"A Jarl."

James found himself in what he first assumed was hell. A fire raged in his surroundings, their orange flames licking at the remains of buildings and streets. Countless hulking figures accompanied the blaze, their forms indistinguishable beyond the veil of prismatic light that surrounded James and Naomi.

'You're not in hell,' Faust's voice called to him. 'James… We're in Yorktown.'

James was silent, his gaze moving to the ground. He was in the town's middle, dead center on the courtyard where he once fought for his life. He froze when he spotted three distinct figures that were closest to his position. Kate Rowan was here, alongside Dirk Andal and—

"Seamus," he whispered, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of his friend. Seamus was passed out, an unhealthy amount of blood staining his clothes. James turned back to the countless silhouettes that surrounded the courtyard. Orcs, all carrying an assortment of brutal weapons. Clubs, axes, and rusty cleavers were raised toward his direction, terrified and shocked gazes focusing on the Jarl.

James felt a cold anger rise within him, his eyes growing hot. He took a step without realizing it, the veil of light falling as he stepped out of its glow. He felt his boots click against the wet cobblestone beneath him, the surface of which was slick with dark blood.

Everyone watched him, emotions a mix of awe and terror. There were even a few angry looks shared amongst the savages that stood before the Jarl.

"Kate," James said softly, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Are you alright?"

Kate took a second to answer, clearly still in shock. "I-I'm alright. I'm not dead…" There was a pause, and she spoke again, a bit more clearly. "I need to get Seamus to the tavern. We have a… a makeshift infirmary over there. My Jarl, if may I ask? Are you really… here right now?"

James didn't answer the question. He only stared at the orcs ahead, not daring to break his line of sight. One of the orcs, the closest to the courtyard's center, began to walk towards him. The orc was taking slow, cautious steps at first, clearly unsure of who he was looking at.

James just watched the brute, his eyes burning hot with tempered anger. He could hear Naomi step out right beside him, her breathing heavy from exertion. She didn't say anything as James stepped forward, his gaze locked on the approaching threat. The orc's gait had quickened, and his caution was thrown aside. He ran now, heavy cleaver dragging behind him.

When the orc reached the Jarl, the world seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Then it passed, the sound of steel and iron striking before being followed by the soft gurgling of blood and unspoken words. James could feel heat radiating from his body as he skidded to his feet, his longsword unsheathed and already slick with blood. The orc fell to the ground right after, a long gash running from his upper chest to his throat.

"Get Seamus to safety," James said to Kate. "We can hold them off for the moment."

He didn't get to hear a response as the pillar of light behind him flared with a burst of power. A multitude of footsteps and heavy boots echoed into the thick air as soldiers rushed from the center, nearly all bearing Lukas' symbol. They formed behind James, spears, and poleaxes raised toward the surrounding orcs.

"So it did work," Malik's voice muttered behind James. "How quaint."

The gate fell apart right after the necromancer's comment, the pillar of light that emitted from the courtyard's center dying not long after. This left James and his reinforcements pretty much surrounded. Still, the Jarl was not worried. No, he was far removed from such despair. He only felt a blinding anger, barely held back. It seeped through the cracks in the form of ethereal light that burst from his helmet's visor like a beacon.

"What are your orders?" a soldier asked, golden pin on his cloak marking him as a Captain of the Boar's contingent. He shifted in place, his spear falling for just a moment as he took in his surroundings.

"We take back the center," James said, flicking the blood from his sword. "Once it's cleared, we start taking back the island. Bit by bit." He tilted his head slightly to the Captain. "As for the orcs. We take no prisoners. We kill them all."

James turned back to the surrounding orcs, all of whom were already beginning to prepare for battle. The Jarl of the White Raven—no, the Draugr—stepped forward and focused his will, his intent, on a single casting.

"Carapace."

Eilif had been alive for hundreds of years. He had seen wars waged over shrines of power and battles fought in grand cities. He had witnessed the fall of kingdoms and the rise of darker powers. Dark Lords and Heroes of Light, Eilif had seen it all. As he was now, with all he had done and seen, the Immortal man never expected anything to surprise him.

Which made this experience all the more shocking. Eilif found himself staring at the sight of a Vröstbridge, its angelic pillar shimmering with the colors of a rainbow. He half-expected to see Delphine's Herald himself glide down from the heavens, set on cleansing this island into holy ash.

Eilif knew better, of course. He knew Delphine's only available Herald was currently useless. They hadn't even managed to summon Lightbringer or even open a connection to their goddess. Still, that didn't make this event any less surprising. A Vröstbridge was something that hadn't appeared in a hundred years, last summoned by Matthew Kord himself. Only someone as powerful and as blessed as him could be even capable of creating one.

