Walking through the Inner Sanctuary, I noted once again how it had begun to expand, digging deeper and deeper into the mountain rock.
We weren’t burrowing into the depths; on the contrary, we were making the peak of this natural formation our home, one that would reliably protect us even from a dragon’s fury.
Especially considering that Alteration Mages constantly worked on the mountain, strengthening the stone and making it an even more formidable barrier against aerial attacks.
And out there, outside, stood the recently constructed ballistae.
Somewhat primitive, but compensating for it with magic.
In their normal state, they resembled a simple crossbow-like contraption shaped like a turret, while magic was channeled into them…
The bolt would abruptly transform into a deadly blend of physical and magical power.
If such things had existed during the battle with Aldwin, he would have had to be much more cautious.
Practical tests had shown that these ice-enchanted bolts pierced dragon scales quite effectively.
And thanks to the ice enchantments on the main body as well, they weren’t burned up by return fire too quickly.
Finally, I reached the forge halls, where smiths worked in nothing but aprons, with numerous chunks of ice in their makeshift braziers.
The ring of metal was everywhere, because for those few who hadn’t feared the flame and had chosen the path of a smith, their craft was a great passion they would never abandon or turn away from.
After passing through several corridors, Vaysi and I finally reached the Main Forge, which stood out significantly from the others and was built partly to Dwemer specifications.
“Master Eoling!” I called out to the elf who was stubbornly striking an almost-cooled blade with an elegant hammer.
Even to me, a complete novice in smithing, it was obvious that the master smith was desperately trying to perfect his product, but he was a bit late and didn’t want to admit it.
So I wasn’t actually interrupting his work; I was saving both his time and mine.
“Ah, Feator.” Setting the hammer aside, he turned to me.
Light from the blazing furnace fire played across his white hair, and considerable fatigue reflected in his eyes.
So I shoved all my jokes and cheerfulness aside and began speaking quickly and to the point: “Is my sword ready?” “Of course.
I’ve never lied about deadlines in my life.
Even when I was just a brat.” He snorted, taking off his protective goggles.
“I had a time with those bones of the Children of Akatosh…
Mmm, yes…” He shook his head, stating an already well-known fact.
No matter how much they wanted to hide the origin of the flying lizards, the truth had still leaked to the people after Aldwin’s raid, called the Fall of Falmenor, the Evening of Sorrow.
“Oh…” I breathed, staring wide-eyed at the sword before me.
Master Eoling didn’t bother with pomp and grand presentation, pulling the cloth off his masterpiece.
It simply hung carefully on a separate stand…
“Honestly, I doubt I’ll be making two-handed blades or long weapons in general, but we don’t need that, do we?…
But even so, the form you required took some work.” The smith spoke against the backdrop of my attention, but I was already running my fingers along the blade, captivated at first sight.
It wasn’t the color of steel.
Nor was it a shining white light.
Just the pale flesh-tone of men.
It impressed not by its appearance, but by its inner essence.
An essence connected to Auri-El and serving as the perfect conduit for his power.
Obeying more a hunch, an instinct, than a conscious command, my palm touched the surface of the flamberge…
Literally a flaming sword.
Connected to fire like Auri-El-Akatosh himself, who would appear in the future in the form of a fire dragon.
Remnants of Aedric Energy suddenly burst from my palm, weaving into the blade like golden grains of sand, layering onto every millimeter of the bone of His son.
Even though this blade wasn’t made from Aldwin’s horn, which was now stored in the Inner Sanctuary and wouldn’t melt under any temperature, it was still the bone of a being close to the Et’Ada, to the Ehlnofey.
As close as possible to Akatosh himself.
Right before me, another echo of the Dawn Era began to form.
Auri-El wanted so badly to inflict defeat and humiliation on Kin that he deigned to create another…
Another Aedric artifact.
While the Merethic Era still stood in Nirn, the last reminder of ancient chaotic times with a special magical background, the Time Dragon God could allow such intervention in the world.
This knowledge came to me intuitively, as if I had always known it.
I had simply…
forgotten.
As intuitively as the name of the Blade of Time and Flame came to me.
Gripping the burgundy hilt tightly, I pointed the artifact resonating with me tip-up, as if about to Touch the Sky.
