“A tutorial world, a Demon Lord, and a mirror of a princess from Altera?”

“It sounds crazy, I know,” Leonidas responded with an exhausted sigh, “but I swear every word is true.”

Ceruviel shook her head at his words from where she sat in a chair opposite him, and reached up to idly brush some silver hair from her lavender eyes as she spoke.

“I know it’s true, Achilles. I can read your mind like an open book. What concerns me is not your honesty, but the implications of this tale—and what it means going forward.”

“I suppose things will have to change?”

“Of course they will,” Ceruviel replied with a snort. “Now that I know you spent the better part of five years waging a nightmare war against literal demons from myth, I need to rethink my training schedule!”

Leonidas’ eyes widened slightly, and the Duchess nodded decisively.

“Starting you off with basic forms seems wholly irresponsible and pointless now. No doubt you have some bad habits, but if this Miranda was half as thorough as you made her sound…”

“She was,” Leonidas said quietly, “tough as nails, and incredibly unrelenting—but it kept me alive, even when I by all rights should have been killed.”

“Then I have a workable baseline, at least,” Ceruviel said while shifting her position and folding her right leg over her left idly. “Your sword forms were passable in the trial, and in the Arena, but I did notice an archaic trend in your execution. You were well-trained, but in a manner that is far too ancient and incorporates too many elaborate movements.”

“That doesn’t do much to alleviate my concerns about what the Tutorial was, Ceruviel,” Leonidas muttered while looking over at the fire that Ceruviel had lit during their discourse. It was pleasantly warm, in a way that didn’t overbear or oversaturate him within the relative confines of his spacious room.

“Elatra sounds exactly like ancient Altera, and you sound precisely like at least five different legends I can think of, but nowhere is there mention of a Demon Lord,” Ceruviel commented with a thoughtful voice, “let alone ‘Abyssal Spires’—which bear a striking resemblance to the System Anchors—or literal legions of the Hells.”

“So you think it was fake?”

“There are too many coincidences to state that with absolute certainty, like the Princess herself. Lyara? Aylar? Eldormer? Melredor? That parallel alone sticks with me. Something about it itches in my mind, though I couldn’t tell you what it is.”

“It’s strange that there isn’t more to it,” Leonidas agreed with a sigh, “though I’ve also found that what limited amounts of my Cultivation experience I’ve applied to the System have also paid dividends.”

“Yes, your title and bonuses bear some consideration. I think that is another avenue we’ll need to explore more deeply, in fact.”

“You think it’ll be worth it?”

“I would be a fool to dismiss it, Achilles. Whether or not that attainment was a fluke, or the beginning of a greater pattern, we can only learn through the scientific method. Based on everything you’ve told me, and I admit I am still trying to wrap my mind around it all; you have considerable knowledge of the way that magic and mana works which can aid your growth exponentially.”

“You told me it didn’t apply to Psi, though,” Leonidas pointed out.

“Oh, it does not,” Ceruviel affirmed with a nod, “but that does not make it worthless. Your [Cataclysm Core], which itself is actually the least disturbing revelation of all this, strikes me as a thing of adaptability and change.”

The Duchess reached up to tap her pale chin, and hummed in thought before continuing.

“For all that its essence derides and degrades your self-control, so too does it enable a kind of exponential growth. Based on the System description of it, as well, I have some other theories—though those are far more difficult to test.”

“I take it you aren’t going to share?” Leonidas guessed dryly.

“Not in the immediate, no,” Ceruviel said with a chuckle. “Doing so would taint the experiment, sadly, and I think that would be to your detriment in the long run.”

Leonidas nodded at her words, and even if he disliked what she was saying, he understood the logic.

The argument could be made that she was senselessly endangering him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to agree with that. There was considerable merit to the idea of the natural course taking its course, and Ceruviel was nothing if not experienced.

Sometimes allowing an eventuality to come about of its own accord, and with the triggering circumstance revealed after the fact, was better than attempting to engineer it—and as a result, tainting the proverbial data.

After all, how was he to master his Core if his only experiences were catered?

Training in a controlled environment was one thing, and mastering the influence his Cataclysm Mana had over his common sense would not doubt be best honed in exactly such a circumstance—but that didn’t meant that every single development needed to occur within the confines of an artificially constrained environment.

