My territory wasn't the most extensive.
I had no doubts about that — thinking in terms of quantity, there would be many territories far ahead of what I could offer, some by a small margin and others by a margin that made the comparison inconvenient to make. But that was a choice, not a limitation. At no point had I invested in quantity. Always quality. Always control — with the awareness that control over something small was more valuable than the absence of control over something large, that the territory you could manage completely was territory that worked for you, and the territory you couldn't manage completely was territory that worked on its own and eventually for someone else.
"Zeus. Show my active strength."
[ Last generation Armored Archers — 50 units ]
[ Last generation Armored Heavy Soldiers — 110 units ]
[ Last generation Armored Knights — 5 units ]
[ Treebeard + Giant Axes — 6 units | summoned ]
[ Armored Urskra — 4 units | bond 99% ]
[ Cockatrice — 1 unit | Young | bond 100% ]
Instead of expanding the territory while seeking resources, I had opted to make it compact and manageable. It wasn't an atypical choice — the Codex itself indicated that non-nobles should follow exactly that path. Those who maximized territory almost always had an interest in offering services to former Lords, helping manage the territory in a submissive manner to the house they represented — in exchange for structure, credibility and territory that someone from the farms could never offer with the same legitimacy. Everyone understood that there was extreme difficulty in managing people without there being something to lose outside the Oasis. The problems that came with that model could be resolved with extreme force — but they weren't attractive enough to be worth the effort.
Of course there was a difference between me and others who weren't nobles, and this difference was quality — not of character, but of resource. The Codex had probably not taken into account that someone from the farms would accumulate sufficient capital to simply level everything to the maximum instead of expanding. I had maximized the entire territory leaving the castle as the only bottleneck — and doing that was objectively counterproductive by the numbers any conventional analysis would present. Maximizing the wall didn't give the same security as building a second one. Maximizing the house didn't allow double the collection as another unit would offer. Maximizing the tower didn't double the damage as a second one would.
The prevailing logic was always to build more instead of leveling up — which invariably forced those with sufficient capital to focus on expansion, even if that meant losing control of territory too vast to be managed in a way that control meant something beyond nominal ownership.
I had chosen the opposite. Accept losing in everything measured by quantity, but maintain total control over what I had. The reasons were many and reinforced each other — starting with the fact that I would go unnoticed. I wouldn't attract unwanted attention from those who measured power by extension and saw no reason to pay attention to a small territory. Not from enemies calculating the cost-benefit of an attack. Not from other humans who had demonstrated, repeatedly, that the attention they paid was the kind I preferred not to receive. My experience with nobles hadn't been even slightly interesting in the sense that interesting should have — it had been interesting in the sense of data about how the world worked, which was useful but which I would have preferred to learn another way.
"Good." — I said, with the tone of conclusion that existed before an already-made decision was implemented. — "With the houses at maximum level, I would have to raise the castle level. But I think it'll have to wait."
In my hands, finally, the legendary Griffin Aerie blueprint — ready to be built, with the specific weight of an object that had cost what it had cost and that carried that cost as an intrinsic quality, as though the value paid had stayed inside the object along with what the object was. But it wasn't that which was drawing my attention at that moment — there was something more immediate.
It was what was in front of me: another construction, which I still remembered how the Codex had portrayed with an archaic, simple, almost primitive drawing — the kind of simplification that happened when whoever was drawing had stopped worrying about what the image communicated beyond identification. It was funny that the drawing wasn't simplistic from a failure of artistry — it was accurate. That construction was exactly what it appeared to be: a circle of stone on the ground with a strange design glowing faintly, without ornament, without structure beyond the minimum necessary for the minimum to function.
Nothing more.
The return Portal — which had been waiting since the first day, which had been the constant horizon that moved as I moved, which had seemed close and then distant and then close again as circumstances dictated what was possible and what was necessary before what was possible.
✦
"Are you really going, my Lord?"
