forest as your personal domain. Is that agreeable, Kleph?"
The druid sighed, nodding after a moment. "Yes. Yes it is."
"Perfect. How many druids would you need to bless all the farms around Redwater?"
Kleph folded his arms, thinking, before giving a shrug. "At least a hundred until some reveal themselves to have potential. Blessing crops, let alone encouraging healthy offspring, is more complicated than it sounds. I'll get started on making a system and creating teams for some of my more experienced druids to lead."
"That would be great, thank you," Marcus replied, turning to the class. He clapped his hand together. "Now let's see how well they command their minions, shall we?"