Chapter 338.5 - Interlude Tholm 1

The moment he noticed Nick leaving his assessed sensory range, Tholm dropped his friendly smile.Samuel must have known things were about to get very real, because he immediately tried to channel his mana into the skill, which was so prized by assassin classes as a last resort to prevent their captors from interrogating them, but Tholm barely had to flex his will to disrupt the flow, causing the man to gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said softly. “I can’t promise I’ll be quite this gentle next time.”

To his credit, Samuel showed no fear, even after the very real threat of his soul being torn apart, but that was to be expected of a high-ranking servant of the Hones.

Despite his dislike for his old adversary, Tholm recognized his competence. The consistent flow of resources and opportunities he provided to his family’s ancestral lands ensured a strong pool of talent to draw from.

He must have had that and more at his disposal to keep a Prestige-class assassin in a small town like this for months.

Dismissing that line of thought for the moment, Tholm turned to regard Lord Rohm, who was much less stoic about the sudden reversal in fortunes.

“Ah, I must apologize for the sudden entrance. I’m afraid I tend to be a bit overprotective of my apprentices, and Nick is a special case even among them,” he said, with a friendly smile on his face.

Most of the time, it wasn’t very effective, but throughout his career, he’d found that maintaining a facade of affability was an effective way to get nobles talking. As long as they believed that the rules of polite society protected them, they would reveal almost anything to keep the illusion alive.

“I can see why you would,” Rohm muttered, not quite as calmly, but at least he wasn’t screaming or begging for his life.

“Hmm, yes, he put on quite a show, huh? He can still be a bit flashy, but that's the privilege of youth. I’m sure he will learn to be more subtle as he matures.”

Rohm gave him a weird look, as if unsure of his angle.

“Your nephew acquitted himself well, too, from what I hear. Have you been training him personally?” he asked, beginning to subtly layer protective runes all around the room. He wasn’t so foolish as to cut off the connection between the assassin and his handler, as that would be an admission of his presence in town, and he wasn’t yet ready to do that, but he could obfuscate it enough to prevent whoever was on the other side from noticing anything.

“I have not,” Rohm admitted. He had the good grace to look a bit shamefaced, especially since, according to Nicholas, Terence had been the only member of the noble household to go into battle to defend Long Reach. “His training has been left to the Master at Arms of the castle, but I am glad he performed well in the field.”

The first couple of years after a dungeon was discovered were always chaotic, with entire towns being built overnight or even disappearing from the map, as its borders were very unpredictable. It wouldn’t be unusual for a minor noble house so close to the dungeon to suffer some untimely deaths.

If Horatio’s assessment of the kinds of monsters that might be found within its depths was correct—especially considering the recent werewolf attack—then Tholm could see a lot of benefit in propping up a friendlier face to lead Long Reach.

Still, he wasn’t a barbarian. He wouldn’t kill the lord unless the man gave him a reason.

“Well, I suppose it wasn’t your priority, then?”

His question, though completely innocent, drew a frown from the lord and prompted the assassin to attempt another struggle, which he had to stop a moment later as the hooks Tholm had placed around his soul began to dig in.

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He didn’t even bother to look at the man, keeping his focus on the lord.

“I have been busy managing the foreign influence over my town for a while, yes,” Rohm admitted. He didn’t seem pleased, but he also wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the hand Tholm had offered.

If he threw the Hones under the cart, he’d keep his position, though with some restrictions. If he stubbornly clung to whatever promise they made him, he’d be dead before the sun was up.

“I see, tell me more of this influence,” Tholm said warmly.

And so the Lord spilled the secrets he’d been working hard to keep, explaining how the Hones had contacted him with offers of support and wealth if he allowed them to use his town as a base of operations, with even the deployment of an army of professional soldiers who would listen only to him, and not Captain Blunderbuss, who was distantly related to the Marquis and had thus far too much independence with the town watch.

Of course, he tried to sound reasonable, emphasizing how the honeyed words were accompanied by very real threats, and how the spread of the dungeon—especially the initial surge, before the Tower Master cleared out those monsters—had forced his hand, since he couldn’t reasonably ensure his people’s safety without such support.

“Ah, but you survived the night, didn't you? And you didn’t even have to send most of your men to fight,” Tholm interrupted.