It was a good question — with the specific quality of a question that had no simple answer but that deserved an honest answer rather than a convenient one. Most people who had entered the Oasis with me and survived had probably already returned long ago — I had been there for over a year, with time having accumulated the distance between what had entered and what now existed in ways I was still measuring.
But there was still much to do — not as justification for not going, but as data about the state of what I would leave behind. The territory wasn't prepared for any enemy — which was ironic in the specific way of ironies that were only readable to those who knew what was being compared: most of those who left didn't care about what they left behind. The few survivors from the farms and disinterested Nobles after passing through the newcomer challenges, got what they wanted, left selling what they could and ignoring the rest. Few returned to their territory. Being a Lord meant giving up what existed out there — and not everyone chose to do that. In fact, most opted to simply become a former Lord to accumulate capital and leave the problems for those with an interest in solving them — which was a rational choice and one I understood and couldn't make.
And yet there I was feeling that abandoning everything would be the worst thing I could do.
"Honestly, I don't know, Livina." — I said, with the honesty of someone who had stopped trying to have answers for questions that had no answer yet. — "What I know is that it won't be today. I still have a lot to do." — I paused, with the interval of someone changing subject for a reason and not out of evasion. — "Is Morgana alright?"
It was strange to think that the relationship I had built with Morgana — which had grown in a way I hadn't planned and which had seemed solid in ways time had repeatedly verified — seemed to have been undermined in a short time. I didn't remember anything that had happened in the arena beyond the blood that filled my body when I returned — the events during my closed eyes existing as sensation and not as memory, as emotional temperature without the content that had created it.
But Morgana seemed to know, and even so had preferred not to tell me — with the specific restraint of something that had decided that what it knew was information I would need to receive at the right moment and that the right moment hadn't yet arrived, or that it had arrived and she still hadn't found the form. Whatever had happened had changed something between us — not abruptly, but with the gradualness of change that happened when a state had been reached and hadn't been named, and the absence of a name made the change persistent because there was nothing to undo.
She had returned to being merely someone who accepted my command out of obligation — not by choice, which was the previous state I had learned to recognize as different from the state that had existed before. I didn't know how to approach the problem. Neither did she — or she knew and had decided it wasn't the moment. In the end, Livina had become an involuntary intermediary, irritated by the role because she had assumed it without anyone having explicitly asked, but assuming it regardless because someone had to and she was the one who was available.
"I think perhaps you could ask her yourself." — Livina said, with the tone of someone who had tried the indirect approach long enough to have arrived at the conclusion that indirect wasn't working. — "What do you think?"
"Forget it."
Morgana was a problem I needed to resolve — with the clarity of someone who knew they needed to resolve it and still didn't know how, which is a different state from not knowing they needed to resolve it. But there was another more urgent one first, and urgency didn't consult what was most important but what needed to be done before the window closed.
I pulled something golden from the ring.
"You're really going to do this now." — Livina said, with the tone of someone who had processed what they were seeing and was still verifying whether they had processed correctly — not as a question, but as confirmation seeking an echo. — "I mean…"
"You don't need to worry, I had an idea." — I said, with the calm of someone who had thought about it more times than they had let show. — "This will be over quickly. I still need him and I feel there's something I might be able to do to keep him here — not by force, but by logic."
✦
The golden figurine glowed intensely when I placed it on the ground — with the glow of an object that had been compressed into a form smaller than the true form and was remembering what it was while the true form was restored. The light lasted a few seconds before resolving into what it had produced.
It didn't take long for the figurine to become the creature it had been before becoming that object — with the gradualness of something being rebuilt rather than created, remembering the form as the form returned.
The Griffin looked at me with those eyes that seemed to observe the soul before deciding whether what they saw deserved attention — with the quality of evaluation I had learned to recognize in the arena as habit and not as gesture, as continuous process and not as a one-time check. Then it spoke.
"So it's you again. Good."
There was something different in the tone — not the rage that had filled the first encounters, which had been necessary as protection and which I had understood as protection. Not the sadness that had been beneath the rage and which had appeared briefly when the hood had been removed. Something closer to recognition — the specific quality of recognition that existed between two who had been through something together and carried that something in a way that the subsequent contact knew the previous one had happened.
