Chapter 234 Going To Suntouched Confederacy

The collaboration between Alaric, Archmage Priscilla, and Iridelle in the arcane laboratory yielded results, though not precisely the revolutionary breakthrough Alaric had initially envisioned.

Creating a truly portable, reusable, long-range teleportation artifact proved more complex than theory suggested. The spatial mechanics involved, even with Priscilla’s Archmage-level perception, encountered unforeseen resonance issues when miniaturized and detached from a massive, stable anchor like the manor itself.

“The coordinate drift is persistent,” Priscilla admitted, frustration clear in her usually composed voice as she analyzed the feedback from another failed test on a prototype artifact – a beautifully crafted amulet designed by Iridelle. “Maintaining a stable wormhole anchor across such distances without a fixed physical matrix… the energy fluctuations required for stabilization at the portable end become exponentially unpredictable.”

Alaric studied the diagnostic runes flickering erratically. ‘Damn. Thought Priscilla’s touch would be enough. Space is trickier than anticipated.’ He couldn’t show disappointment, however. Progress was progress.

“A temporary setback, perhaps,” Alaric said smoothly, projecting confidence. “But not a failure. We’ve mapped the instability points, identified the resonance conflicts.” He turned to Priscilla with an encouraging smile. “Your insights have been invaluable, Archmage. We’ve advanced spatial artifact theory further in a week than most academies do in a decade.”

Priscilla allowed herself a small, appreciative nod. The intellectual exercise had indeed been stimulating. “The theory holds promise, Young Master. But practical, reliable, portable teleportation requires a deeper understanding, perhaps even manipulation of spatial folds beyond current Archmage capabilities.”

‘Or a System upgrade,’ Alaric thought wryly.

“However,” Alaric continued, pivoting neatly, “our work wasn’t fruitless. While true teleportation remains elusive for now, we have achieved stable, unidirectional spatial transference.”

He picked up a different set of artifacts from Iridelle’s workbench. These weren’t amulets, but small, intricately carved obsidian discs, pulsing faintly with stored energy.

“Recall Anchors,” Alaric announced. “Phase One, let’s call it.”

Priscilla examined one curiously. “Recall?”

“Precisely,” Alaric explained. “These discs are intrinsically linked to the manor’s primary energy grid and the defensive barrier’s core spatial matrix. They cannot initiate a teleport from here. But,” his eyes gleamed, “if activated within a certain maximum range – roughly continental, based on our calculations – they create a highly focused, temporary resonance pulse.”

“This pulse,” he continued, “is detected by the manor’s barrier system. The system then initiates a targeted spatial retrieval, effectively pulling the activated anchor, and anyone within a very close proximity,” he emphasized the limitation, “back here through a forced wormhole.”

“It’s a one-way emergency extraction,” Priscilla summarized, understanding dawning. “Not true teleportation, but a lifeline back to the anchor point.”

“Exactly,” Alaric confirmed. “Single use per disc – the resonance pulse shatters the internal matrix. Requires significant energy draw from the manor grid upon activation. And the retrieval isn’t exactly… smooth. More of a violent pull than a gentle step. But,” he held up a disc, “it’s a guaranteed return ticket.”

‘Good enough,’ he thought. ‘Good enough for a high-risk harvesting mission.’

Priscilla nodded slowly, impressed despite the limitations. “Ingenious, Young Master. A forced retrieval system keyed to the barrier itself… Crude, perhaps, but undeniably effective as an emergency measure. The applications are significant.”

“My thoughts precisely,” Alaric agreed. “Which brings me to the reason I pushed for this technology so urgently.”

He set the Recall Anchor down. Time to brief the team.

The chosen members of the strike force gathered in one of the larger, private training halls. The air crackled with a mixture of anticipation and focused power.

Alaric stood before them, radiating calm authority. Beside him were the pillars of Steele martial might: his mother, Lyra, her Solar Empress Ascension Breath already adding a tangible warmth and pressure to her aura; and his aunt, Cassandra, whose Azure Sovereign Gale Method seemed to make the very air around her feel sharper, faster.

