Chapter 1134: A Desperate Gambit

"This is our Iron & Blood," Delilah purred, her voice a low murmur that still managed to cut through the din from the floors below. "It’s a blend of the continent’s strongest spirits. Complex, rich... and it burns all the way down."

She was leaning against the bar, one hand propping up her beautiful chin while the other tapped a rhythmic beat against a clear goblet. Her eyes kept drifting to the third floor’s sole occupant.

"Every ranger who passes through orders a glass. It’s never gotten a bad review. Care to be the first?"

A flicker of curiosity danced in Delilah’s eyes. She was genuinely interested in him. The Silent Goblet wasn’t the biggest establishment, but thanks to the endless stream of merchants and mercenaries, its reputation had spread across the entire continent. Nearly every outsider who came to Stoneheart City for the first time made a point to stop in for a drink. And from time to time, a new patron would find their way up to the third floor.

Usually, Delilah knew them. They were either nobles from the Sea Race or one of the foreign lords from the north looking for some discreet entertainment.

But this one... she didn’t know him.

More accurately, her extensive information network had absolutely nothing on him. Not a whisper. That meant he had most likely arrived in Stoneheart through a channel connected to the Seeker auction house in the western district. In other words, he was an otherworldly visitor.

"And what’s the damage for something like that?" the man asked. His voice was gentle, humble even, with an undercurrent of caution.

A melodic laugh escaped Delilah’s lips. "Not so much. In fact, the first one’s on the house."

As she spoke, she retrieved a frosted pitcher from under the counter, poured a heavy glass, and set it down smoothly on the man’s table.

"Well, in that case, my thanks, proprietor." The man stood and gave a slight bow of his head, a polite acknowledgment of her gift.

Delilah’s smile was a masterpiece of charm. "My name is Delilah," she said, seizing the opening. "I own this tavern. And who might you be?" She found herself drawn to him; the man in the simple white robes was courteous, soft-spoken, and possessed an aura that easily put others at ease.

"I am Cloudsong," he replied. "Just a singer, a storyteller of sorts."

Delilah’s eyes lit up. She understood. He was a bard. Her experiences in the otherworldly wars had long since cured her of any naivete. She’d recently acquired a trove of information from the Blade Hall, reading everything she could about the other worlds.

"What a coincidence," she said, leaning forward slightly. "This tavern is in desperate need of a good storyteller. Have you ever considered a residency?" Her offer was slick and immediate. "Room and board are covered, of course. And a monthly salary."

She watched him closely. In the other worlds, she knew, bards were a recognized profession. The fact that he was here, in her tavern, meant something about the Silent Goblet had drawn him in.

"That is a most generous offer," Cloudsong said, rising again to give a respectful nod. "I will have to give it some thought."

Delilah waved a dismissive, elegant hand. "Please," she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I’d much prefer you call me Delilah." A strange, knowing smile touched her lips as she settled back behind the bar.

"Thank you, then, Delilah."

Cloudsong nodded from his table, utterly unmoved by her beauty or the potent charm she wielded like a weapon. He knew exactly what she was. Delilah was a succubus. Beneath the seductive, bewitching facade was a creature of malice and cruelty. There were exceptions, of course, but they were vanishingly rare. As a wandering bard, Cloudsong knew how to manage risk.

Respect her, and keep a wide berth.

***

Godforsaken Land, Sunset City.

For Wilson and his ancestor, the war began without warning. One moment, their attention was fixed on the enemy army approaching in the distance; the next, Sunset City erupted into chaos.

It was absolute. Countless snow monsters and yetis materialized from the pristine drifts, catching the city’s defenders completely off guard. Their roars were lost in a symphony of screams. But that was only the beginning.

A chittering wave of sand scorpions burst from the earth beneath the city walls, kicking up a blinding storm of dust. In that instant, the old man beside Wilson knew the city was doomed. They were hopelessly outnumbered, and worse—the creatures themselves were so alien, so uncanny, that no defense had been prepared against them.

Wilson was frozen with indecision, but the old man’s mind was sharp.

"Wilson, we can’t hold the city!" he yelled over the din. "There are too many fronts! We can’t be everywhere at once! We have to take a risk!"

The old man raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the sky, where Marina floated serenely, directing her forces. His voice was grim but laced with feral resolve. He could sense that among the invaders, there were no demigod-level threats. That meant that with an old timer like him in the fight, they still had a chance.

"I’m on it, ancestor!"

Wilson wasn’t a fool. The moment his path was clear, he launched himself from the wall, the full pressure of his arch lord status flaring as he shot directly toward the mermaid, Marina.

But she was ready.

As Wilson closed in, Marina released the ancient giant-horned whale. Without a moment’s hesitation, the behemoth unleashed a crippling sonar wave that locked Wilson in place, followed by a concussive blast that rattled his bones. Then, activating its Gigantic Form, it surged forward, its massive horn aimed like a battering ram.

"Abomination!" The old man on the wall roared. With a flicker of movement, he teleported directly above the whale, his hand cocked back into a fist ready to shatter its skull.

Zzzzt!

Just as he was about to strike, an overwhelming sense of mortal danger screamed at him from behind. His body reacted instantly, and he teleported again, vanishing from above the whale just as Orion’s trident sliced through the space he had occupied.

A strange demigod phantom, was the old man’s first thought as he reappeared a safe distance away. The attacker had no demigod aura, none of the oppressive presence, yet the power behind that strike was undeniably the real thing. It was the power of a fundamental rule.

"Who are you?" the old man demanded, his eyes fixed on Orion. He had no time to worry about Wilson, who was now locked in a desperate battle with the whale. The fact that this newcomer could threaten his life without a demigod’s aura was, to him, impossible.

"Who am I?" Orion tilted his head, a gesture of mock curiosity. "I’m the invader. Isn’t it obvious?"

He raised his trident, aiming it directly at the old man. Simultaneously, a binding force—a rule that only a demigod should be able to wield—snapped into place, locking onto him.

"An Over-tier!" the old man gasped, finally understanding. It was a term for those who could defy the natural order of power, who could fight and win across entire tiers of strength.

"That’s right," Orion’s voice was laced with smug satisfaction. "Too bad this isn’t a game show. There’s no prize for the right answer."