I retrieved the collection of cores from my inventory and separated them into neat piles. Many of the 230 whites came from kobolds. We got them from the ambush on our first trip to Hawkhurst. Others belonged to workers in the fungal cave and Fabulosa’s Blood Drinker dungeon crawl.

  Whites came from goblins, from ambushers to the mine and Rezan’s followers. Fabulosa racked up more from killing graywater tuskers in the Underworks. She’d collected them on hunts around Belden and Hawkhurst and the orcs we’d fought in Fort Krek.

  About a dozen greens came from Winterbyte’s gnolls. Four came from the sludgemongers and tuskers, and one came from the giant ophidian snake that nearly crushed me. But the green and white cores possessed no character bonuses from their parent monsters. They only gave minor stat bonuses.

  Yellow cores carried traits that augmented weapons. Each of the seven coming from the hydra gave a unified bonus. The gargasaurus bonus gave an observant bonus. The porcine sludgemonger’s bonus core could make a weapon sturdy.

  I pondered the nurturing bonus from the strange wooden druid. What would nurturing do? And the centaur’s traits gave me pause. Wouldn’t metallic and magnetic bonuses on a metal weapon be redundant?

  Regardless of their traits, each core strengthened newly crafted items and gave damage and stat bonuses.

  Using an orange on the gatehouse left us with the core we took from the albino cave fisher. It gave camouflage and armor ideal for something wearable.

  It’s a shame Greenie’s design had no single structure called a castle where I could add a core to improve its overall construction. Instead, the game broke our castle into separate walls and towers—each stood independently.

  Rory shrugged. “A metallic bonus may add bits that rust—unless they’re titanium.”

  I shook my head. “That’s too much to hope for.”

  Rory gazed at the cores spread across the blueprints. He picked up a yellow. “It’s beyond my understanding how nurturing might help a fortification or a weapon.”

  I grunted in agreement. The only building in the settlement that fits nurturing would be Forren’s temple, but we didn’t need to make it strong. If enemies reached the temple, all was lost. I’d rather invest it into a weapon. Perhaps it might improve healing. “I’d like to make the gatehouse strong. But I’m not sure which makes sense.”

  Rory put down the yellow and took the orange crystal. “Armor works for a gatehouse, but I’m stumped about camouflage.”

  I swept everything except the cave fisher’s core into a bag and handed it to Rory. “I’d like to give camouflage to something wearable, but it’s more important to strengthen the gatehouse. Ally gets the orange while the rest go to you. If the traits make little sense, don’t sweat it. Just use them to bolster our weapons—at least, we’ll get stats out of them.”

  Ida listened, only speaking after we decided how to invest the cores. “Mags, are you finished with Greenie’s memorial stone?”

  Maggie nodded. “Mostly, but I’d like to touch upon its edges. I’ll need another day to sharpen his name.”

  Ida turned to me. “Any objection to waiting another day? I’d like to give him a nighttime tribute. It seems fitting because he stayed indoors all day.”

  I nodded. “Good call. After dinner tomorrow, let’s do a short ceremony in the rock garden.”

  The rock garden became our informal term for the memorials around our old flag, which we placed beside the temple overlooking the lake. After Iris and I buried the bodies of Fletcher, Sami, and Val in the forest, we added rocks bearing their names beside those for Charitybelle and Brodie.

  “I can hang out for another day. I want to show Dino my sword before I go. Maybe he can give me some pointers for fighting with long swords before I leave.”

  Ida looked satisfied with my answer. “When the castle’s done, I want to add a park to the queue unless there’s nothing more pressing.”

  “A park?”

  “Yes. We should expand the stone garden. It’s already a peaceful place for people to pay their respects, so we should make it nice. And a two percent bonus to culture is nothing to sniff at. We can carve out of Hawkhurst rock and fill it with dirt. Earthmoving is a cinch with your Dig spell. You working on a park will give workers a chance to build homesteads.”

  I grunted noncommittally. Charitybelle had always been keen on parks, but with two more relics to worry over, I couldn’t make promises.