I could have asked several things. But I felt the deal needed to be resolved first — that the promise I had made needed to be fulfilled before any other conversation was possible, because an unfulfilled promise altered the weight of everything that came after it. He knew that as much as I did, with the clarity of something that had learned to distinguish between those who talked about keeping their word and those who kept it.
"The time has come."
"So the deal will happen?" — he said, and there was something he was trying not to show — with the specific restraint of something that had learned that showing was a cost and that held back by habit even when what was being held back didn't need to be. — "I'm surprised. You truly are a creature of your word. That is rare — even among my own kind."
"I promised." — I said, with the simplicity of someone who had arrived at that sentence without needing to build a path to it. — "I have no way back. I just need you to fill these and I'll free you."
What I placed before him were three flasks. The fact that there was no specification of how much blood was needed for the construction left me uncomfortable — I preferred to act by excess, with the logic that excess was reversible and shortage was not. But before the blood, I had made a point of preparing something else — because a promise was the minimum and what I had prepared was beyond the minimum.
"I bought harpy and Sphinx viscera."
Griffins had a preference for some specific creatures — difficult to kill, but that ironically didn't make the price high. The reasons were several: they weren't uncommon in the Oasis, which kept the supply stable for those who looked carefully instead of buying from the first available place. Most were no higher than level C — sufficiently challenging for hunting them to be exercise, insufficiently rare for the price to be prohibitive. But the real reason that overrode any other was the horrible taste. That was what kept the meat cheap: almost nobody hunted them for the meat, only for the medium-level stones they left as loot.
The viscera, the most disgusting and least appreciated part by any other creature I had consulted on the subject — with the kind of revulsion that needed no elaboration — were exactly what Griffins adored. There was something poetic in that preference, that what was discarded by others was precisely what was valued by them.
His eyes opened with what could only be joy — not the performative joy of someone being grateful, but the instinctive joy of someone who had found exactly what they had desired without having expressed the desire. And I was embarrassed to realize that that feast had cost less than feeding any of the creatures in my stable for a week — that the most effective gesture had also been the cheapest, which was data about where real value existed.
"Interesting. I like the way you think, human."
Without further ceremony — with the naturalness of something that had made a decision and was implementing it — the Griffin tore open its own chest. The blood poured with the abundance of a creature that had learned that healing was a process and not an event, that what came out would be replenished, that the cost was temporary and the result was permanent.
"I think this is the part where you start doing what needs to be done."
Livina and I each took a flask while collecting the blood with the care of those handling something valuable — not for what it was, but for what it would produce. The Griffin ate the viscera with the tranquility of someone at a picnic and not in a deal that would change the course of what both had planned for the coming months, with the concentration of genuine pleasure that made the surrounding context irrelevant while it lasted.
"Aren't you afraid of Livina?" — I asked, genuinely curious — not as filler conversation, but as data I had noticed and wanted to verify. She was nearly his size, with a structure that communicated capability before any demonstration.
"Actually, I don't concern myself with any creature that resembles Chimeras." — he said, without looking at her, with the detachment of something that had arrived at a position through experience and not through arrogance. — "I've fought against many. Forgive me for saying this, but most are simply strong."
Livina, withdrawing blood with the flask, simply pondered what she had heard with the expression of someone processing an assessment they had received before deciding how to respond to it. He wasn't entirely wrong — her race, like most that were Chimeras, was almost always more fighter than mage, with the specialization that had developed over generations and had made what wasn't specialization an accessory rather than central.
Livina was the exception the pattern hadn't foreseen.
"Well. Perhaps you'll be surprised, but Livina is a summoner."
The Griffin looked at her quickly — with the speed of verification that communicated genuine interest before that interest was confirmed by what it found. Then it turned its face away with the gesture of someone who had received information that altered their assessment, but preferred not to show it had been altered.
"Tch. Of course someone like you wouldn't settle for someone ordinary."
"Thank you. I think."