Saintess Ceanna stood serenely, her Grand Cleric aura a beacon of comforting, potent holy energy – Alaric’s energy, channeled through her unwavering devotion. Behind her stood her small cadre of newly trained clerics, maids drawn from the household staff, their faces earnest, clutching holy symbols Alaric had provided, ready to dispense minor healing and protective buffs.

Rosalind was there, sharp and alert, her Master Mage aura controlled, her eyes fixed on Alaric, the memory of their last ‘session’ adding a layer of intense focus to her loyalty.

Brita Kuusk stood slightly apart, her transformation stark. The brutal claiming by Alaric hadn’t just broken her will; it had somehow catalyzed the latent power within her, pushing her firmly into the Grand Mage rank. Combined with her existing Master Mage experience and her affinities for dark and ice magic, she now wielded considerable, controlled power. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes, when they flickered towards Alaric, held a complex mix of fear, resentment, and reluctant submission. She was a powerful, broken weapon, now pointed wherever he commanded.

And finally, Kara and Ulriya. The two powerhouse maids, radiating raw Grand Mage energy. Kara, with her earth and shadow affinity, looked slightly nervous but determined, clutching a newly crafted obsidian staff. Ulriya, brimming with water and ice power, seemed calmer, her eyes filled with the utter, unwavering devotion that defined her existence, holding a crystalline orb focus. They lacked finesse, lacked combat experience, but their raw power was undeniable.

“Listen carefully,” Alaric began, his voice cutting through the expectant silence. “Circumstances beyond our borders have shifted. The demonic tide continues, but new players, and new prey, have emerged.”

He quickly outlined the situation – the Sea Monster invasion of the Suntouched Confederacy, the appearance of the Abyssal Lord Krýllos, the withdrawal of Confederacy forces from Eloriath.

“The chaos in the south presents an opportunity,” Alaric stated, his ruby eyes gleaming. “The Confederacy is distracted. Their coastline is ravaged. And the waters now teem with powerful Sea Monsters.”

He paused, letting the implication sink in. “Creatures whose cores possess unique and valuable elemental energies. Energies we can utilize to further strengthen ourselves, our defenses, our family.”

Lyra and Cassandra nodded grimly, understanding the cold pragmatism. Power required resources. Ceanna listened impassively, trusting Alaric’s judgment implicitly. Rosalind’s mind was already calculating the potential value. Brita remained outwardly still, though perhaps a flicker of her old Phantom Assembly training recognized the ruthless opportunism. Kara and Ulriya simply absorbed his words, ready to obey whatever command followed.

“Our objective,” Alaric declared, “is a targeted harvesting expedition into the chaos-ridden coastal regions of the Suntouched Confederacy. We will engage and eliminate high-order Sea Monsters – Sixth Order, and if feasible, Seventh Order targets. We secure their cores and any other valuable materials.”

His gaze sharpened. “We avoid direct confrontation with large Confederacy military forces if possible. We avoid attracting the attention of this ‘Abyssal Lord Krýllos’ at all costs. He is an unknown Arch-level entity – engaging him is not part of the mission.”

He held up one of the Recall Anchors. “And thanks to the efforts of Archmage Priscilla and myself, we have an emergency exit strategy. Each of you,” he indicated the core team members – himself, Lyra, Cassandra, Ceanna, Rosalind, Brita, Kara, Ulriya – “will carry one of these. If the situation becomes untenable, if we face overwhelming force, activate it. It will pull you, and only those in immediate physical contact, back here. Understand? It is a last resort, but a guaranteed one.”

Nods of understanding went around the room.

“Mother, Aunt Cassandra,” Alaric addressed them directly. “Your martial prowess will be our shield and spearhead. Coordinate your techniques. Protect the casters.”

“Understood, Alaric,” Lyra replied, her voice firm.

“We will handle the physical threats,” Cassandra confirmed, her hand resting confidently on the hilt of her blade.

“Ceanna,” Alaric turned to his Saintess. “You and your clerics provide support. Healing, buffs, protective fields. Your holy energy,” he emphasized the source, “will be crucial, perhaps even against these abyssal creatures.”

“We serve at your command, my Lord,” Ceanna bowed slightly, her clerics echoing the gesture.