  After dinner, I helped Ida and Ally settle into their apartments. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t the only person sleeping in the manor at night.

  On the way to breakfast, Ida reaffirmed she had no strange voices, dreams, or visions overnight, settling the matter of Rezan’s relic. For all I knew, it still clung to his body somewhere in Otter Lake.

  The news resolved my intention to head south tomorrow for the underwater relic. Perhaps I’d find something along the way that might make infiltrating orc territory possible. And I could leave knowing the settlement rested in Ida’s capable hands. It gave me one last day to tie loose ends around town.

  Dino Marcello de Piane hailed me with a nod while he addressed his morning class. Eighteen students practiced rudimentary footwork. I watched until Dino dismissed them.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Governor Apache. What brings a man of bureaucracy to a place of drill and exertion?”

  Dino’s hint that I’d forgotten my training made me grin. Instead of trading clever words, I got straight to the matter and drew Gladius Cognitus. “I hoped you’d give me your thoughts on my new longsword. Rory and Fin made it.”

  Dino’s expression changed to pure astonishment, extending his hands and wiggling his fingers.

  “Oh-ho! A sentient blade!” Dino cradled Gladius in a respectful grip. He rubbed its surface and crooned. “Its dark steel bears a complexion folded with anthracite coal. Ah, yes, and hints of common shale grounds its aloof temper.”

  Gladdy hummed in the weapon master’s grasp. “Quite so, oh most capable of appraisers. It is a pleasure to be wielded by someone so keen of insight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I knew you two would get along.”

  Dino ignored me, hefting the blade toward an invisible opponent. “This one has heady richness in balance, and its density harkens to the West Valleyview Estates. As you know, their unsullied metals ushered forth the Laronge Dynasty. Oh, to be at their tournaments! Tell me, Gladius. Have you tasted goblin recently?”

  “Why, yes! Their meatiness is below my preference, but their spritely locomotion gave excellent chase.”

  Dino admired the ribbon of light of the sword’s wake. He gave a chef’s kiss. “And does delineating space with such aplomb fill you with brooding meditations? Does the commonness of your wielder fatigue you or render you insouciant?”

  It was only a matter of time before Dino insulted me. I folded my arms in a refusal to participate.

  Gladius hummed in Dino’s grasp. “Decanting me for goblins made for an unfitting debut, but my wielder seeks exotic prey deep in Otter Lake, no less. I look forward to a foray under the waves.”

  Dino turned to me. “Underwater combat with a longsword?”

  I shrugged. “I gotta go where the battle takes me. Do you know of any proper way to fight underwater?”

  Dino stiffened and considered the prospect. “I must confess, I never considered an underwater challenge before. I suggest you only make short thrusts.”

  Dino spoke matter-of-factly, assuming I knew better than to slash underwater. I took it as a compliment. “I also have to hold onto my trident to breathe.”

  The instructor scowled.

  I shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get lucky, and the relic will be on an island.”

  My instructor had already returned to the sword, whispering to himself. “How can this be that a pommel so small doesn’t make the blade tip-heavy?”

  Gladius Cognitus hummed at the praise. “Cutting through reality buoys my point, which is deceptively thin. I take pride in enabling my wielders.”

  I rested my hands on my hips. “I’m your only wielder.”

  Dino waved a finger. “Wielders come and go, but works of art endure. A handsome blade like Gladius Cognitus will enjoy many wielders.” Dino whispered to the sword. “I wish you better luck on your next.”

  I sighed and changed the subject. “I always wondered which would make a better weapon—the longsword or the katana?” A friend of mine in Belden once claimed katanas to be the best sword, but I’ve never seen one in Miros.

  Dino stroked his mustache. “It depends on space. Longswords are excellent outdoors and in large spaces. Many call it a sword-and-a-half. Their reach and double-edges offer rapid follow-ups—making their wielders less predictable. They’re slower but stronger, and every attack doubles as a block. Wielders must lean into this and embrace it as their style. Many consider katanas the superior weapon, but their minimal handguards offer poor protection—which is their design. Their curved blade makes them more aggressive, offering faster strikes. In open spaces, a katana should lose to a longsword.”