“Flammentein…” As I slowly, childishly-ecstatically pronounced the blade’s name, it began to appear in Aedric symbols near the hilt, on the flat surface of the blade.
A blade that began to emit a steady golden radiance in all directions.
A radiance that made Master Eoling’s and Vaysi’s knees buckle, instinctively reacting to the divine Radiance of Time.
“Ha!” I exclaimed when the light faded.
“Well then…
Now I’m definitely your First Sword, oh Auri-El.” * * * …Testing the new weapon turned out to be surprisingly quick.
Because the surge of Aedric energy was so powerful that it attracted the attention of their traditional antagonists — the Daedra.
More precisely, one specific Prince, who was closest to Auri-El.
The one who had been his most faithful and strongest knight, a role I had partially taken over.
I have no doubt there are more skilled worshipers of Akatosh than me, but they were too far from the thread of events connected to Kin.
Besides…
I’ll be honest with myself, my potential is simply higher.
Where else would Auri-El find an elf who lives at a pace closer to a human’s than a mer’s?
It’s much harder to change a person than to just hand out power.
…Wait.
It hit me, the idiot that I am.
It finally hit me.
I finally realized.
The puzzle came together.
Malacath’s followers’ attack put everything in its place.
Having lost his knight, Auri-El saw a chance to get a new one!
And that’s why he was so actively pushing me toward the hero-spirits of the Aldmer!
That’s why he was so generous.
That’s why he so abundantly supported me with his power.
Killing several birds with one stone, the sly one!
Opposing Kin, and at the same time nurturing a new hero-spirit while it was still possible.
While the Age of Elves, the Merethic Era, still stood in Nirn!
Aha-ha-ha-ha!
So that’s what it was all about…
But…
Am I against it?
We-e-ell…
Being against ascension to divinity?
Even if subordinate to a perfectly normal being?
Not really.
Especially since it’s unlikely to happen quickly.
I still haven’t become enough of a spirit or a hero.
And besides, he’s saved my life several times with his power.
A life I myself put at risk by deciding to voluntarily become a knight-paladin instead of fleeing to Summerset to sit out all the utter chaos in Tamriel.
“Well…
Let’s see what comes of this.” I grinned with excitement, feeling a wave of approving warmth pass through my body from the sword’s hilt.
Nevertheless, reports soon came from the West that a considerable number of Orsimer, that is, orcs, were moving toward the Sacred Valley, as the game’s Forgotten Valley was now officially called.
Followers of Trinimac — Auri-El’s greatest knight in the past, now the Daedric Prince Malacath — altered by Boethiah.
Who, apparently, had caught wind of his former boss’s plans.
* * * A day later.
“Hmm…
That’s a lot of them.” I stated the obvious, standing at one of the mountain observation outposts.
“I don’t understand why they’ve gotten so riled up?” the paladin watchman standing next to me said in bewilderment.
“We haven’t touched them, mindful of their tragic fate connected to the cursed Daedra.
But they, out of nowhere…” “Their god just got a little angry.” I snorted fearlessly, placing my palm on the warm hilt of Flammentein.
“Uh-mmm…” My kinsman stared at me with clear confusion.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lord First Sword.” “And you don’t need to.” I smirked, narrowing my eyes.
“For the first twenty years, a knight-paladin’s commander thinks for him.
So I advise you to keep your head down in the near future.
Vaysi, let’s go.” Descending with my beloved and a squad of three dozen experienced Monastery paladins, we set off straight toward the approaching army of orc-Orsimer.
Though…
What kind of army was this?
Barely a hundred green-skinned warriors, albeit fairly well-armed.
Sure, their mugs were intimidating…
But really, I’d been inches from Aldwin’s snout?
Now I was supposed to be scared of some orcs?
That was just laughable.
“Formation Elsial-Valz.” I gave a clear, short order, waving my right hand and immediately placing it on the hilt of the Aedric flamberge.
The elves behind me began to assemble into formation, while the small orc horde started to slow down.
Hmm…
Clearly not rabble.
Pretty disciplined, though many were impatiently shaking their swords and axes and growling.
This would be more dangerous than it looked from a distance.
Especially considering their ability to enter a Berserker Rage.
That was the very unmatched skill of Trinimac that allowed him to defeat Lorkhan, who was equal to Auri-El.