"This… This is something else," Eilif muttered. He had a feeling that this particular Vröstbridge wasn't intentional. In fact, he was willing to bet this bridge of light was the result of differing factors all coming together at just the right time.

"I hope you've taken in the sight, Wizard," the Immortal said, his head turning to his previous target. There was no one there. Only a small pool of blood remained. Eilif sighed, his head lulling to the side as he stood up straight. A rook's mistake. Never let your target out of your sight.

As Eilif contemplated on tracking the trail of blood left behind, something in his pocket pulsed with newfound vigor, almost as if the magical bridge had awakened it. Eilif searched his pockets, his hand coming out with a small glowing crystal that flashed a vibrant green. Its charge had been renewed, even with the significant distance from the pillar of light.

"A power reserved for the gods," Eilif muttered as he glanced toward the Vröstbridge, which had already started to dissipate. The crystal pulsed heavily in his hand, signifying to the Immortal that its target was close. Very close.

Eilif turned the crystal toward the direction of the chamber's ruins, which still smoldered with the remnants of that Wizard's Explosion. The pulsing grew weaker. He turned it to the east. Weaker still. Then he turned it toward Yorktown. It quite nearly leaped out of his fingers, its glow brightening.

"This island just keeps getting interesting," Eilif said before he promptly stepped off the cliff's edge.

The orcs roared in challenge, a trio of them already rushing at James with their rusted iron cleavers and wooden clubs. James breathed out steam as Carapace wrapped itself around him, the cost eaten by the overflowing energies that threatened to burst his ley lines. Even with the gate gone, its raw power had stayed within James. Which meant he was now as powerful as he was during Midsommar.

It empowered him as he ran, boosting his speed and adrenaline to an inhuman level. James felt his blood boil as he reached the first orc, his sword flashing toward the brute. Iron parried iron, and James sent the savage's weapon flying. The orc's look of surprise didn't last long, as his throat was torn by the point of James' longsword. Faust forced his body to the side right after that, making him dodge a blind swing from another of the orcs. James clenched his jaw in anger at the attempt, his sword lunging forth at the bastard's chest.

"Power Strike!"

The blade's tip sank into the orc, piercing his shoddily made armor like butter. James twisted the pommel right after, burying his weapon deep within the flesh. He attempted to pull it out but was interrupted when an orc's club swung right at his back.

There was a loud crack as the strike sent him stumbling away, his sword slipping from his hands. Pain flared within him alongside the heat of his strained enchantments. Yet James didn't falter. He just moved to the side, avoiding another, more clumsy swing from another brute who tried his luck. Chips of stone flew all around as the orc's cleaver hit the ground, missing the Jarl completely.

James used this chance to grab at the attacking orc's head, his left hand glowing as it drained what it could. He shoved past the memories and emotions, only feeling rage as he shouted,

"Ice Lance!"

The orc jerked in place as a spike of ice shot through his skull, the spell's cost expended from the energy James had stolen from it. As the corpse fell back, James seized its cleaver, his arms burning as Faust's spirit empowered him. He swung it right at the club-wielding orc, who didn't even have time to dodge.

"Power Strike!"

The cleaver tore through its shoddy iron helm, splitting its skull and sending arterial blood everywhere. James pulled the cleaver back right after in a stumble, the weapon's length almost the size of his own body. All around him, orcs hesitated, their stunned expressions watching him with clear shock.

"Come on!" James panted, his breath coming out in wisps of steam. Ice began to naturally form around his left side, his eyes flaring with an angry heat. "I'll take you all on!"

James, the Draugr, prepared himself as more of the green-skinned bastards rushed for him. He kicked his cleaver up into the air, its bloodied edge blurring as he swung it toward the first attacker.

'"Power Strike!!"

Blood spattered all over him as he cast another Power Strike, his throat raw from screaming the casting's name. The mangled corpse of the orc was soon replaced by another, who tried once more to get at James. Faust forced his body to step back, saving him from the orc's quick attack.

Another swing, another casting. More tried to get at him. Spells were cast, and ice was formed as James summoned every bit of strength within himself to fight the onslaught of orcs. His cleaver tore through both flesh and bone, empowered by both his own castings and Faust's inhuman strength. Still, even with the help of the spirit's strength and reflexes, he struggled to keep up with the overwhelming numbers.

Eventually, James would slip on the blood-slick cobbles of the courtyard, the piling bodies not helping in that regard. He caught his footing quickly but almost lost his head when an orc managed to catch him off guard. Thankfully, James was not alone.