Rohm clenched his jaw, clearly not used to having to swallow his pride. “If it hadn’t been for the unpredictable support, Long Reach probably would have fallen. I couldn’t rely on people I didn’t even know existed to save us, so I stand by my decision.”

“Nicholas is quite unpredictable, especially lately. His achievements will be remembered for a long time, of that I have no doubt. But you should have known better than to rely on a young teenager to keep your town safe,” he reprimanded lightly.

His words understated the reality more than the lord could have ever imagined. Tholm had watched Nick’s progress closely, even amid the tumultuous events Alluria and the Tower faced, and to say he was astonished at how much he’d achieved was to put it mildly.

Not only had his newest pupil surpassed every test his teachers had given him, but he also managed to convince that old warhawk, Lasazar, to teach him the secrets of Worldcraft, an art that perhaps only a couple of hundred people in the entire kingdom could confidently say they’d mastered.

If that wasn’t enough, his explosive growth in levels showed no signs of slowing down, and Tholm was seriously contemplating the possibility that he might reach Prestige in just a few years. It would be the fastest a human had ever achieved it, at least without the support of an entire kingdom’s resources, like what the Royal Family had.

It wasn’t that the staff exceeded what he could personally create; some of the more advanced masterworks in his spatial rings could overpower Nick’s focus instantly. However, the real challenge was the sheer level of complexity, the layers of different energies—not just affinities, but actual energies—and the distinct mark of the Tower itself on them. Tholm himself would need a long time to prepare for that, and he couldn’t guarantee the outcome would be exactly the same.

In the hands of an apprentice, it was an absurd achievement.

Lord Rohm’s incredulous expression showed he also realized how much he’d undersold the entire situation. Considering that the kid had fought off an entire werewolf pack on his own until reinforcements arrived and dealt much of the damage himself, he could understand why that was the case.

“But that is beside the point. We are at a crossroads, Lord Rohm, and you must decide. Will you accept my hand and help make your town genuinely safe, rather than a mere playground for forces far greater than you?” he offered.

From the bitterness on the other’s face, he knew the decision could only be one.

“I accept,” Rohm said after a long pause, and Tholm patted the man’s shoulder reassuringly.

“You’ll see, it won’t be as bad as you fear.”

That done, he turned to his bound captive, letting a small amount of his presence seep out from beneath the ten thousand sigils he kept it bound with most of the time.

The assassin’s eyes shrank into pinpricks as he became the focus of an Ascended being’s complete attention.

It also had the benefit of allowing Rohm to see what would have happened to him if he had refused, so Tholm didn’t hold back, plunging his hand into the man’s skull and pulling it out, with a writhing, grasping spirit caught within it.

Samuel’s soul squirmed, clearly unaccustomed to the material world. It was a thing of shadows and subterfuge, of loyalty built over many years, but also of selfishness and a touch of sadism.

Tholm felt no remorse as he pressed into it, seeking its every secret.

The order of the World was not meant for mortal races to ponder, let alone understand. Heaven ruled above, Hell howled from below, and mortals toiled in the material plane.

That had been how it was for eons, and how it would continue to be for eternity.

That was, until a man—and it was a man, not an elf or a dwarf, despite what their myths recounted—decided he had enough and that there was more to life than just suffering under the yoke of invisible tyrants or the wicked blades of the Abominations.

He failed in his dream, of course. A man’s life, without the support of true mastery, was simply too short. But he sparked change, ignited the same ambition in hundreds more, and from those hundreds, thousands emerged, and then more, until it was statistically impossible that someone wouldn’t reach their goal.

One day, a conduit was created to channel the energies of the Heavens, the Hells, and, most importantly, the World, so mortals could sleep peacefully without fear of what those higher powers might do to them.

That was the birth of the First Tower, born from Human Ambition, the eternal prison of the Others, and the Infinite Lighthouse for the daring.

Things changed over time. Rules once thought to be absolute were broken; some gods submitted to the new laws and spread their influence through followers, while others resisted and were cast out. Demons continued to claw at the fabric of reality, but they, too, had to adapt, becoming subtler and, in some ways, more dangerous.

Yet it was undeniable that ambition had changed the world. It was a kind of ambition recognized once more, if much more narrow in focus, and thus gave the boy a small push in the right direction.

It wouldn’t be the first, nor the last time. Most of those attempts failed to become anything noteworthy, and even the successes were often only minor. But for once, had a good feeling about the one it had blessed.