READ THE AUTHOR NOTE ABOVE

Braedon Eldormer slammed his silver-armored fist against the manastone table in anger, and threw down the missive he’d received with a surge of frustration. His hair, long and blond, bounced off of his breastplate when he did and he gritted his white teeth together in annoyance.

“{Problem, my prince?}” his Seneschal, Ilyna, asked calmly.

“{Ceruviel Latherian visited my sister,}” Braedon growled under his breath, and paced away from the manastone table with a flair of his blue cloak toward the floor-to-ceiling window of his private apartments, facing out toward the Sunrise Quarter of Dawnhaven. “{It isn’t enough that the Duchess refuses to acknowledge my rightful claim to the throne, but she also continues to all but spit in the face of my lawful seniority!}”

“{Your Highness did insult her quite assiduously with your proposition,}” Ilyna remarked without concern for his reaction. The tall, willowy blue-haired woman was nothing if not blunt. Had she not been as sharply beautiful as she was intelligent, it might have been annoying—but despite her lack of pronounced curves, the tightness of her body and enchanting planes of her athletic figure more than made up for her direct personality. “{I would imagine that her loyalty to the Princess is very likely cemented.}”

“{I misstepped with her,}” Braedon admitted after a moment of reflection, and a soothing relaxation of the reactive surge within his [Sunflare Core]. “{That does not explain nor justify her repudiation of my bloodline inheritance. Father chose me as the King of this future nation, to carry on the traditions of the House of Eldormer. The Dusk-Lord swore an oath!}”

“{Oaths are powerful things, my prince, but only when they bind absolutely,}” Ilyna pointed out in the same calm, unruffled manner he’d come to rely on from his Seneschal. “{The Dusk-Lord’s oath was to protect the nation, enforce its laws, and serve the future monarch. Nowhere in that oath is there a stipulation to serve you specifically.}”

“{I know that,}” Braedon grunted while staring out of the window.

“{And yet you are incensed that she has so readily given her fealty to the Princess, despite your own actions pushing her that way?}”

“{I am to be a King, Ilyna!}” Braedon said while turning to her. “{Is building a worthy Harem not my duty? Is Ceruviel Latherian not the perfect candidate, much like you?}”

“{It is an honor to be in the Royal Harem, my liege, but that was a choice made by each of us,}” Ilyna said without missing a beat. “{You cannot expect the same thought processes from a warrior as you might from a scholar like myself, especially given Ceruviel’s particular personality quirks. I did advise you against your attempt to claim her.}”

“{I simply assumed you felt threatened by her,}” Braedon said off-handedly, and perhaps a little more petulantly than was necessary. He was frustrated, of course, and that was why he was letting his resentment cloud his otherwise more reasoned judgment. At least, that was what he told himself. He had no interest in whether or not he’d have been calm with or without the validity of Ilyna’s points.

“{I am a Magistrix, your highness, and the Dusk-Lord is a Knight. The only threat she poses is of a physical nature, and I hardly think Ceruviel the type to want to challenge me to a brawl.}”

“{I’m not denying that the thought was unfounded,}” Braedon muttered after several moments’ of brooding silence, “{but you can at least understand my initial skepticism.}”

“{We are both women of power, and you worried I would feel replaced or neglected.}” Ilyna reasoned in her perpetually unruffled manner. The Seneschal had been his law tutor prior to Braedon taking a liking to her, and he’d claimed her as the third addition to his harem after his arranged fiancee and the daughter of one of the more obstinate Viscounts among the Reds.

“{Precisely!}” the Prince said with an emphatic nod. “{I’m glad to see you understand.}”

He knew she did, too. She was the one who’d first encouraged him to build the harem early.

The Royal Harem, after all, was as much a political tool as it was a pleasure service, and knowing that he would bequeath royal titles on all children born from the harem—even if they couldn’t technically inherit—had been enough to win over the obstinate man’s allegiance.

It was a tool that Aylar couldn’t make use of, given her physiological limitations. That gave Braedon the advantage in the Court in a way she couldn’t match, other than the fact she was yet unpromised and hadn’t even taken a lover. There was certainly a charm, he supposed, to the potential match of one of the many Noble sons to a virgin princess that might become Queen—but most of the Nobles were traditionalists.

They’d rather see Braedon become King, even if he knew some of them did prefer his sister to him. Aylar was agreeable enough to look at and speak with, he could concede, even if she was just a royal daughter.

