The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

Interlude WM [105.5] The Lords Duty

Ulfar Salstar was the embodiment of ruthless ambition, a man whose gaze never wavered from the conquest of power. To him, people were nothing more than disposable instruments to be used, discarded, or broken as needed. His mind allowed no room for sentimentality, no patience for weakness. Loyalty was a meaningless concept, family a vessel for his aspirations, and friendship an illusion entertained by fools. The only currency he valued was strength. Those who wielded it were worth his respect; those who did not were mere stepping stones on his relentless ascent. Nothing, no bond, no principle, no obstacle would keep him from ensuring that the Salstar name stood above all in Yuhia.

The First Princess’s proposal was intriguing, but ultimately, Ulfar saw little value in reclaiming Ingrid from the frontlines. She had failed him. A spouse was a strategic asset, not a burden to be salvaged. Her continued survival mattered only insofar as it served his goals, and in this, death was as useful as life. As a war slave, she elevated the princess’s name—but as a martyr, she would elevate the Salstar legacy. Each victory won in her name, each whispered tale of her sacrifice, would only bolster his family's dominance. She had already given him Ragnar and Eira; her purpose was fulfilled. Should she die, the bloodline would persist, and with it, his empire. Nothing else mattered.

“Lord, you look troubled. Are you still weighing the Princess’s words?” Sølve’s deep voice carried through the dimly lit office, smooth yet unwavering.

Ulfar’s fingers stilled against the desk, pulled from his thoughts. He lifted his gaze, finding his Left Hand seated at the far end of the room, a book resting idly in his lap. Sølve had removed his veil, revealing the stark contrast of his charcoal-black skin and the bone-white tribal tattoos that stretched across his face. It was a stylized wolf, its fangs bared in eternal defiance. A mark of the Ophelion people from the western frontiers. His golden eyes, sharp and watchful, studied Ulfar with the patience of a predator gauging its prey.

Ulfar tapped his fingers against the polished wood. “You look like you have something to say. Speak.”

Sølve inclined his head. “I think you should take back Lady Ingrid,” he said without hesitation. “She has spent nearly eight months at the front and has surpassed every expectation. She has distinguished herself beyond what anyone anticipated. The latest reports—”

“I know what the reports say.” Ulfar’s tone was clipped.

“Then you should also see her value. If she dies, we lose more than just the Sword of Salstar. Until Eira can take the mantle, our house is left exposed.”

Ulfar scoffed. “You believe a few victories against druids earn her the right to return?”

“I believe that you and I both know the First Princess withheld something from you. And I believe you are being petty, forcing Ingrid to remain as if you care about atonement. You don’t. You never have. The past is dead. Only actions matter now.”

Ulfar’s gaze sharpened like a blade against whetstone, his fingers curling into a fist. For a moment, silence stretched between them. 

Ulfar exhaled a slow, measured sigh. “You have lingered in my presence too long, Sølve. You are starting to make too much sense. Get in contact with the First Princess. Tell her I agree to the terms as she has specified.”

Sølve inclined his head. “Yes, Lord Ulfar, it shall be done.” He slipped his veil back over his face, shrouding his expression once more.

Ulfar pushed back his chair and strode toward the door, stepping into the corridor without another word. The matter was settled.

“Eira. What did I tell you about eavesdropping?” Ulfar said as he looked up into blank space. “I know you are watching. Get your brother and meet me at Thrand’s stable in fifteen minutes.”

The well hidden divination magic that had been observing him vanished with his words. He looked at the space for a minute longer before turning and walking down the corridor. A smile tugged at his lips. She had been improving rapidly recently. Something put drive in her and she finally revealed her skills. Perhaps Ingrid's failure had been a boon for the Salstars.

***

The recapture of Gladsheim was a victory for the wendigo, but it was far from the war’s conclusion. If anything, it had become the spark that ignited a new and more dangerous escalation. The druids were rallying to the north, reorganizing their fractured ranks and fortifying their hold on the territories surrounding the Holy City.

More troubling, however, were the fluctuations in magic emanating from druid-controlled lands. The patterns were erratic, raw, and unnatural, suggesting something far worse than mere battlefield siege magic. If intelligence reports were correct, the druids were preparing to unleash Eschaton Spells. Such arcane works were catastrophes capable of leveling entire cities.

If it were true, then the Holy War was about to enter an entirely new and terrifying phase. Gladsheim in full functionality would have the magical fortifications to defend against such spells for a time. However the holy city had been ravaged by war and by monsters. Its defences magical and physical had long crumbled to the point defence would have to come entirely from the wendigo themselves.

That is when overhead the soldiers of Gladsheim heard the roar of a mighty beast. Soldiers in the ruined city turned their gaze skyward, their bodies seized by a primal dread. The sun dimmed as an immense shadow passed overhead, vast wings blotting out the sky, stretching seemingly without end. The dragon’s cry was a sound like the wrath of an angry god and it shook the very bones of Gladsheim. Yet the beast did not descend. It did not attack. It flew on southward, with a speed no rider nor spell could hope to match.

Skaði saw the beast and her eyes widened. The generals around her mouths were agape with the majesty of it. To her it was just a red dragon, she recognized it and knew what it meant. Ulfar was here, that dragon was Thrand. He was headed straight for the enemy fortification. Right for the location of the druid Eschaton Spell formation.

“Prepare the city’s fortifications as much as possible,” Skaði commanded sharply, turning on her heel.

“Jötunn Skaði! Where are you going?” Heimdall called after her.

She did not stop. She did not slow. She knew what this was.

“Do not follow me,” she ordered. “Stay here and ensure the city is safe.”