Complex runes burned upon steel as a sword sliced clean through the attacker's wrist, its owner emerging from the shadows of the courtyard. Naomi had finally recovered from her ritual, her expression stone solid as she dispatched the orc in a flash of steel. She turned around to meet another that had gotten behind her, her katana glowing with magical enhancement.

Both Outlanders tore through the attacking orcs, who dwindled in number as others tried their luck on Lukas' soldiers. They didn't do much better, as even the Boar's forces gave them trouble.

James didn't care much for numbers. He didn't care if the orcs tried to flank or gang up on him. He only wanted to take down as many as he could.

"Power Strike!" he yelled. The stolen cleaver in his hands glowed a magical red as it carved through another of the brutes, the sound of ribs and tendons ripping apart filling his ears. He didn't care.

"Instant Reflex!!"

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James drained another orc, his left hand burning hot as he restored his dwindling reserves. Most of them were being used to increase his cryomancy, cooling his body in bursts of Summon Ice whilst he spammed castings and boosted his strength. It was here, surrounded by corpses and allies, that James felt something within spark alongside the anger. Thrill. It was a feeling unlike any other, fueling his rage whilst making his heart roar with challenge.

At that moment, James accepted what he was and what he wasn't. He was no righteous man coming to right wrongs and bring order to the chaos. He was something else. Something more.

Friend. Lover. Leader. Jarl. Draugr. Which one is more true to yourself?

Gryff's voice seemed to call to James there, even as the sounds of battle roared all around.

"I'm whatever I need to be," James growled in response.

And for now, he was the Draugr.

Dahlia stared at the dissipating pillar of light that had once blinded her and everyone around. That had come from Yorktown's center, no doubt. And it was full of power. It reminded the Frue of the Midsommar Incident when James had drawn the raw mana from the ley lines below. Even then, this spectacle had been stronger somehow. Dahlia could swear she felt her bones vibrate from the sheer intensity of it all.

'My ley lines,' Dahlia thought, her eyes blinking when she felt warmth encompass her like a passive spell. She reached inside and was surprised to find her spell slots restored to full capacity.

'No… No way.'

Did that light recharge her reserves? Dahlia had to double-check to make sure she wasn't under any illusions. Yes, her ley lines were brimming with power, ready to be cast. Almost on instinct, she turned to the others around her.

"What… What was that?" Elaine asked, her voice shaking with what was clearly fear and awe. The Bard had arrived at the hut not long ago, bringing with her the remnants of Silas' company. Dahlia had just finished healing the orc leader when the pillar of light appeared, drawing the attention of everyone around the hut.

"I have no idea," Dahlia admitted. "I was actually hoping that perhaps you would know, considering your knowledge of old stories."

"I don't think I've ever heard of something like this," Elaine said meekly. "Then again, I never really got my certification pin."

Before Dahlia could even consider heading toward that light, something twisted in her gut. Her breathing grew shallow, and her hands twitched. She turned to Marion, the undead standing nearby with a confused look. She turned to Dahlia, her glazed eyes becoming real, if only for a moment. Uncertainty flashed in those pupils, and the Frue knew something was wrong.

A man leaped from the shadows behind Marion, dagger flashing with speed. Dahlia didn't even have time to shout before he threw a stab toward the undead's neck. Marion barely managed to move out of the way, her hand already unhitching the rapier in her belt. She shifted in place, her body turning to meet the attacker.

The man skidded in the snow, his goggles fixed on Marion as she threw a stab toward him. He took the strike without so much of a stumble, the rapier's point sinking into his left shoulder. Dahlia watched with slow horror as he pushed ahead, ignoring the length of steel that ran through him. Marion tried to jump back, her hand letting go of the weapon if only to not get snared by it. It didn't matter.

The man in black grabbed the undead's wrist, yanking her close to him. In a smooth motion, he buried his dagger deep within Marion's chest. A guttural gasp escaped from the pale woman, who could do nothing as the dagger was ripped upwards, tearing through her flesh and opening her torso in a line of dark crimson.

Dahlia gaped at the sight of Marion's corpse falling to the snow, her killer pulling the rapier out of his shoulder. He turned to the Frue and the rest of the injured, who all went still. No one said a word, the air thick with tension.

Dahlia was the first to move, her hands raised toward the stranger.

"Entangle!"

Vine tendrils violently sprouted from the ground beneath the man, who swiftly dodged them without a second thought. He rushed toward the Frue, his dagger already pulled back for a stab. Dahlia cursed and stepped back, her fingers trying to form a second pair of runes. Too slow. He was upon her in a flash, the glass of his goggles reflecting her terrified expression.