A skill that had been perverted by Boethiah and turned into battle madness.
“Howe.
Is that our chieftain?..” I said with interest, standing in a very relaxed posture.
I didn’t spot any archers among them, so I could afford it.
Just as I could afford to walk out to meet a massive two-meter-tall brute who was twice as wide as me.
“My name is Ghazghkull gro-Traka!” he began in a booming voice, fixing his rage-filled eyes on me.
Eyes full of Daedric power, among other things.
Not to mention the axes in his hands, which were practically blazing with it.
“Mine is Feator Kaslana.” I mockingly saluted my opponent with two fingers of my right hand, though I immediately returned it to Flammentein’s hilt.
“Why have you come to our lands, Servant of the Patron of Exiles, the Forsaken, and the Defiled?” “Father of Orcs command!
Give order!
Tear to pieces the one who shines with Light!” the chieftain spoke in a rather peculiar distortion of Snow Elf, through his considerable fangs.
“You smell of him!
Disgusting…
You are foul to He-Who-Speaks-with-Defiance!
I will kill you, Radiance!” He promised convincingly, playing with his two imposing ebony axes.
“I don’t even know what to say to that…” I chuckled at such deadly seriousness on his part.
“I will give you a good death, Servant of the Prince of Vengeance.” Slowly drawing Flammentein, I pointed its tip at the orc and assumed a combat stance.
He was a foe hardly weaker than Ysgramor, so the battle would definitely be epic.
But Auri-El had no quarrel with Malacath, so he was unlikely to support me.
So no sudden buffs to count on; I’d rely on what I already had in my arsenal of abilities.
Well then…
Time to start the traditional fantasy pastime — elf and orc slaughter.
Without a word, the green-skinned chieftain and I lunged into attack simultaneously.
Our subordinates charged after us.
The first ring of steel sounded on the spring battlefield, because dragon bone, after being worked by the smith and Auri-El, sounded exactly like metal.
Sparks flew from our blows, though I was deflecting the axe attacks to the side.
But even so, my arm received considerable shocks from such parries.
Neither of us started using our patrons’ powers from the outset.
I wanted to test my weapon in battle against a roughly equal opponent; the orc simply craved a fight with a strong warrior.
So an empty circle formed in the middle of the actively fighting warriors, into which neither orc nor elf dared to step.
Flammentein fluttered in my hands, leaving numerous scratches on the unarmored orc, but he couldn’t have cared less.
Orcs were too tough to pay attention to pain.
His axes had already snipped a few strands of my hair, proclaiming their incredible sharpness.
He swung them considerably too, and though he used raw physical strength rather than stances and strikes from specific positions, I couldn’t bring myself to call him an unskilled brute.
He reveled in the battle.
He lived for fights.
And his blood literally boiled when he fought me.
Which only made him more unpredictable and dangerous, forcing me to give it my all as well.
One thing was Ysgramor, where our skill hadn’t mattered much.
Quite another was now, when without Auri-El’s help, I myself began to feel the joy of the clash.
The joy of calculating dozens of probable movements of two ebony weapons, the beautiful song of ringing steel, subtly and only to elven ears distinguishable depending on the trajectory of the collision.
We circled each other, spinning and sincerely trying to defeat one another.
The thrill of battle slowly but inexorably seized me.
Could I have experienced this in that gray, mundane twenty-first century?
Of course not!
“You’re good, Ghazghkull!” I shouted with a satisfied grin across my whole face, once again striking a shower of sparks from his timely raised axe.
“And you!” the orc roared no less joyfully, wielding both weapons simultaneously and easily dispersing a fireball launched at him.
So far, I hadn’t spent much on magic, saving it for our second round.
When we would call upon the power of our gods, who had once been comrades.
“Shall we end these childish games?” I suggested, after we jumped back from another series of blows and began circling each other like a pair of wild predators.
“You speak sense, Radiance!” the orc roared with satisfaction, and his axes immediately glowed with the green radiance of Daedric energies.
Energies that quickly spread throughout his body, making my trained instincts scream danger.
Nice one!
The world slowed.
I accelerated.
And evened the odds in our confrontation, because the accelerated orc returned to his previous speed.
Well then…
By all the canons of epic battles, it was time to start the second round.
A satisfied smile naturally widened even further.