“Rosalind, Brita, Kara, Ulriya,” his gaze swept over the mages. “You are our ranged firepower and control. Rosalind, coordinate elemental barrages. Brita,” his eyes lingered on her for a moment, a silent reminder of her new place, “your dark and ice magic will be highly effective against water-based foes. Control spells, debilitating curses, tactical freezing.”

Brita flinched almost imperceptibly at his direct gaze but nodded curtly. “As you command… Master.” The word still felt foreign, forced, yet undeniably true now.

“Kara, Ulriya,” Alaric’s tone softened slightly, addressing his maids. “This is your chance to gain real combat experience. Follow Rosalind’s and Brita’s lead. Focus on control. Don’t waste your power. Support the team. Protect yourselves. Understand?”

“Yes, Young Master!” they replied in unison, Kara looking determined, Ulriya eager to prove her worth.

“Good,” Alaric surveyed his team. A powerful, versatile group. Grand Martialists, Grand Mages, a Grand Cleric, support staff. More than capable of handling significant threats, short of Arch-level beings. “Prepare yourselves. We depart within the hour.”

While the strike team prepared, Alaric handled the necessary arrangements for the home front.

First, he sought out Queen Margaret in the Sunken Pearl Estate. She received him in a private sitting room, Josephine present as always. They both looked well-rested, the exhaustion from their ‘reward’ night replaced by a lingering glow of satisfaction and renewed deference.

“Your Majesty,” Alaric began formally, reverting to polite address outside his private chambers. “I must embark on a mission of some importance beyond our borders for a short time.”

Margaret inclined her head. “We understand, Young Master Steele. Duty calls.”

“During my absence, and my mother’s,” Alaric continued, “overall command of the territory’s defenses falls to Archmage Priscilla. I trust you will convey this temporary delegation of authority to her?”

Margaret nodded. “Of course. Archmage Priscilla is more than capable. We are fortunate to have her expertise.”

“Indeed,” Alaric agreed. “With her hand guiding the barrier, I have absolute confidence in its integrity against any demonic assault.” He knew Priscilla’s competence, combined with the sheer power of the barrier itself, made the territory virtually impregnable.

“My wife, Griselda, will act as the temporary head of household affairs in my mother’s absence,” Alaric added smoothly.

Margaret smiled warmly. “An excellent choice. Princess Griselda possesses a kind heart and a steady hand. Please assure her she will have our full cooperation and support.” She knew Griselda’s status as Alaric’s wife, combined with her own royal lineage, would ensure smooth operation. Even the other consorts wouldn’t dare question Griselda’s temporary authority, backed implicitly by both Alaric and the Queen herself.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Alaric concluded the brief meeting. Arrangements made.

His next stop was Fiora’s chambers. He found his cousin practicing basic breathing exercises, though her movements lacked their usual explosive energy.

“Alaric!” she greeted him, her face lighting up, though a hint of worry shadowed her eyes.

“Fiora,” he said gently, closing the door behind him. He stepped closer, placing a hand softly on her still-flat abdomen. “How are you feeling?”

Fiora blushed slightly, placing her own hand over his. “I’m fine. Just… a little tired sometimes. And maybe nauseous in the mornings.” She looked up at him, her emerald eyes wide. “Are you leaving?”

He nodded. “A short expedition. Necessary for resources.”

Her face fell slightly. “Can’t I come? I’ve mastered the initial stages of the Dragon Heart technique! I can fight!”

Alaric shook his head firmly but gently. “No, Fiora. Not this time.” He leaned closer, whispering so only she could hear. “Your ‘condition’ makes it too risky. You need to stay here, stay safe. Rest. Focus on channeling gentle aura, nurturing the life within.”

Fiora’s eyes welled up slightly, a mixture of disappointment and understanding. She knew he was right. The secret they shared, the tiny life growing within her – his child – was too precious to risk.

“Okay,” she whispered, leaning her head against his chest. “But come back safe, Alaric. Please.”

“Always,” he promised, holding her for a moment. He felt a flicker of something akin to paternal protectiveness, quickly suppressed by his usual pragmatism. The child was an asset, an heir. Ensuring its safety was logical.