He was a theoretically unique existence on Terra, as far as he or Ceruviel were aware, and that meant that there was a measure of chaos that had to come into play with the development of his Core and abilities.

If he was not allowed to naturally experience developments as they happened, then he’d be constrained—or worse, weakened inadvertently by some misguided attempt at controlling his growth and progress.

For the sake of Dawnhaven, his family, and humanity at large, that could not be allowed to happen. If Leonidas wanted to build a sanctuary for the people he loved, and humans en masse, then he needed to be in control of himself.

Ceruviel had already helped him by using her talents to calm and soothe his mind of the hell-born trauma that had gripped it, and finally started causing him to fracture.

Now he needed to find a way to make her band-aid fix permanent.

“So where do we go from here?” Leonidas asked at last while leaning back into the armchair he occupied opposite the silver-haired Dusk-Lord.

“First we work on your training, as stated,” Ceruviel responded resolutely, “and I was quite serious about reconsidering your load, and its intensity. Given your history, and regardless of whether or not you retained your deific ‘Hero’ skillset or physiology, there is no sense in treating you like an ignorant noob.”

“Did… did you just call me a noob?”

“I heard some of the Terrans using the term,” Ceruviel said with a glint of amusement in her eyes, “and I found it quite amusing.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Your God cannot aid you here, Achilles. It is only you and I, and I have no intention of letting you skirt by haphazard simply because you were a little upset this morning.”

“I had a fucking mental break!” Leonidas protested.

“Yes, it was quite inconvenient. Thankfully, you were wise enough to confide in me—and so, you shall no longer have to worry about such trifles as existential post-traumatic stress disorders. You are my Squire, after all. I would be a remarkably incapable Teacher if I did not instruct you on how to secure your mental fortitude moving forward.”

“I was just thinking that I—did you read my mind, Ceruviel?”

Ceruviel simply smirked at him, and rose from her seat when she did.

“The revelation of your reaction to Aylar now makes far more sense, as well, all things duly considered,” the Duchess said without actually answering him. “It also means my plan is only more proper than ever before. Your attachment to Lyara, whether or not she did exist, is only a problem if you deem it to be.”

“It isn’t that easy, I can’t just—”

“That is where you are wrong,” Ceruviel cut in firmly, though not without compassion in her eyes when she looked at him with her hands on her hips. “You lived five years with these people, yet the Incursion happened only a year after you left—do you not find that odd?”

“I… well, yes, but I never really considered what it might mean,” Leonidas admitted.

“There are only two conclusions to draw, Achilles: either you experienced time differently, which I sincerely doubt given you were returned the same way you were prior to leaving, with the only difference being that your body was bereft of scars and set to your most optimal physical state. That leaves the only other possible answer: you were stasis-locked, and experienced a trial of the mind and spirit, not of the body.”

“So that means—”If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“It wasn’t real, Achilles,” Ceruviel said quietly, but firmly. “It was not real, and you didn’t actually lose anyone. For whatever reason, the System created a mimicry of Aylar in Lyara, with some odd choices in differentiated appearance given what you’ve shown me.”

“What do you mean?” Leonidas asked while studiously ignoring the anxiety, pain, and denial welling in his mind like a cancer while Ceruviel spoke.

“I’ve not known any Haelfenn woman with a bust that large outside of magical augmentation, so it strikes me that there was an element of subconscious fetishization occuring in your own mind when the System created her. I am considered very buxom among my kin, and I barely surpass what you Terrans consider nicely endowed.”

“I have noticed that Haelfenn seem pretty petite on the whole,” Leonidas admitted with a flush of his cheeks, “though Synthra—”

“Is of Draconic blood, and has extenuating circumstances around her physiology. In fact, excessively large curves are not seen the same way by my people as they are by yours. Aylar is actually considered a rare and impressively well-built beauty, all things considered.”

“Again with the blatant advertisement of her charms, Ceruviel? I thought we were past this,” Leonidas lamented while sinking into his chair.

“You miss my meaning, Achilles,” Ceruviel said with the same sigh he recognized as annoyance at his perceived short-sightedness. “If Lyara was not real, then you are not betraying her memory by pursuing Aylar—and in fact, are simply giving what you once thought might be real a chance to be real.”