If his older sister had been born male, he might have even been worried.

As it was, he was two tiers and eighteen levels her better, and that gap would close neither quickly nor easily. Once he found the dungeon needed for the Rite of Ascension, though, it wouldn’t matter either way. Aylar’s ambition would be dead, the Dusk-Lord would fall in line or be exiled, and he would lead Dawnhaven into a glorious new future—one rife with conquest, and territorial supremacy.

In his wildest fantasies, he even imagined conquering all of Terra—or Planet 42.

The unofficial and official names were something of an oddity, given the System introduced their transmigrating species to the world as ‘Terra’ while simultaneously naming it [Unclaimed Planet 42]. It was a common trend during integration, he’d heard, in order to allow the migrators to categorize the native life forms—though in the case of the Terrans, he’d thought ‘Dumb Dirt People’ would suffice.

A sharp knock on the door pulled Braedon out of his reverie, and he turned to look toward the sound.

“{Enter!}” he ordered sharply.

One of his Royal Guards, Lyman, marched in with a Terran merchant at his side, and Braedon’s lips downturned immediately at the creature’s presence. The Terran wasn’t just unappealing to look at, but was from a species that was more brutish and idiotic than some Orcs that Braedon had been granted the displeasure of meeting.

The one before him was short and wide, with greasy brown hair slicked back, a repulsive netting of curly facial hair across his fleshy neck and jaw, and clear sweat on his pale features from having to rapidly ascend multiple flights of stairs. He barely had any levels either, from what Braedon could deduce, and given his evident wealth was likely some manner of trade baron given the luxury required to be obese in an Incursion world.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He was everything Braedon detested in a person, in other words, on top of being part of what had to be one of his least-liked species encountered thus far.

The foolish, short-lived, and oddly multi-tonal primitives of Terra had no knowledge of magitech, magic, or the arcane sciences. Their people were disunited and deluded, categorized by multitudinous ethnic subspecies, and their entire governance was decentralized and relied on individual input to function.

It was utter madness.

Had it not been for Uriel, Ceruviel, and Aylar’s objections during their initial settlement; he’d have purged the entire lot of them and put them out of their misery, or at least enslaved them as menial labor. They didn’t even have the good grace to specify their different subspecies by capacity and aptitude, like Svartfenn, Naiafenn, or Sterufenn and others. They simply saw one another as ‘Terran’, as if their independent lineages were unimportant in front of some demented concept of ‘racial unity’.

The lack of pride in their specific genuses was appalling.

The only genuinely enjoyable part of the species was the curvaceous endowments their females trended toward, and the hardiness of their males—though the sheer level of hair both sexes had was baffling. Other than beards in their older age among males, Haelfenn and Fenn in general were largely—and thankfully, he mentally added—devoid of body hair below the eyebrows.

He knew some of the more savage races could change that when cross-bred with Fenn races, but had no desire for that personally. Ilyna had recommended he eventually find a Terran concubine, and he’d very nearly shuddered at the thought. Bedding them for amusement was one thing, but breeding with one? It would be like impregnating a slave.

“{What is the purpose of this intrusion, Lyman?}” Braedon asked with thinly veiled annoyance.

“{This Terran has information you may wish to know, my lord.}”

Braedon raised an eyebrow at the helmeted guardsman, but fixed his blue eyes on the merchant coldly. The Terran smiled in a greasy way that made Braedon’s stomach churn in disgust, but he gestured for the barbaric native to proceed with an idle wave of his hand.

“{Many hello, high youness,}” the creature began in broken Haelfennyr. “{Me am hearing of many possible, and is one are being place big angry monster home! Me am see high youness want angry monster home for shiny hat. Then, me am here fast crawl see high youness and take giving for make little sad!}”

Braedon’s eye twitched at the native’s horrific butchering of his native tongue, and he very nearly opened his mouth to eviscerate the creature in its own guttural language before Ilyna intervened.

“You are saying that you discovered a Dungeon, one large enough to match the description of the Prince’s enquiries?”

Braedon’s eyes snapped to his Seneschal, the information processed, and then his eyes widened slightly when he turned back to the Terran.

“Oh! English!” the ignorant, corpulent trader said with laughable relief, “yes. That is correct, ma’am. I discovered through some contacts that a large Dungeon, one fitting the description of His Royal Highness’ desires, has been discovered about fifty miles to the South.”