  Dino handed the weapon back to me. “You now bear an exquisite, multi-layered weapon. It becomes you to play to its strengths.”

  I admired the blade’s shiny surface. “I’m surprised that inserting a purple core didn’t add designs—like adding a gem to the pommels or arcane engravings.”

  Dino waved his hand. “Such would be an affront to metallurgy. Engravings and filigree weaken the integrity of the metal and that of the wielder.”

  I blushed at Dino’s corrective tone.

  The weather broke into a downpour while I sparred with Dino. Raindrops pattered against the battle college’s rooftop until I left the facility later that day. Rainfall seemed a fitting farewell for Greenie’s memorial. Knowing that Ida fulfilled the governor’s role allowed me to train through dinner without addressing the congregation about upcoming schedules.

  I joined the rest of the town when the dinner crowd filed out of the town hall toward the rock garden. Everyone walked in a single file on heavy boards we placed over the town’s muddiest sections. They looked reminiscent of World War I duckboards that soldiers used between trenches. The town placed them after disassembling the protective planks and panels for boarding windows and doors throughout the goblin attack. We used the boards efficiently. The congested paths received the most woodwork and tapered to routes less trafficked.

  I accompanied Iris and Fletcher to the rock garden. We gathered in front of the memorial stones for Fletcher, Val, and Sami.

  “It’s a shame we had to bury them in the forest. A stone doesn’t seem to be enough.”

  Iris smiled, nodded, and touched my shoulder. Although she looked like she’d cried earlier, she seemed determined to maintain a stiff upper lip.

  Lloyd embraced his daughter-in-law. “Aye, Cap’n. But they call them cenotaphs.”

  “Cenotaphs?”

  “Widows set them out for sailors lost at sea. I’m glad Fletch’s overlooks the lake. Proximity to the water befits the Arlington tradition.”

  Beaker watched the congregation atop the orrery, overlooking the procession while rain poured over him. He extended his wings, using the drizzle to wash his feathers.

  While the Sternways focused on their losses, the community gathered to honor its fallen governor. When the game interface showed everyone in town present, Ida started the ceremony. Everyone shared anecdotes about their favorite goblin. As citizens took turns, a surprising number of laughs lifted our spirits. Despite the tears and sniffles, it was a bittersweet occasion.

  I wondered what to say. Greenie’s last words extolled the virtue of lying for the greater good, a message that wouldn’t resonate.

  In many ways, Greenie had served as a mentor. Under his care, I matured into a leader. Even though governorship seemed a lofty, attractive position, I’d fought against becoming one.

  I’d resisted fitting into a role before. I rejected opportunities to serve under Mr. Fergus or as a trainer in Belden’s military academy. Charitybelle gave me the lieutenant governor’s title, even though it involved few responsibilities. The job had been unearned, almost coming too easy. It was no wonder I didn’t take it seriously.

  Taking a role would have given me a sense of place and belonging. But it also limited my options to become anything else. Shunning maturity reminded me of Peter Pan’s lost boys, adolescents hanging onto a state of limbo—detached and not growing up.

  Perhaps this kept so many young men aimless. Nothing forced boys to mature, at least not in the way nature ushered girls into womanhood. Men don’t have biological clocks, and our bodies don’t change.

  Would I have behaved like this in the outside world—clinging to the distant hope that winning The Great RPG Contest would let me prolong my education and avoid getting a job? Was I unwise investing my hopes in this lottery ticket?

  College wasn’t necessary for many students, but I felt drawn to it.

  For my turn to speak at the memorial, I omitted Greenie’s advice about misleading my allies. Instead, I testified how the goblin helped me understand the subtleties of leadership, the importance of communication, and how to accept responsibility.

  Everyone cordially nodded in approval.

  Instead of pulling at heartstrings, my contribution sounded like what any politician might say about a respected colleague. It was bland, impersonal, and expected.

  Greenie would have approved.