The Duchess stepped closer, and prodded him firmly in the forehead.

“If Lyara was based off of Aylar, as improbable as it may seem, then this is your actual chance to see what might have been.”

“That’s all very easy to say,” Leonidas said with a grimace after she poked him, “but it does nothing to alleviate my feelings, Ceruviel. Whether or not I can logically accept it may have all been a hoax, my emotions and sense of experience were not fake.”

Leonidas reached up and rubbed at his biceps while he spoke, and his eyes turned back to the fire while the same feeling of heady anxiety welled up within him.

“I still remember every heartache, every loss, every strike, every victory, and yes, every defeat as if it happened. I still see them, Ceruviel. I see the dead women, children, and innocent villagers I put to the sword in the name of saving the world. I see their blood on the ground, I feel the fetid breaths of the possessed on my face, I still remember all of it perfectly.”

“This would be far easier if you were less mature,” the Duchess said half to herself, and half to him. “You are both eerily wise and infuriatingly naïve, Achilles. On one hand your comprehension of the weight of taking a life, and your guilt around what is very likely a made up campaign of nightmarish slaughter is endearing—but similarly, your stubborn insistence on not even entertaining the idea of moving on is aggravating.”

“You act like you just want me to pretend like I didn’t experience those things!” he shot back with an annoyed glance. “I can’t just pretend they didn’t happen, Ceruviel! It’s all in here—” he stabbed his forefingers into his temples angrily “—like the world’s most fucked up movie reel! You’re asking me to just move on like it never happened!”

“Of course I am,” the Duchess replied flatly, “because while you remain stuck in your memories of a world that may never have existed, Achilles, people here in the real world are dying. People here in the real world are suffering. People here, right now, in this very world you now occupy are being enslaved, tortured, raped, murdered, and System alone knows what else.”

Leonidas recoiled at her words, and opened his mouth to object to what Ceruviel was implying, but she rolled over him verbally.

“None of this is directly your fault, and neither do I for one second buy this idiotic idea that you are responsible for the untold billions that died during the Incursion—but the simple truth, Achilles, is that you have unprecedented potential.”

The Duchess’ eyes narrowed while she spoke, and Leonidas saw a flickers of lavender fire burning within him.

“You defeated opponents that should have crushed you with sheer skill, insight, and experience alone. You triumphed where anyone else would have not only failed, but died. You defied everything we know to be constant with the System, and you did it all in your first bloody day back on Terra.”

“That doesn’t explain what—”

“This nation needs a King, Achilles,” Ceruviel continued fiercely. “This world’s people need hope, and more than anything else, I need someone to help me rebuild the Archon Order—not just for myself, but because in this cruel, twisted, and ferocious reality that the System has made our constant; a force like the Archons can do real and lasting good for all species. I have a week, Achilles, to get you into shape—not just to help Aylar with her Rite of Ascension, which you certainly shall, but also to impress her in the process.”

Leonidas glared at Ceruviel while she spoke, but said nothing while the Duchess continued. For all that he hated what she was saying, and found much of it to be somewhat illogical, there was an undercurrent of sense to what she was telling him.

The Archon Order reminded him greatly of Miranda’s Knights, or the space wizards in a galaxy far, far away, or Power Rangers, or Witchers, or basically any monastic Order dedicated to the betterment of others.

And if they were even half as potentially powerful as he envisioned they could be, then being a founding member of such an Order and shaping it from its inception could allow him to do far more good than even taking control of Dawnhaven might.

He could influence their strictures, their edicts, their modus operandi, and their priorities. He could give birth to a force for true, tangible, and indomitable positivity in a world driven mad by the System Incursion.

“You may despise me for it, you may think me an old hedonistic half off her rocker for the notion, but I am determined. Aylar is a brilliant, compassionate, and fundamentally excellent young woman—and you, Achilles, are going to do everything in your power to become the thing she loves more than life, and then you’re going to fuck her brains out until you put a baby in her.”

“Ceruviel! You have got to stop with the—”

“No! This is about more than just you, Achilles. This is about Dawnhaven. This is about Haelfenn, Terran, and everything in-between.”

