Leonidas stood with resolute stillness twenty minutes later, his blade planted into the pathway under his armored feet, and his hands resting on the bastard sword’s pommel. Cerynia was slumped several feet away, unmasked and without her hood, having been forced to consume a healing potion to avoid dying from his impaling strike. Lothran had been charged to take care of the insensate, still-weeping blonde highborn, much to the mercenary Dagger-Master’s chagrin.

  To the Black Knight, her life didn’t matter—but to Ceruviel, it very much would. Count Cartellis would be incensed. Leonidas couldn’t find it in himself to care.

  His [Archon’s Psiblade] hummed with power as he focused on his exercises instead of worrying about the noble Haelfar, cycling his mana and psi in the way Ceruviel had taught him—what seemed like so long ago, yet was truthfully barely a week—while focusing on protecting his channels from the unfiltered rampage of his [Cataclysm Core]’s energy.

  In truth, he wasn’t as concerned as he had been as an Untempered.

  The Tribulation he’d gone through had deeply strengthened his body, and that included the artery-like mana channels that wound their way throughout his anatomy. He had scoured himself as a Novice, channelling in the way he’d been taught on Elatra, and eviscerating his channels to create broader and more flow-friendly pathways with which to express his power.

  That had earned him the Mana Sage title, but in the end, that method had already been outgrown. Not because it wasn’t still effective if used in concentration, but because the actual benefits were not truly worth the hassle of healing after the fact. Leonidas’ first Tempering and growth to an Initiate had sloughed away so much of what had held his body back from being able not only to withstand his [Cataclysm Core], but also harness it.

  As he cycled, he marvelled at the way he could endure the biting pain—the way his body could deal with the searing burn of his power in a way that had left him gasping and insensate as a Novice. The discomfort was still present and visceral, but it was no longer shattering—no longer so obtrusive that he could scarcely breathe. Now it was more like pins and needles, or a first-degree burn rather than a third-degree immolation. It felt like he was applying scalding water, instead of boiling magma.

  Still painful, still awful, but not nearly as unmanageable—especially with his Vitality being what it was, and the commensurate boost to his Willpower.

  His armor and blade also did their part; enhancing the potency of his Psi to better withstand and funnel his mana along the ‘cylinders’ and ‘shielding’ he crafted for cycling within his channels, while simultaneously making it easier to manage the Affinity resource and ensure it stayed full enough for him to properly wield it to his needs.

  He and Ceruviel had also noticed another change with his Tempering: environmental synergy.

  Whenever Leonidas cycled, as he was doing now, the immediate reality around him seemed to… respond. The effects were often minor and mild in their manifestation, but they were visible—enough so that they could be noticed if given more than the most cursory of glances. The air around Leonidas thickened, becoming denser and more compounded, as if caught up in some manner of cyclonic draw that compressed it together.

  Then came the thunder, both distant and localized at once.

  The sky above rumbled, as if the air pressure were reacting to his power, while the atmosphere immediately surrounding him did the same; crackling and warbling with a displacement of natural order that created an effect not unlike cloaking him in a personal storm. Scarlet and purple bolts of miniature lightning split the air around him with visible cracks, creating small rifts into the starlit void that healed as quickly as they formed—as if his [Cataclysm Core] were shearing through space with the potency of its aetheric bleed alone.

  “{...how are you doing that?}” Lothran finally asked, his voice cautious.

  “{How am I doing what, Lothran?}” Leonidas asked with cool neutrality.

  “{That… I don’t know, the effects you’re creating,}” he said with a tone of mixed awe and trepidation. “{I thought your Affinity was Psi.}”

  “{My Affinity is Psi, Lothran. I am an Archon.}”

  “{But that doesn’t look like any Psi I’ve ever—}”

  Lothran fell silent abruptly when Leonidas turned his helmet slightly, to settle the glowing red lens of his right eye socket on the Haelfar mercenary in cold silence.

  “{...my apologies, Archon,}” he said quietly, and fell silent.

  Part of Leonidas disliked weaponizing himself that way, given the question had been largely innocuous, but there was a time and place—not to mention a definition for palatable company. Lothran might have been courteous, polite, and holding honorably to his surrender, but the Haelfar was also perfectly fine with kidnapping Terran children and letting a demented noble murder their mother. ‘Polite and courteous’ did not ameliorate ‘accessory to grotesque premeditation’.

  Leonidas turned his helmet back to resume his sentinel meditation when he heard what he had been waiting for, and mind-glows pricked the furthest edge of his sensory awareness. The Dawnguard had arrived, in a complete Dagger as indicated, with the tell-tale addition of subtle blue accoutrements to highlight their political affiliation without crossing the bounds of propriety.

  Repugnant.

  The moment the Dagger saw him in kind, Leonidas felt it before he witnessed it.

  A ripple of confusion rolled through their mind-glows, signified by an almost erratic blink of their potency, before the confusion transitioned to a flare of alarm and faded into rapid, careful calculation. The Dawnguard may have been repulsive social climbers in many cases, but fools they were not. There was cunning and political acumen within their ranks, far more than those of the Duskguard, who reflected Ceruviel’s more direct and honest-to-a-fault approach to almost every situation.

