Jakob - POV

  The mansion’s grandeur announced itself long before anyone spoke. High Priest Remor Debon had built his home as a declaration; every polished column, every gilded archway, every carved relief of the goddess was meant to remind visitors exactly who held power here. The place radiated wealth with the same intensity as a forge radiates heat. In another life, I had walked through Shaxaian noble estates that boasted similar splendor, but even those paled beside the calculated opulence of this residence. Remor wasn’t merely rich; he wanted the world to feel it.

  The banquet matched the mansion’s excess. Platters of roasted meats glistened under lanternlight; fruits from distant coasts overflowed from silver bowls, and wines older than my father’s generation flowed freely. It was the kind of feast meant to overwhelm the senses, to soften the mind, to make a man forget the dangers lurking behind polite smiles.

  A part of me wished Dianne and the children could have seen it; the colors, the aromas, the sheer abundance. They would have been delighted. But that thought died quickly. I didn’t trust these men, not with their eyes, not with their appetites, and certainly not with my wife’s beauty. Bringing her here would have been like tossing raw meat into a den of wolves. I had no intention of testing how far their “piety” extended.

  So far, our conversation had been harmless; history, theology, the fall of the Shaxaian Empire. I revealed little. Only that we were refugees fleeing war. That much was true, but truth is a blade best kept sheathed.

  Remor dabbed his lips with a silk cloth. “Lord Jakob, I would be remiss as a servant of the goddess if I did not warn you of the danger awaiting you in your homeland.”

  I set down my goblet. “What did you hear, Your Eminence?”

  He chuckled. “Please, Jakob. None of that. Call me Remor.”

  “Only if you call me Jakob.”

  “Agreed.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “We have reports from traveling merchants and our missionaries. Your homeland is overrun—magical beasts, bandits, warlords. Chaos reigns.”

  My jaw tightened. “And the imperial family? The nobles?”

  “There are rumors,” he said, swirling his wine, “that some members of the imperial family survived. Hiding in remote corners. As for the nobles… many have become the very warlords plaguing your lands. Barbaric, desperate men. It seems the cream of Shaxaian society has curdled.”

  I exhaled slowly. “It saddens me to hear my homeland brought so low. But I must return. Whatever the state of the world, Shaxaia is still our home. The rulers of this continent look at us with disdain; justifiably so, perhaps; but Shaxaia is the only place we can truly claim.”

  Remor nodded sympathetically. “Home is home. I understand. But prepare yourself. And if there is anything I can do, do not hesitate to ask.”

  There it was. My cue.

  “Thank you, Remor. I appreciate your generosity. And… it seems I may need your help sooner than expected.”

  His eyes sharpened. “Oh? How may I assist?”

  “As you know, we plan to delve into your dungeons to strengthen my men. But we also need to hire mercenaries to bolster our numbers. They will require training. We need time… and a place to call home for a while.”

  I watched him carefully. He was weighing the risks; an armed group staying within his territory, even a small one, could be dangerous. But Remor was a man who saw opportunity in every shadow.

  “Of course,” I added, “if our presence brings trouble to your city, we will move on. But if you allow us shelter, we will be grateful.”

  He steepled his fingers. “And how will you show your gratitude, Jakob?”

  “Whatever we earn from the dungeons, we will share with you. Fifteen percent.”

  “Fifty,” he countered instantly.

  “Forty.”

  “Forty?five,” he said, smiling, “and I will issue a writ from the church itself, granting you special privileges as honored guests.”

  Before he could say more, I placed a pouch of gold on the table. The coins clinked softly, a sound men like him heard more clearly than prayers.

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  “I hope this donation brings us good fortune from the goddess and her envoy.”

  He opened the pouch, and his smile widened. “And how frequently will such donations occur?”

  “At the start of each season,” I said. “And if our future host permits, we would also like to lease a property, somewhere we can rest and gather strength after our dungeon expeditions. After all, it would be an eyesore to have us camp outside your beautiful city.”

  He stroked his beard, thinking. The candlelight cast long shadows across his face, making him look older, more calculating.

  After a moment, he stood. “It seems I will be your esteemed host for the foreseeable future, Jakob.”

  I rose and shook his hand. “Thank you, Remor. Your hospitality means much.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I will send my assistant Amiro to your camp with the writ. He will also guide you to a property recently vacated by the previous governor.”

