Published at 5th of June 2026 6:01 am

Book 5: Chapter 43 - Upheaval

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Book 5: Chapter 43 - Upheaval

"Change arrives unbidden, indifferent to our readiness. What truly matters is the grace and courage with which we meet the world it leaves behind."

- Unknown.

 

I sat across from Farzan in the Place of Dancing Water, the seat of power for the House Salahaem and the grand residence of the newly crowned Sultana. The hall was a marvel of rippling fountains and artful mosaics, lit by rows of narrow windows that admitted the final glow of the waning sun. The scent of saffron and spiced meat wafted through the air, almost masking the tension coiled between us. It should have been a feast to celebrate fleeting peace, yet the shadow of war lingered over us, embers waiting to be reignited. The darkness in Farzan’s weary eyes confirmed as much.

He looked like a man half-burdened, half-relieved—a dull weight no longer crushing him outright, but still pressing on him with every breath. Even so, some color had returned to his face after our share of stew and bread. “What are we to do now?” he asked at last, soft and weary. “It feels like we’ve merely traded one peril for another. Stepping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.”

“Why must you forever be a source of radiant hope and optimism, Farzan?” I replied in a tight voice. “Truly, you’re an inspiration to us all.”

He snorted, setting down his cup. “You’re sure the Alim have started awakening their sleepers?”

“They have,” I confirmed, my voice turning grave. “I’ve brokered a deal with Kanaia, or at least what passes for a deal in these treacherous times.”

“You trust it?” he pressed, a deep furrow creasing his brow.

“One can never be fully sure in dealings with a woman like Kanaia—or with any woman for that matter,” I said, “but yes, I believe I can rely on her enough for now. She desires life and prosperity as much as we do, and the Alim see an opportunity for a new era. You might lose some Dust, temporarily, but you surely have stores of it hidden away. In exchange, you gain safer passage beyond the horizon and across the seas, a chance for something greater.”

Farzan let out a soft hiss. “And there’s the Mer, still asking after Aelayah. The poor girl is in no condition to meet anyone. And, a part of me fears for when and if she regains a modicum of sanity. We’ve bought ourselves time, no more.”

My gaze drifted across the rippling water that danced along the mosaic floor. “Time is all we ever truly buy, Farzan.”

He sipped from his goblet. “And the duel with the elf, Alexandros… Are you certain you can win?”

I shrugged, letting my own golden cup warm my palms. “Does it truly matter if I win or lose? Not that I plan to be bested, of course.” A tinge of bitterness colored my tone. “Victory or defeat, they are on the brink already. They sue for peace rather than pressing war. That is proof enough that their warlike ambition crumbles.”

“Then, if they are on the precipice of defeat,” Farzan suggested, “why fight at all? Could you not simply give away the sword? You have other weapons aplenty. With our plundered Saint’s Silver, we can forge you one to match its worth.”

I shook my head slowly. “No, Farzan, it isn’t so simple. That man, Alexandros, he needs to die. Surrendering my sword would do nothing to stop the poison he spreads.”

“He seemed reasonable enough,” Farzan said, though doubt flickered in his eyes. “Why is he such an impediment?”

I leaned back, letting the cushions swallow my weight. “Because he deceives. That fair countenance hides a thousand lies. Trust me, Farzan, if I crush him into the dirt, the truth of his duplicity will be plain for you to see.”

Farzan’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer, as though searching for some sign I might be mistaken. “And was it wise,” he ventured, “to let him choose the place and manner of this duel? If he’s as cunning as you say—”

“What if he is?” I interrupted with a nonchalant shrug, though my mind echoed warnings of Alexander the Great’s own battlefield prowess. “I expect some treachery. Let him lay whatever snares he wishes. He won’t catch me unaware. Knowing they’ll cheat in some manner is piercing half the deception already.”

Farzan toyed with the lip of his cup, his eyes distant. “All the same, this Alexandros… there’s something about him. For all your skill and prowess, I sense he won’t be easily crushed.”

I nodded, conceding the point. “Nothing in life is ever easy, Farzan, not if it’s worth anything. It is the very difficulty that grants meaning. That’s a lesson I’ve learned well enough.”

He shook his head ruefully. “You are looking forward to this, you madman.”

“Whatever gave it away?” I chuckled. I took a moment to savor the wine, though with my Constitution, it hardly affected me; it still complemented the bold spices of our meal.

A part of me had learned acceptance. And now, the food tasted richer lately, the world sharper, like new color had bled into everything around me. I found myself stroking the tablecloth, marveling at the texture of woven fibers. My senses had awakened, and with them, a glimmer of anticipation, perhaps even excitement, for the battle to come.

In that moment of reflective calm, a servant burst into the chamber, throwing herself prostrate on the floor. His voice trembled with urgency. “Forgive me, my samasa… I was sent by Elenora. Something has happened regarding the Sultana. It requires your immediate attention.”