  Braedon has rotted them from the inside out. Uriel must be ashamed.

  “{You there! Knight!}” the Dagger-Master, identifiable by the plume of his winged helm, called as the Dagger came to a wary halt, and the man stepped forward, hand resting on his Alteran longsword—so much like a subtly curved Roman gladius. “{In the name of the Dawnguard, I, Dagger-Master Valerian Cade, declare that this area is to be placed under temporary lockdown in order to deal with the matter of a potential threat outbreak. You should leave the… the area…}”

  The Haelfar’s words trailed off slowly as he seemed to grasp the situation fully, and recognized Cerynia at last, slumped, with her hood and mask revealed by Leonidas’ order.

  The Haelfar’s mind-glow rippled from shock, to alarm, to fear, and then to careful composure as he rapidly and intelligently assessed what had happened, and then returned his gaze to Leonidas—standing before the entrance to number 17 with his [Archon’s Psiblade] planted against the path, and a small storm of ominous energy raging around him from the manifestation of his cycling.

  The best victory in war is winning without ever drawing your blade.

  Miranda had taught him that. Ceruviel had reinforced it.

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  That was how Archons had come to be feared: dominance without a need for blood.

  “{Hearken,}” Leonidas said in a measured declaration, his voice thundering from under his helmet in the same way he had once given speeches to armies. “{I am Earl Leonidas Achilles Latherian, the Black Knight of Dawnhaven, and First Archon of Terran blood. Today, I have impeded the unlawful, unjust, and morally bankrupt seizure of innocent children by the defeated Haelfenn at my feet. I have, by my right as an Archon, also cast my judgment upon Baroness Cerynia Cartellis and have destroyed her Core.}”

  The last part seemed to hit the hardest, and Leonidas watched in satisfaction as several of the Dawnguard froze at his words, turning toward Cerynia. If they focused hard enough, they would sense the wrongness around her that came with Core sundering—all of them would. Haelfenn especially were sensitive to that sort of thing, given a sundered Core was, technically, a distortion of the natural order.

  “{By my mandate as an Earl of Dawnhaven’s Aristocracy, the Heir to House Latherian of Altera, and the First Archon of Terran blood, I declare these premises under my protection and authority. You were all born on Altera, Soldiers of the Dawnguard, so you know the veracity of my words. I invoke the Archon’s Mandate. You. Shall. Not. Pass.}”

  The Dagger of Dawnguard did not decisively move from their positions. They did not advance, but neither did they retreat in acceptance of his invocation. Instead, their line tightened with disciplined instinct, nine bodies behind their Dagger-Master drawing closer by two steps as if proximity could bolster their courage. When faced with an Archon’s declaration, even if Leonidas knew logically they could take him down—the majority of them were bound to be Adepts—with only moderate effort, he was playing at a psychological game.

  His [Cataclysm Core] was incomparable to anything else in the world.

  Even to Ceruviel’s senses, the power scaling of his Core was deceptive, and he emitted an aura far more terrifying than any Initiate had a right to hold. Without extremely detailed analysis, he would come off as second-tier or higher easily—and for all the Dawnguard knew, that was precisely what he was. He’d already defeated a Hydra as an Untempered Novice; why not blast right through to Adept in record time?

  On the street, just beyond the start of the pathway to number 17, the Dagger-Master stood with a look of consternation on his features, while his green eyes tried to discern the right path forward. His hand remained on the hilt of his gladius-longblade, but Leonidas saw the tension in his wrist and forearm; not the tension of a man eager to draw, but the tension of a man trying to decide whether drawing would be the stupidest—and potentially final—choice of his life.

  Behind Leonidas, Lothran shifted slightly on the lawn, and the motion was easy enough to be mistaken for discomfort—unless you could see minds. The mercenary’s mind-glow sharpened with attentive wariness as Leonidas subtly ramped up his [Psionic Focus], and paid cautious attention to him.

  The surrendered Haelfenn had no weapons in hand, but they had not become harmless, and the Dawnguard probably knew it as well as Leonidas did. Honor was one thing, but if they could kill him, the surrender may as well have never happened—assuming the collective Haelfenn could stomach the disgrace.

  Silence passed for several moments as the Dawnguard’s leader seemed to deliberate, and only after almost a minute did Valerian finally speak.

  “{Earl Latherian,}” Valerian said at last, forcing composure into his voice with what seemed like a practiced effort, and affecting a tone of supreme confidence. “{You have made a declaration of extraordinary gravity. The Core-sundering of a noblewoman is not a matter to be handled in the streets, regardless of provocation. By the authority of the Dawnguard and the Dawn-Lord—}”

  “{Uriel did not send you,}” Leonidas cut in smoothly, using the Dawn-Lord’s name in a familiar enough way to make them hesitate further. They were already embattled, though Valerian didn’t seem to realize that Leonidas was already landing hits.