  “That would be helpful. Are we allowed to make repairs and adjustments?”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  But as I began to release his hand, he pulled me closer. His breath smelled faintly of wine and incense.

  “I suggest you build your military strength quickly,” he whispered. “Complications are on the horizon. I may need your help.”

  A chill ran down my spine. “From where? And how long do we have?”

  “I’m not certain. My rivals in the church are plotting to remove me from office. I am not completely defenseless though, but it would be prudent to have… another asset ready.”

  I let go of his hand and raised my voice. “It seems this is the start of a good friendship, Remor.”

  “I believe it is,” he said warmly. “Now, let us enjoy more wine.”

  We drank, but my mind was elsewhere. Did I promise too much? Perhaps. But Nathan had told me before I left: Money will not be an issue. Secure the high priest’s patronage at any cost.

  So that’s what I did. His ominous suggestion was another thing. A worry we will have to tackle later.

  And as I watched Remor laugh and refill his goblet, I couldn’t help but think:

  My son might actually be shitting gold.

  Nathan – POV

  Father gave us a full rundown of his agreement with High Priest Remor Denoba, and it was almost exactly what I had hoped for. Expensive, yes—painfully so—but I had already told him to do whatever it took to secure the high priest’s patronage. Influence is worth more than gold, and Remor’s influence in particular was worth a small fortune. Besides, if things ever turned sour, we could always reclaim our investment by… other means. The thought made me smirk.

  What concerned us more was the political implication: Remor intended to use us as one of his assets in the church’s internal power struggle. Not surprising, considering we were openly aligning ourselves with the ruler of this territory. Power attracts power, and Remor was not the type to let an opportunity slip through his fingers.

  Later, I learned just how vast his domain truly was. Wealthy, fertile, and strategically positioned; Remor wasn’t just a high priest; he was practically a regional lord. In Shaxaian terms, he held the equivalent rank of a duke, which meant he was one of the few individuals with a legitimate chance of becoming the next head of the Holy State of Shabiln. That is, if the current ruler ever died. With high?mana humans living for centuries, “waiting for the throne” was less a political ambition and more a generational gamble.

  The next morning, Remor’s assistant, Amiru, arrived at our camp bearing the writ of patronage. With that single document, we were officially under the protection of the Holy State of Shablin. A useful shield, even if it came with strings attached. Amiru then guided us to a fort the church agreed to lease to us.

  The fort was ideal; far enough from the city to avoid prying eyes, but close enough for trade and communication. It was in a sorry state, half?abandoned and weather?worn, but the outer walls were still sturdy and tall. A foundation worth rebuilding. And we had the gold to restore it. That part didn’t worry me.

  Since several families were with us, I took it upon myself to redesign the fort’s layout. If we were going to stay here for months; possibly years; we needed proper living conditions. I drafted plans for family quarters with enough privacy to keep tensions low, separate barracks for single men and women, and proper sanitation. Toilets, bathing areas, drainage; things this world often neglected. Families would get private facilities; the barracks would share common ones. I handed the designs to our blacksmith and the carpenter Mother had purchased the day before. They would know how to translate my ideas into stone and timber.

  My only lingering concern was the proximity of my minions to the priests and paladins. But aside from a sharp glare from Amiru, no one seemed suspicious. If anything, Amiru simply disliked commoners. He wore his disdain openly, frowning at everyone except Father and our immediate family. A noble through and through; arrogant, dismissive, and convinced of his own superiority. As long as he didn’t interfere, I had no reason to deal with him.

  I wasn’t sure how long we would remain here, but everyone understood our priorities: increase our numbers and increase our levels. Winter was approaching, and soon I would turn eight. By tradition and by law, only those ten and older were allowed inside dungeons. That meant Jack and Serena would be permitted entry; with escorts, of course. Knowing Mother, she would insist on accompanying them personally. Father would likely join as well.

  Serena spent the entire day bragging about it, much to Jack’s irritation. Meanwhile, Christine, Shive, and I will have to remain in the fort. I didn’t mind. My minions could boost my stats, and I was already level fifty?three. I doubted any of them would catch up soon. The only regret was that Christine will be left behind in terms of levels. She will have to work hard and catch up when her time comes, which I don’t think will be a problem.

  Come to think of it, I probably should have told them my actual level… but they never asked. I’ll tell them eventually. Maybe.