Helen's sword saved her life at that moment, the nicked blade flying near Dahlia's nose. The last-ditch attack only missed the stranger by a few inches, but it was enough to get him to back off. He looked over at Helen with a quizzical tilt of his head, his dagger wavering as if choosing which target to gut first.

The stranger opted for none, his feet stepping back as more Ravens stepped in to help.

"Protect the Frue!" Helen ordered. The men moved to action immediately, spears and dented shields raised as they rallied around Dahlia. Many of them were still injured to some degree, as evidenced by their bloodied bandages and wavering arms. Still, they held strong, if only to protect the Frue.

"Don't let that bastard near her, understand?" Helen called, her sword pointing at the assassin ahead. Dahlia could see how the assassin relaxed a bit, his dagger falling a little as he watched everyone form ranks. The Frue could feel a chill run down her spine at the sight, her instincts telling her that this stranger was no mere man.

"Group up for all I care," he called, finally speaking. His voice sounded like it belonged to a man who had drunk nothing but svidka since the day he had been born. "If it makes you feel any better, I work quickly and efficiently."

Some of the Ravens faltered at his words, nervous at the amusement that was clear in that scratchy voice. Dahlia looked back at Helen, who didn't look too confident. The Marshal was still injured, her bandaged abdomen already sporting a red stain. Her earlier attack had ripped open the wound that Dahlia barely managed to heal.

"Don't listen to him," the Frue said. She formed runes with her hands, her voice calling to the men around her. "Light Carapace: Ten Fold."

Blue energies wrapped around those around Dahlia, bringing about a warmth that radiated for only a moment. The smell of berries followed that, letting the Frue know that her spell had taken hold.

"Cute," the assassin said before he rushed them all with the nonchalance of someone who couldn't have cared less.

Naomi could feel her buffs and enchantments wane, their magic running dangerously low. Her Improved Carapace fluctuated as an orc got a lucky kick, his boot nearly breaking ribs had it not been for her bolstered Resilience and other active Skills. Still, the strain alone brought a heat that was equivalent to an oven's.

"Counterattack!"

Her katana flew toward the attacking orc in a blur, its trajectory guided by magical means. Naomi felt resistance as it cut straight through the creature's soft neck, stopping only when it struck the spine. She pulled her sword back just in time to avoid a separate orc's wild attack. With gritted teeth, Naomi swung at him with all her strength. Her runes brightened as her blade buried itself halfway through the orc's head, fizzling out just as Naomi tried to pull it out.

She didn't even have time to react as another orc got close, his club coming in just as she pulled her sword free. Her arm screamed in pain as it was struck by the brute's crude weapon, her Improved Carapace finally taking all it could. It shattered in a shower of red magical shards, filling the air with static and tainting the iron atmosphere with the smell of raspberries.

The Outlander was thrown back a few feet, her body nearly falling to the blood-slick ground alongside the rest of the corpses. She thankfully managed to stay standing, albeit worse for wear.

"Motherfucker!" Naomi cursed, her left eye burning as it sensed the fluctuations of agony and rage. The orc rushed to try to finish her, its stupid expression of glee infuriating the young woman.

'You want to do this?' Naomi mentally asked, her left eye pulsing with excitement. 'Fine. Fuck it.'

With a swift move, the Outlander brought out a knife with her free hand, her arm still radiating pain. She ignored it, her eyes flashing beneath the blindfold as it enchanted the small blade. She threw it right after, missing the orc's head by just a few inches. It didn't matter.

Naomi felt her surroundings shift and change in just a blink, the wind rushing around her as she mentally reached for the flying knife. There was no command or word of power. It was just a feeling. An instinct almost.

One moment, she was on the ground. The next, she was a couple meters from the ground, her left hand grasping the thrown knife. The orc didn't even have time to process the Blink before Naomi brought down her sword.

'Power Strike.'

Her blade reignited with magical energies, its edge glowing a bright red as it cut through the flesh of the brute's collar. Naomi bolstered the attack as it tore through ligament and bone, her blade growing hotter as it went clean through the orc. She landed on the ground right after the attack, her Beholder eye throbbing.

Kill them all. Show them what you are.

Naomi pretended she didn't hear that distant voice, the one that sounded like herself. She chose to ignore the rhythmic pulsing of the eye, her focus on the surrounding battle. Lukas' soldiers were already pushing the advantage, their banner flying high as they killed and pushed back orcs. Most of the orcs were even ignoring Naomi, their focus more or less on trying to fight against the humans and… well, surviving him.