While I withdrew the last flask with the care of someone finishing a process that didn't admit waste at the end after having wasted nothing at the beginning, the Griffin finally asked what it had been holding throughout the entire extraction — with the quality of a question that had been present and had been held back by discipline, not lack of interest.
"Human. If you'll permit me — why do you need my blood?"
"Of course." — I said, with the tone of someone who had expected that question and was glad it had arrived now and not at a more complicated moment. — "If you stay a little longer, I can show you. I'm certain you'll like it."
The Griffin was confused by the response — with the specific confusion of something that had asked a direct question and had received an answer that presupposed continuation instead of completing the requested information. But there was something I had learned about Griffins over the books I had read, in the hours of observation in the stands before facing it: like most winged creatures — and far more than most, with an intensity that made the characteristic defining and not merely descriptive — they were curious beyond what their appearance suggested. The curiosity being part of the same cognitive structure that allowed the intelligence it had demonstrated in the arena, the interest in the world being the engine that kept processing active.
That was exactly what I was counting on.
"Very well." — it said, with the dignified resignation of something that had arrived at the conclusion that there was no reason to resist what it wanted to do regardless. — "Show me."
✦
Being expelled from the planet hadn't given me the items that would have saved me considerable value — with the Griffins killed in battle, the materials that could have become available had remained on Cancri while I left without time to recover what had been left behind.
I didn't mind. Despite spending a considerable amount of what I had, I still managed to acquire the necessary items with relative speed — and quality above what I had expected to find.
"Alright." — I said, looking at the space with the attention of someone seeing possibility where others would see empty terrain. — "From what I read, I just need to find the correct space and place the materials."
Beyond the cost of the materials — substantial, paid without hesitation — I had needed to pay a considerable amount to discover how to execute the construction from a blueprint. The information about the specific execution process wasn't documented anywhere accessible to those who didn't know where to look. The Oasis had created the tool without creating the instruction manual — which was either oversight or deliberate design, and I had bet it was design. The information existed. It was available for those who paid for it. Unfortunately the price reflected exactly how scarce it was.
The space I had chosen was in the only free area of the castle — beside the iron and steel house and the stable, with the distances I had measured carefully to ensure that what would be built wouldn't interfere with what already existed and that what already existed wouldn't interfere with what would be built. While I positioned the blueprint, it turned red in my eyes — visible only to me, like an interface the Oasis had developed for the process, while I adjusted the angle, orientation and distance from the other structures.
After several adjustments, it finally turned green — with the quality of confirmation that was absolute and not approximate, that communicated correct.
"Zeus. Begin construction of the Griffin Aerie blueprint according to my instruction."
The blueprint on the ground disappeared along with the surrounding materials — with the speed of a process that had happened and had left no trace of how it had happened. And something began to sprout from the earth with the slowness of something being built in the time it needed and not the time that was convenient.
According to the information I had paid to obtain, blueprints that didn't belong to the territory didn't need builders for maintenance or construction. The process was autonomous in a way I still didn't fully understand, but which I had accepted as data to be used regardless of being understood. Which was good because it wouldn't occupy my team for other needs, but also meant I wouldn't be able to speed up the period — that the four thousand three hundred and eighty hours would follow their own rhythm regardless of what I did with the available resources.
"Wait." — the Griffin's voice changed tone — with the change that happened when recognition arrived before the recognition was fully processed, before the mind finished verifying what the eyes had already identified. — "You're building a Griffin Aerie."
It wasn't a question. It was the confirmation of something that had been verified and was being communicated as verified data.
"Yes." — I said. — "I got it by completing a mission. But don't worry — I don't want to enslave them." — I paused, with the interval that made what came next heavier than it would have been without it. — "Actually, I only intend to use them for protection."
"Interesting." — it said, with the care of something evaluating before reacting — with the quality of processing I had learned to recognize in it as deliberate and not as slowness, as choice and not as limitation. — "But how do you intend to do that?"
It was the cue I needed — not created through manipulation, but waited for with patience because I had calculated that curiosity would lead to it naturally.