“What are you waiting on ceremony for, woman! Spit out out!” shouted Farzan, slamming his cup down.

“The Sultana… she is gone.”

Those words hung in the air like a funeral knell. A hush descended us, broken only by Farzan’s sharp intake of breath. He swept a trembling hand through his thinning hair, and when he spoke, bitterness darkened his voice.

“I knew it. I felt it in my bones,” he muttered. “We’d had a trace of good fortune at last, so of course fate must snatch it away. The balance is always thus, Divines curse it. How many know of this?”

The servant, a slight woman, slight enough that even the stout door behind her seemed to loom over her, shifted her feet uneasily. “Only myself, Elenora, and the Lady Aelayah’s immediate…” She trailed off, but her unspoken meaning filled the silence like a chorus of alarm bells.

Farzan shot me a significant look. “We must sequester these people at once. Mariza, was it? This must be contained. Word of the Sultana’s disappearance cannot spread, or chaos will erupt.”

“What do you want me to do with her?” I asked grimly.

Farzan turned his gaze on me, baffled. “What? Do with her? Nothing! Heavens above! Mana… Ma… Mariza, is that your name?”

She bowed her head, voice trembling. “Yes, samasa. Mariza, if it pleases you.”

“Mariza,” Farzan repeated with forced calm. “You will remain silent on this matter. Is that understood?”

A single nod, quick as a startled bird, was all she managed. Fear shone in her eyes, and I suspected she was quite aware her life might hang on that small gesture. I lifted a hand to cut short her stammered assurances. “Enough. Merely see that you hold your tongue.”

Without our puppet, the Sultana Aelayah, our plans were in jeopardy, and we would lose our grip on the reins of power. A grip which had always been tenuous. If her sudden vanishing became common knowledge, the legitimacy of our authority would crumble. My heart pounded as I realized how swiftly all I had fought for might be undone.

Fresh beads of sweat appeared on Farzan’s brow. He drew in a breath, trying and failing to steady himself. “When was her disappearance discovered?”

Mariza wrung her hands. “But an hour ago, my lord. We administered the usual medicine, as we were instructed. All was well… until we found her guards and a few of the other servants. Dead. Blood… blood everywhere.”

I felt as if I’d lost my balance, buffeted by a sudden storm. This was bad. Very bad.

“Spare me the lengthy explanations,” I said, keeping my own voice tight. “Where is Elenora now?”

“She remains in the Sultana’s quarters,” Mariza answered, her voice quivering. “She was looking for…”

“Then lead us there.” Farzan’s nostrils flared, his face etched with raw worry. “Aelayah could be anywhere by now, and it’s plain she could not have vanished alone. Only the most trusted of my men did I post to guard the Sultana.”

I rose, shrugging off the frisson of alarm that threatened to seize me. I had learned over long years that treachery could come from any direction, cloaked in warmth and honeyed words, only to stab you in the back at the worst possible moment. In that, at least, I was rarely surprised.

“Come then,” I said at last, voice steeled and cold. “We’ll see what we will find in the Sultana’s chambers.”

***

“It appears your ‘woman’ isn’t here,” Farzan hissed at me, his frustration mounting.

“She is not my woman,” I retorted sharply.

“Oh?” he said, arching a brow. “Then whose woman is she?”

“Elenora belongs to no one but herself,” I replied, letting the slightest edge of humor slip into my tone.

We had scoured every corner of Aelayah’s private apartments. All we found were the torn remains of servants and guards, their bodies scattered amid a gruesome tableau.

Farzan knelt by one of the corpses, pressing two fingers to its neck. “This one… the blood hasn’t yet thickened. He’s only just died.” He gestured to another body—a palace guard, armor soaked yet strangely pale. “And that one has almost no blood in him, but there’s hardly any spilled on the floor.”

I grimaced at the familiar stench of iron and death. “Foul play indeed. Who’s behind this? Some agent of the elves?”

“No,” Farzan answered, straightening with a slow shake of his head. “What would they gain from such carnage? I can’t make sense of any of this.”

“Whoever—or whatever—is responsible, we must keep this under wraps,” I said, my voice dropping lower. “You understand why?”

His gaze flicked up to meet mine. “I’m not a fool, Gilgamesh. Of course I know what’s at stake.” He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow, expression sour. “I’ll see to it that the Guard Captain is flogged for such a failure.”

“Whoever took Aelayah… do you have any idea what they want with her?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Farzan admitted quietly. “A hostage, perhaps, or a bargaining chip against our plans. It’s impossible to be certain yet. But I’ll send out our agents—discreetly. We can’t allow the other Holder Houses to catch the scent of blood. I don’t suppose you can help with that?”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Farzan’s lips twitched in annoyance. “Your friend—the slippery one, not the giant. He looked like the sort who had friends in low places and could locate a ghost in a blizzard. Couldn’t we use him?”