The Duchess drew herself up, and fixed him with an imperious expression.

“I have seen what happens when poor rulers are given thrones, and I have lived through sub-par monarchs. Aylar’s mother was a dear friend, and a mentor in many ways, and she begged me to look after her daughter—and to ensure that she found the right husband.”

Ceruviel gestured at him decisively while she continued.

“You were born to rule. More than that, you have the ferocity, the ruthlessness, and the drive to see Dawnhaven survive. You were given power beyond comprehension by the System, and tempered in a crucible that even I—with centuries of life behind me—shuddered to experience through your memories. You have been broken, reforged, and tempered inside of Hell, Achilles. There are threats to this city that nobody can conceive of, and if we are to survive, then I must take a leaf out of the book of your Charles Darwin.”

“Natural selection?” Leonidas asked with genuine surprise.

“Yes. Survival of the fittest. Either we become the apex predators, Achilles, or we are eaten by them. Aylar is everything we need in a Queen—in an Empress, even, but she lacks one thing that is fundamental and essential to our very survival. Can you guess what that is?”

Leonidas shook his head, and simply watched her.

“It’s something you cannot learn outside of the rarest and most horrific of experiences. Something that you, Achilles, were tempered by. Aylar, for all her merits and charms, lacks a concept of true evil. You’ve seen evil, Achilles. You’ve lived it. Most importantly, you’ve felt it grip your soul—and you’ve emerged from its influence in one piece. Do you know why that’s important?”

“No,” he whispered, despite himself, while memories played through his mind once more, and he saw the children in the fields as if it were the first time all over again.

“Because when the Devils come to our door, it is not honor and charity that will send them packing. There is only one thing that evil fears, Achilles.”

Ceruviel narrowed her eyes on him while she continued.

“Fear itself. Am I wrong in assuming that you long ago learned that lesson?”

Leonidas’ gaze slid away from her and he turned back to the fire. When he did, a brief memory flitted through his mind.

The Demon knelt before him, its body scarred and burnt, its charred lips parted while sulfuric breaths wheezed from between its hellish teeth. It had been brutalized, violated, tortured, and made to scream in ways it had never conceived of. It had taken him the better part of two days, but through trial and error, Leonidas had done it.

He had broken the creature at last.

He knelt before it with that thought in mind, his once-white gloves covered in tar-black blood, and his blue eyes hardened and cold from the better part of forty-eight hours of torturous experimentation. The creature’s burning irises met his, and it flinched away from his gaze.

Leonidas smiled hollowly. He remembered what the creature had first said, when he’d asked it for information: “Try as you will, mortal! Demons cannot feel fear!”

Now, and without fear, he reached out and enclosed his vise-like grip upon the demon’s jaw, and lifted its head so its eyes met his. He had long ago peeled away its eyelids, after all. All it could do was stare, and Leonidas ignored the subtle part of him that screamed at what he’d done to get it to this point.

“There we go,” he said softly. “I think now, at least, you finally realize that you were wrong.”

The Demon shook at his words.

“Yes,” Leonidas said with clinical detachment. “It seems the legends were wrong after all.”

The Demon shuddered.

“I think you've realized now, that you too have the capacity for fear.”

“Your training begins in earnest today, Achilles,” Ceruviel said when he finally looked back at her. “I will help you tame the horrors that plague your mind, and in turn, you will help me guarantee Dawnhaven’s future.”

Leonidas said nothing, not because he was at a loss for words, or because he was afraid, or because he was paralyzed from his memories. The truth was far simpler: Ceruviel, for all her crass and melodramatic inferences, had very good points. It was exaggerated, and he knew she was ‘hamming it up’ to sell it, but he saw the truth behind her words, and the echoes of genuine concern in her statements.

She was worried about Dawnhaven. She was worried about Aylar.

More than anything else, she was worried about the future of her people.

Leonidas turned back to the fire, and let out a low sigh. He would not say anything, not out of stubbornness, or a desire to be mysterious, or anything else so silly or foolish. There was one simple reason, in accordance with everything Ceruviel had declared, that compelled his silence.

The Duchess had hit the mark with her assertions.

There was simply nothing more to say.