“And this dungeon,” Braedon interrupted before Ilyna could continue, “is definitely a Major Core?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” the merchant replied with a firm nod. “The Adventurers I spoke to were quite adamant that the arrangement, runestones, and monsters around the entrance were all indicative of a matured dungeon core—one that could serve as a catalyst for your Rite of Ascension.”

Braedon felt his [Sunflare Core] ignite with excitement and turned to Lyman.

“{Ready a Sword of the Royal Guard to depart immediately. I will need four to join me in the Delve. Additionally, rouse some of the Dawnguard to accompany us for supplies and provisions, and corral me some trustworthy blues from among the palace staff. I want to depart tomorrow. If this truly is the chance I need, there can be no hesitation!}”

“{Your Highness,}” Ilyna began warily, “{perhaps a scouting mission would—}”

“{No, Ilyna! The proactive hunter snares the game, and I cannot dither like a female when my future rests in the balance. If this Dungeon proves to be a dead end, it is better I discover it myself and confirm it, than rely on the eyes of others.}”

Braedon’s mind, of course, was on his father’s words, strictly informing him that a King acted as a leader, not merely a sedentary administrator. He had to take the initiative, not sit back and let others work—and die—in place of him. He had been raised and trained to defend his country, not sit idle and let others do it for him!

“{Conversely,}” Braedon continued, “{and if what this monkey says is true, then I will finally have an end to this insane power struggle with my overwrought sister—and Aylar can be firmly wedded off and removed from my concerns, once the Rite of Ascension is completed.}”

“{I only worry that this may be a ruse,}” Ilyna said with what Braedon recognized as careful measuring of her words. “{Your sister is a shrewd woman, and she favors the Terrans. It is not impossible for this overwrought creature to be a distraction, intended to remove you from Dawnhaven while she pursues another agenda.}”

For all that she thought him ignorant of it, the Prince understood that his Seneschal and concubine liked to handle him like a volatile explosive, at times. He didn’t mind it normally, as it showed good sense on her part. Aylar definitely was a shrewd woman, and Braedon acknowledged his sister’s intellect, even if her physical capability was severely lacking.

In the present moment, however, it was a wholly unnecessary caution for many reasons.

“{Enough with your overcaution, Ilyna!}” Braedon said with a wave of his hand. “{What have I to truly fear? Aylar hasn’t even broken past her Second Temper yet. Before she even manages to reach level twenty, I’ll be King! Even if she managed to find an appropriate Dungeon before me, it’d be insane for her to test its limits prior to at least level twenty-five. We have the advantage of time and power on our side.}”

Braedon turned to the human, and smirked at him.

“You did well to aid your future King with this discovery, Terran. Lyman will show you out of the palace, and reward you with five platinum thrones. You have my gratitude.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness!” the Terran said with a lighting up of his greedy little eyes. “Thank you very much! God bless you!”

Ugh. These monkeys and their ‘God’. As if deities other than the System could exist.

“Of course,” Braedon said out loud. “Go with my thanks.”

The Merchant bowed as far as his prodigious belly would allow and retreated with Lyman, while Braedon turned to Ilyna with a smirk.

“{The end of this ridiculous game is in sight, Ilyna. Soon you’ll be the concubine of a King, and the mother of little royals—and all of Dawnhaven will have peace, stability, and prosperity for centuries to come.}”

“{I await such a day with great anticipation, my prince,}” Ilyna said with a bow of her beautiful, cerulean-haired head.

“{Then let’s go celebrate my impending victory,}” Braedon stated with an easy smile, and a stirring of his loins. “{And then plan my coronation! Who knows, I may even choose to pardon Ceruviel Latherian’s behavior, if she shows appropriate contrition in the face of my rightful ascension as King.}”

“{Oh?}” Ilyna asked when he moved toward her, and swept the willowy female into his arms.

“{Oh yes,}” Braedon said with what he considered quite the magnanimous grin. “{I’ll even allow her to become my concubine after all is said and done. Is that not as generous as a King should be?}”

“{Very generous, your royal highness.}” Ilyna agreed with a demure smile.

Yes. Braedon thought while carrying the woman toward his bed, and enjoying the floral scent of her body. I am nothing if not magnanimous. All hail King Braedon, savior of Dawnhaven, and Conqueror of Terra.

Braedon Eldormer Rough Concept Art