"Ice Lance! Power Strike! Summon Ice!"

James was tearing through orcs like a vengeful spirit of the damned, bright wisps of blue overflowing from his helmet's visor as he brought down both ice and physical devastation. For some reason, despite the Rune Gate's closure, he still had reserves to spare. Even Naomi, who had recovered all her spell slots from the botched gate, only had half of her reserves. Fighting the orcs had exhausted most of them, and using Blink didn't really help.

As Naomi caught her breath once more, her body slowly regenerating as she did so, she caught a glimpse of James' drain ability. It was quick, barely noticeable, but she saw as the Jarl siphoned from a stunned orc, frost forming around his bandages as his eyes flickered with renewed power.

'He's recovering his reserves with that drain of his…' Naomi realized. She watched with awe as the other Outlander used the stolen energy to cast cryomancy, more frost forming around his body. His runes flared between bright orange and neon blue, constantly fluctuating as ice formed to combat their emitted heat.

'Even if he's siphoning from those orcs, there's no way it's enough to keep his spell slots topped.'

Orcs weren't exactly natural spellcasters; their natural untapped reserves were lower than the average person's. Even if James was draining from an even dozen of them, his reserves wouldn't be able to keep up. Unless, of course…

"He's not draining just their reserves," Malik said. Naomi jumped at the necromancer who had suddenly appeared, his gaze on James. Almost on instinct, her sword arm wavered slightly as if debating on whether to kill the necromancer where he stood.

"Then what is he draining?" Naomi asked, despite herself.

Malik glanced at Naomi, his dark eyes meeting with hers. "Life, of course. Wisps and trickles of it, taken from beyond mere ley lines."

"Life?" Naomi repeated. "You mean…"

"Convergence," Malik confirmed. He grinned. "You're familiar with the concept, aren't you?"

"You can say that," Naomi said. She looked back at James, who had finally managed to run off the rest of the orcs from the courtyard. Many retreated, whilst the ones too injured to fight were summarily executed by Lukas' men. James just stood there at the courtyard's edge, watching the retreating orcs. Bodies lay around him in heaps, many still twitching as they slowly bled out.

The sight of it brought back a distant memory for Naomi of a time when she had been witnessed to cursed powers and holy flame. Blood-red moons cast a sinister light upon a single person, their eyes burning with blue fury.

Naomi shook her head, the images shoved away into the recesses of her mind. She'd rather not remember those times. Not now. Especially not now.

"They're retreating!" a Boar Captain shouted. "The courtyard is ours!"

Cheers sounded out from the surrounding soldiers, their bloodied spears and swords rising high in the sky. James was still watching the burning town, his body far from relaxed. Naomi could see how sparks of blue accompanied the growing flames, the sight filling her with dread.

'Magically infused flames. Impossible to snuff out unless a trained spellcaster intervenes.'

Naomi turned to Malik, who shrugged.

"I don't have any spells that could help in that regard," he said. "I'm not a Wizard. I can't just cast a storm spell and have this entire blaze be done with."

"Still, there has to be something we can do, right?"

"We can always find the White Raven's Wizard," Malik said, his finger tapping against his chin. He turned around, facing the east. His expression froze, and a small grimace appeared on his lips. Naomi turned to look at what Malik was seeing and felt her heart stop.

In the chaos of the moment, she had neglected to notice the flaming crater that burned atop the island's lone mountain.

"Oh fuck," Naomi cursed.

"Looks like someone might have had the same idea," Malik muttered. "I suppose this is the part where we all separate into two different teams?"

"No," James called. Both Naomi and the necromancer turned to look at the other Outlander, who was stomping his way toward them. "Everyone will continue to retake the town. I'll be going east."

"Alone?" Naomi asked. "At least take Malik or me with you. We still don't have an idea of the situation. There could be more dangers waiting beyond that treeline."

"No," James repeated, his head shaking. "All the orcs are in Yorktown. If anything, there are more allies that way than here."

"Then why are you going?"

"Faust and I can sense something over there," James whispered, his right eye glowing brighter. "Something that I need to take care of. Alone."

'He can use Lifesense?' Naomi thought. 'Or something similar?'

"If you're so insistent, fine," Naomi said with a sigh. She started to head toward the courtyard's center, passing the young Jarl. "Just don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I won't," James murmured. "It's not going to be like last time."

Naomi stopped at that but remained silent. She glanced at James one more time. He was still staring toward the treeline, where the flickering of distant fires began to grow more apparent. Without a word to anyone, James simply ran eastward, leaving behind a ghostly blue trail.

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