He left her chambers, leaving Fiora to her quiet worries and the profound secret she carried.

The departure was swift and discreet. No grand fanfare. Alaric and his chosen team, clad in functional travel gear suited for combat, slipped out through a temporarily deactivated section of the barrier under the cover of twilight.

Their mounts weren’t the magnificent flying beasts from the previous expedition – too conspicuous for this mission. Instead, they relied on magically enhanced ground travel, moving with unnatural speed and silence across the Steele lands and then into the blighted territories of Eloriath beyond.

Their journey south was rapid. They encountered several pockets of demonic resistance – stragglers, scouting parties, minor legions left leaderless or cut off.

These encounters served as brutal, efficient training exercises.

A pack of fifty Gorefiends ambushed them in a ruined village. Before the demons could fully charge, Lyra and Cassandra exploded into action. Lyra, channeling the Solar Empress Breath, became a blur of golden light, her sword incinerating demons with focused sunfire strikes. Cassandra, utilizing the Azure Sovereign Gale, zipped between foes like lightning, gusts of razor-sharp wind decapitating brutes before they could react. The encounter was over in seconds, leaving only ashes and bisected corpses.

Further south, they ran into a Master-level Shadow Weaver commanding a hundred lesser shadow lurkers. Rosalind took charge, coordinating the mages. “Brita, ice field! Kara, earth spikes! Ulriya, water jets! Clerics, protective ward!”

Brita, her face grimly determined, unleashed a wave of chilling darkness that froze the ground, slowing the lurkers. Kara slammed her staff down, jagged obsidian spikes erupting, impaling dozens. Ulriya conjured high-pressure jets of water, blasting through the remaining shadows. Rosalind finished the Shadow Weaver itself with a precise bolt of lightning. Kara and Ulriya, despite their initial hesitation, performed adequately under Rosalind’s clear commands, their raw power compensating for lack of finesse. Brita, however, moved with chilling efficiency, her control over her new Grand Mage power already disturbingly precise.

Alaric mostly observed these initial encounters, assessing his team’s synergy, intervening only when necessary, usually with a single, overwhelming spell that ended the fight instantly, reminding everyone who was truly in command.

They crossed the border into the Suntouched Confederacy territories days later. The change was immediate and stark. The air itself felt different – hotter, dryer, but also heavy with the scent of brine, decay, and fear.

Signs of the Sea Monster invasion were everywhere. Coastal villages lay in ruins, buildings crushed or oddly submerged under layers of hardened, salt-encrusted slime. Strange, unnatural ice formations glittered under the desert sun in some areas. The corpses they found weren’t just demonic; they were humans, Confederacy soldiers and civilians, often bearing horrific wounds consistent with crushing pressure, razor-sharp claws, or freezing attacks.

They bypassed the larger, still-defended coastal cities, heading towards regions known for richer marine life and reports of more frequent high-order monster sightings – areas now largely abandoned by the Confederacy military who had pulled back to defend core population centers.

They found a small fishing town, or what was left of it, named Porto Pescar. Buildings near the shore were matchwood. Fishing boats lay smashed on the beach like discarded toys. A foul, fishy stench hung in the air.

And the sounds… guttural clicks, wet slithering, and the desperate cries of humans.

“Activity,” Cassandra reported, her enhanced senses picking up the sounds. “North side of the ruined harbour.”

“Let’s investigate,” Alaric ordered quietly. “Formation. Lyra, Cassandra, vanguard. Ceanna, clerics, center with Kara and Ulriya. Rosalind, Brita, rear flanks. Move.”

They advanced cautiously through the debris-strewn streets, weapons ready. As they rounded the corner of a shattered tavern, they saw the source of the commotion.

A group of perhaps twenty terrified civilians – fishermen, women, children – were huddled against the wall of a partially collapsed stone warehouse. Facing them was a terrifying wave of sea creatures.

Not the colossal monsters of legend, not yet, but formidable nonetheless. Dozens of Merrow warriors, scaled green and blue, wielding cruel tridents and nets weighted with jagged coral, advanced with clicking, guttural cries. Supporting them were several Giant Shore Crabs, carapaces thick as shields, massive claws snapping menacingly. And slithering among them were creatures resembling large, multi-legged eels with rows of needle-sharp teeth – Abyssal Crawlers.