“Elwin?”

“That was his name,” Farzan confirmed. “Any idea how to reach him?”

“None,” I said. “He’s more phantom than man. You’ll have the same luck finding him as you will Aelayah.”

***

In truth, Aelayah might as well have vanished into thin air. No ransom note arrived, no demand for tribute—nothing but the violent aftermath her escape left behind. Farzan’s worry gnawed at him until it seemed to bleed through his skin, and though he clung to his duty, each day without answers chipped away at his composure.

For my part, I grew concerned over Elenora’s disappearance as well. She hadn’t been taken at the same time as Aelayah; after all, she was the one who sent Mariza to inform us. Several survivors confirmed Elenora had remained in the Sultana’s quarters at first—yet by the time we arrived, she too had vanished. A conspiracy was at play, a force set against ours, for Idris was found in his bedchambers dead, his corpse a pale blue and seemingly drained of all blood. It was a puzzle that deserved more of my attention, but I had neither the will nor the time to deal with that.

Fen had taught me to think only within the circle of my control. And, so, I would.

The elven envoy appeared the morning after Aelayah’s vanishing, bearing news of my upcoming duel. They declared time, place, and manner: a fight amid the ancient ruins once hidden by the sea, the City Beneath the Waves, and less than a week away. I could bring whatever weapons or gear I wished. Farzan’s earlier warning rang in my ears: be ready for anything.

I had become a wealthy man—one-fifth of all spoils from our battles had landed upon my lap. It was time to spend that wealth instead of sitting on it like a miser. I hired adventurers by the scores to brave the shimmering portals that led to hidden Trials, hoping they’d unearth some artifact of worth. It took days before their perilous efforts produced anything noteworthy—human greed and chance both conspired against me. Yet, at last, on the fifth day, one of the more fortunate and honest survivors laid a ring at my feet.

Sage’s Sight revealed it to be a Ring of Hidden Strength, granting me a modest but meaningful boost of five points to my Strength attribute. By then, nearly four score adventurers had perished in those Trials of the Goddess, whether claimed by monstrous challenges within or turned on by their own treacherous companions. It only confirmed my suspicions: I had been wise never to enter such death traps myself.

In the meantime, I had refused to stay idle. With no foes to battle, I focused on raising my base attributes. I hauled weights of solid Adamantine, ran at top speed around the palace, dragging them behind me, and practiced my spells on nearly everything in reach. Living and alive. The city’s dungeons were emptied, and criminals paraded before me under the guise of Divine judgment. In truth, I simply used them to hone my magic and bolster my experience. Whether they were truly innocent or guilty mattered little.

Once I had run out of condemned souls, Cordelia found me new fodder—men and women she deemed “sinners.” Some I spared with a flash of “Divine Mercy,” healing them as a spectacle to enhance my saintly facade. Others, I drained of life on the spot, their remains crumbling to dust beneath the force of Void-gifted spells as punishment. I took care to hide the pleasure I felt each time I called upon that dark power.

Word spread. Many came to kneel before me, men and women from the desert tribes and the city alike, each hoping for a sliver of absolution. I allowed none but human supplicants; the rest were deemed “unclean.” Such prejudice had, since ancient times, been a great uniting force of humanity.

But thanks to these fools, my holy deceit earned me another point of Charisma, though I doubted this would serve me well in fighting Alexandros.

In five days, I pushed myself relentlessly, downing a fortune’s worth of Mana potions healing the sick and crippled. Not only this, I bolstered my body’s resilience with the conjured blasts of fire, shards of water and ice, or even bolts of shadow, thrown my way by confused-looking Mages I had hired.

Bolstered by Improved Pain Nullification and a near-limitless supply of Health potions, I scarcely felt the agony of the spells. I only grew stronger, more enduring. I grew closer to being a god.

The results of my preparation were considerable. My Strength rose by two points on top of the ring’s added five, bringing it to fifty-one. My Constitution soared by three points to sixty-five under the torrent of magical and Alchemical abuse. Whatever lasting damage I had inflicted on myself vanished completely under the power of my Greater Heal. Scars and burns faded, bones realigned, and I was restored—pristine and perfect.

Gilgamesh the Unscarred.

Over that same span, through sheer repetition, I forced my magical spells and skills to improve: I acquired Advanced Mana Regeneration, bringing me closer to Alexandros' mastery of the arcane. In addition, Overboost crept to level three, and Sage’s Sight to level four.

On the morning of the duel, after rutting with one of Aelayah’s pretty handmaidens to rid myself of any pent-up frustration and pre-fight jitters, I realized I was in the finest shape imaginable. My power stood ready to clash against a legend pulled from the annals of history. And in truth, I relished the prospect of testing my might against one who might actually stand a chance of challenging me.

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