  Though the Archon’s tone was ostensibly calm, the air around him crackled in visceral agreement as scarlet and purple lightning stitched across the space near his shoulders to emphasize his point—responding to a minor, careful manipulation of his [Cataclysm Core] and Psi as he cycled both of his aetheric resources more aggressively.

  “{If you are going to justify your sins, do not insult my intelligence with blatant lies,}” Leonidas warned as he tilted his helm a fraction, the right lens burning faintly brighter. Valerian’s mind-glow flickered at the sensation of confronting the menacing flare of that singular eye-lens, and the merciless gaze he probably imagined to be lurking beneath it. Sometimes, appearance alone did so much more than words ever could.

  Valerian Cade clearly had not expected to be confronted with this situation, for Leonidas’ [Psionic Focus] told him that the Dagger-Master’s mind was aflame with consideration and warring thoughts. The Haelfar glanced back at his unit of Dawnguard, each one stoic, despite the echoes of fear Leonidas could all but taste glimmering across their mind-glows, and then turned back to Leonidas himself—taking in the armor, the aura, the way he stood like a mythic statue given life and form.

  He had chosen the position, stance, and elevation with care, after all.

  To make a point, you had to frame it perfectly.

  “{I will remind you, Earl Latherian,}” Valerian started again, his voice firming as his mind-glow showed a shift to a different tactic with a flare of cunning, “{that this is the Dawn Watch, and your suppositions about what is and is not legal are of no concern to us. If you wish to obstruct us, then you do so knowing the full weight of the Law and Magistrates will crash down upon you. You may have acted in defence against these others—}”

  Valerian gestured with grandiose indication at the defeated Haelfenn, who eyed him blandly.

  “{—when they attempted to access a Terran domicile unlawfully, but we are not common mercenaries nor blades-for-hire, Earl Latherian. We are the Dawnguard!}”

  A thump of fists to shields echoed behind him, to emphasize the point.

  Leonidas had to admit it was pretty well-coordinated.

  “{We are the righteous sons and daughters of Dawnhaven! All its people are our charge and our burden, and while I have great respect for your efforts to secure these residents’ safety, it is time for you to cede control to lawful authority. There is no reason for us to be at odds, Archon. We serve the same purpose.}”

  Oh very clever. Now he paints me as the aggressor, and him the humble civil servant. Very, very clever. Everything said now will be reiterated if this is litigated, and he knows it. Sneaky fucking rodent.

  Leonidas smiled under his helmet.

  Good thing I have a trump card.

  “{Then you desire to resolve this with lawful amicability, Dagger-Master Valerian Cade, as would be proper in this haven of civility?}”

  Valerian’s eyes narrowed at Leonidas’ words, and his mind-glow flickered with wary suspicion, but he knew he couldn’t outright deny what Leonidas had said—it would destroy his credibility.

  “{I do, Earl Latherian,}” Valerian replied carefully. “{That is the purpose of our Dawnguard, after all. Law and Order.}”

  Leonidas smiled at the additive.

  I’ve got you now, fuckwit.

  “{Then you will be pleased to know that the Princess-Royal, and the Dusk-Lord, will be here in less than ten minutes,}” Leonidas declared, while focusing on his cycling and its aural effect to create a more menacing, more aesthetically dangerous expression of his power in his immediate vicinity. “{I am sure that will be perfectly in keeping with a lawful and amicable resolution, Dagger-Master Cade.}”

  Inside the house, faintly, he heard a small gasp when his words were understood. He paid it no mind, so long as the four mind-glows within stayed hale and remained where they were hiding.

  “{The Princess-Royal and Dusk-Lord a-are coming here?}” Valerian asked, his expression faltering. “{That seems improb—}”

  “{Did you think I, the Dusk-Lord’s Heir, came here by happenstance, Dagger-Master Cade?}” Leonidas pressed, his voice thundering with the cold intensity he had wielded while knee-deep in the blood, mud, and ash of Elatran battlefields past and yet never forgotten, despite his best efforts. “{I am the Vanguard of the Royal Will,}” he stated, quoting something he recalled from Elatran codices of action in Melredor. He’d never asked Ceruviel about it. Perhaps it would be useful to him. “{I am the Sword that Heralds the Royal Path. The Blood of the Crown approaches, Dagger-Master Cade. Will you heed your duty and adhere to the judgment of the Crown?}”

  Valerian’s mind-glow seemed stricken when Leonidas spoke, and the look on his face—the faces of the entire Dawnguard Dagger in fact—was one of abject shock. The ten of them seemed shaken in a way Leonidas hadn’t expected, and in that moment, he sorely wished he could read their minds, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t push through that damned mental block.

  “{We will heed the judgment, Archon,}” Valerian said, his expression a mix between the same shock and utter, floored disbelief. “{We will heed the demands of the First-Sword of Dawnhaven.}”

  First-Sword of Dawnhaven? Leonidas questioned quizzically. The fuck is that?

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