"Come with me. I'll show you."
✦
The barracks was different from any other that had existed in human territory — with a difference that existed not only in the numbers, which were impressive, but in the quality the numbers communicated about what had been invested and with what intention.
I had leveled it to the maximum permitted — expensive in a way I had accepted without hesitation because expensive was data about cost and not about value, and cost and value were different numbers that existed on the same scale without being the same. Counterproductive by conventional logic, and precisely for that reason rarely done — which made the result something that existed in few territories and which I had here.
The Griffin observed while I explained with the attention it had demonstrated to be habit.
"Livina. Can you bring one of the archers?"
"Of course, my Lord."
She left and returned before the silence became awkward. She wasn't alone.
"This is an Armored Archer — the pinnacle of what a human kingdom can produce — and what he carries is also the maximum that the iron and steel house can make in quality and excellence."
The archer seemed human in basic structure — but was tall in a way the armor amplified rather than created. Heavy chainmail, protective, built to absorb before attacking and to exist in open field without collapsing before the range became relevant. The bow in his hands was long, with rudimentary pulleys at the tips that gave it a compound air — primitive in appearance, functional in result. What made that archer distinct from any other wasn't the resistance or the size. It was the range. What was within his attack radius was beyond the range of any conventional response.
"The advantage of these bows lies in the range and penetrating power." — I said, with the tone of someone who had prepared that explanation with attention to the parts that needed to be said and the parts that could be left implicit. — "The disadvantage is the cadence — extremely low compared to conventional bows — and the flexibility of the archer, which is also limited by the armor that protects him. In practice, there are few tactical uses for an archer of this type in open field — open field favors mobility, and mobility is exactly what this archer doesn't have."
I paused — with the interval that made what came next heavier than it would have been without the pause, that created the necessary space for the inversion to arrive with the right weight.
"But there is one in particular that would make them nightmares on any battlefield."
The Griffin was silent for a second — not the silence of someone who wasn't following, but the silence of someone who was following and had arrived at the point where the next step wasn't yet visible, but the direction was.
Then recognition arrived in its eyes with the quality of something that had arrived from the process and not from revelation — built by available logic and not provided from outside.
"You're saying you intend to use the Griffins the same way your heroine used me."
"Exactly." — I said, with the satisfaction of having arrived at the point without needing more path than had been traveled. — "And tied to that—"
I pulled from the ring something that for me would be the final card that would attract the attention of that magical creature — it had cost literally everything I had. And a little more. I had smiled while paying, with the specific smile of someone paying for something worth what they're paying and who knows it's worth it, which is a different smile from the smile of someone paying for something they hope is worth it.
"Is that…?"
"A defense magic." — I said. — "Wind Sphere. Basic, and in theory useless for most applications — it prevents the bearer from using any other magic while active, which for a mage is exactly the cost that eliminates the benefit. But when combined with elevated position and a long-range archer—"
"The Griffin protects." — it completed, with the speed of someone who had arrived at the conclusion before the sentence finished. — "And the archer attacks."
"Yes."
The idea wasn't the most expensive that money could buy — it wasn't absolute power compressed into portable form, it wasn't a unique ability that eliminated entire categories of threat. It was solid with the solidity of something built on principles that worked regardless of context, that had identified a specific gap and created a solution for that specific gap and not for a general problem that included the gap as a special case.
It limited the concern to only a few spells that could be covered by the distance that archer reached — and the limitations of conventional attack power became irrelevant when the attack came from above, in motion, from something that didn't need to stop to shoot and that while moving ensured the target would need to calculate the trajectory of something that didn't stop.
"Actually, I just need to figure out how to train the Griffins in that magic." — I said, with the specific tone of someone who had built the trap with patience and was waiting for the final step, the step that didn't need force to happen, but needed the right state in whoever would take it.
The Griffin went silent.
With the quality of silence of something calculating — not whether, but how. That had arrived at the conclusion before the silence ended and was using the silence to arrive at the form the conclusion would take when expressed.
Then:
"Perhaps I can help you."
It happened.