The Merrow were clearly herding the humans, trapping them, likely for capture or immediate slaughter. A few brave fishermen with knives and broken oars stood protectively in front of the others, looking utterly hopeless.

“Engage,” Alaric commanded, his voice cold. “Clear them out. Protect the civilians.”

The Steele strike force exploded into action.

Lyra and Cassandra surged forward. Lyra became a golden sunburst, her flaming sword carving arcs of fire through the Merrow ranks. Cassandra blurred, azure wind-blades slicing through scaled flesh and chitinous armour with contemptuous ease. The front line of sea monsters dissolved under their assault.

Ceanna and her clerics immediately cast protective wards over the civilians, shimmering golden barriers deflecting stray trident thrusts and crawler bites. Healing light flowed towards the few injured fishermen.

“Kara! Earth wall, contain the crabs!” Rosalind directed. “Ulriya, freeze the crawlers!”

Kara, gaining confidence, slammed her staff down. A thick wall of packed earth erupted between the giant crabs and the main fight, momentarily blocking their advance.

Ulriya, her eyes focused, unleashed a wave of intense cold. The slithering Abyssal Crawlers hissed, their movements slowing as ice crystals formed on their slick bodies. Several froze solid, shattering under follow-up attacks.

“Brita! Target the Merrow commanders!” Rosalind yelled, simultaneously launching crackling bolts of lightning that electrocuted several warriors.

Brita moved with chilling grace. Tendrils of darkness snaked out, ensnaring the larger, more heavily armoured Merrow leaders. Frost spread rapidly from the points of contact, immobilizing them, before shards of black ice impaled them through their helms. Her control was precise, deadly.

Alaric watched, assessing. The team worked well. Kara and Ulriya were hesitant but followed orders, their power undeniable when directed. Brita was terrifyingly effective.

He stepped forward himself as one of the Giant Shore Crabs finally smashed through Kara’s weakening earth wall, scuttling towards the clerics. Before Lyra or Cassandra could intercept, Alaric simply raised a hand.

A beam of pure, compressed arcane energy – a modified ‘Archon’s Judgment’ – lanced out, striking the crab squarely on its carapace. There was a deafening crack, and the massive crab simply disintegrated, its thick shell offering no resistance whatsoever.

The remaining sea monsters faltered, witnessing the effortless destruction of their toughest unit. The Merrow warriors, seeing their leaders fall and their support crumble, let out guttural hisses of fear and began to retreat back towards the sea.

“Don’t let them escape!” Cassandra yelled, zipping after them, her wind blades cutting down stragglers. Lyra moved to secure the perimeter around the civilians.

The mages cleaned up the rest, freezing, electrocuting, or impaling the remaining crawlers and immobilized Merrow.

Within minutes, the battle was over. The sand was littered with monster corpses, steaming slightly or encased in ice. The civilians stared, wide-eyed, at their sudden, powerful saviors.

An old fisherman, clutching a bleeding arm healed moments ago by Ceanna’s light, stumbled forward. “Who… who are you?” he stammered, looking from Lyra’s fiery aura to Alaric’s calm, imposing figure. “Angels?”

Alaric stepped forward, offering a reassuring, disarming smile. “Just travelers, passing through,” he said smoothly. “It seems this coast is more dangerous than anticipated.”

He glanced at the monster corpses, particularly the larger Merrow commanders – likely peak Fifth Order, maybe low Sixth. ‘Not the targets we need. But a start. And reconnaissance.’

“Tell me, old man,” Alaric asked, his tone friendly but his eyes sharp. “Have you seen larger creatures? Things from the deeper water?”

The old fisherman shuddered. “Aye, stranger. Things… things that make these,” he kicked a dead Merrow, “look like minnows. Shadows in the water… tentacles… crushing cold… They come with the tide now. Dragging folk away. Freezing the very waves.”

‘Good,’ Alaric thought. ‘We’re in the right place.’

The hunt had begun.