Magic surged around her like a coming storm. Her body shifted, twisting, expanding, her form dissolving into shadow before solidifying into something vast and terrible. Her body changed into that of the wither dragon. Her wings lifted her off the ground with a mighty flap and in moments she was gone. The skies had her and she would follow her husband to prove herself in his eyes. She knew that is what he wanted. There was no reason for Thrand to take him over the city if it were not a sign to follow.

***

“Eira.” Ulfar’s cold voice cut through the rushing wind, a command wrapped in a name.

Eira confirmed her eyes glowing with divination magic. “She is following like you said she would, Lord Father.”

Ulfar, Ragnar, Sølve and Ebba, Ulfar’s Right Hand, all sat on the back of the armored lesser red dragon. Heat radiated from beneath them, swelling within the dragon’s throat as they closed in on the druids’ first defensive position. Below, the enemy scrambled. Spells fired. Mounted druids took to the sky. Ulfar stood on Thrand’s head looking down at the rapidly forming druid defensive line. 

“Ragnar, Eira. Watch carefully.” Ulfar’s voice rose, deep and absolute, cutting through the chaos like a blade. “These are the enemies of our people. These are the filth who dare claim our True. They are unworthy of life. Unworthy of forgiveness. They deserve only one thing. Death.”

Thrand opened his maw, and what erupted from within was not merely fire. No fire burned like that. No fire devoured like that. The world vanished in a flood of blue-hot obliteration. Magical shields shattered as if they never existed. Familiars withered to ash in an instant. Druids and their desperate defenses were erased, their bodies unmade, their very existence scoured from the world.

There was no resistance at all. Anyone unlucky enough to be consumed by the flames were merely gone, no chance of survival. There was only annihilation.

Ulfar turned his gaze upon Ragnar and Ebba, his command final. “Kill the survivors.”

“Yes, Lord Father.” Ragnar did not hesitate.

Without another word, he and Ebba leapt from Thrand’s back, plummeting toward the burning ruin below. Ulfar did not slow. Did not look back. Did not offer mercy. They knew what was expected of them; absolute victory. And he had no intention of stopping.

***

Skaði flew over a battlefield made into a volcanic wasteland. Red lightning and darkness magic danced in a sea of flames. Two lone wendigo fought against a tide of druid soldiers. She saw Ragnar and Ebba, both of them using magic and blades with deadly accuracy. She could not stop to fight alongside her son. She knew this too was a test. She was the Sword of the Salstar, the Jötunn of Winter and she would do her duty with everything she had in her.

The grand formation of the Eschaton Spell was ahead and that was Ulfar’s target and it would be her target too. Thrand was fast but not as fast as Viggo, her familiar whose form she took. She saw the massive red dragon ahead as she closed the distance with every flap of her wings. 

Ahead of Thrand the druids had prepared with many spells and barriers. Druids mounted on griffins, cockatrices and wyverns. They dove to attack. Skaði would not let them. Like a bolt of lightning she passed Thrand her dragon form dwarfed by the massive red dragon. Her claws and talons were covered in blood in moments as she tore through the enemy ranks. No one closed the distance to touch Thrand.

“My Sword.” Ulfar's voice roared across the battlefield. “Show me that you have not grown dull!”

He pointed toward the heart of the formation. There was a colossal glowing barrier around it where a mana storm raged overhead. The fury of the storm was drawn into the chanting war mages below. The very air trembled as they funneled unimaginable power into the orb of pure mana at the center of the formation.

Skaði knew what needed to be done. Her withering breath erupted in a devastating blast. It was a maelstrom of entropy that devoured magic and life alike. The barrier shimmered but held. Above, the sky darkened and then, an eye of pure starlight ignited, seething with celestial wrath. 

Skaði recognized immediately it was Ulfar’s grand formation. A grand formation required countless mages to create. The complexity alone would shatter a single mind, strip a single core to nothingness. This conventional logic fell apart when dealing with Ulfar Salstar, who was no mere mage. He was the greatest Starlight Mage of the generation.

Skaði carved a path through the chaos. Despite the savagery left behind her wake at first glance her every strike was measured and calculate. All so Ulfar could complete his grand formation with absolute certainty he would not be interrupted. The barrier loomed before her, its radiance blinding, its power immense, but she did not hesitate. She never hesitated.

In the blink of an eye, she shifted. Her towering draconic form collapsing into the lithe deadliness of her wendigo self. Her snow-white hair, streaked with the blood of the fallen, billowed behind her as she leapt.

A druid warrior barely had time to gasp before her sword plunged through his chest. She vaulted from his dying mount, blade humming with anti-magic, and drove it deep into the barrier.

The reaction was instantaneous. Hundreds of war mages convulsed as their own magic turned against them. Their cores, once conduits of power, became executioners. The lucky ones simply collapsed. The less fortunate burst apart, consumed by the very energy they sought to wield.

The barrier flickered and cracked. Mana leaking and being disrupted Skaði’s anti-magic. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to destroy it alone. She looked up and saw the Eye of Starlight the moment it released its wrath in a beam of celestial fury. The barrier shattered like glass. In the same instant, Ulfar’s magic descended upon the druid’s formation. The explosion of magical force should have consumed her but it didn’t. Ulfar’s magic was absolute, destroying only what it intended.

She was falling. Before she could react, arms caught her. She felt their unyielding strength and knew it was Ulfar. The blinding light faded, leaving behind only death. Where an army once stood, there was now only a crater.

Skaði looked up at her husband, her breath uneven, her voice barely above a whisper. “Lord husband… I… I…”

“We have much to discuss,” Ulfar said, his tone unreadable as he set her gently on her feet. His gaze turned toward the battlefield’s remains, where embers smoldered in the ashes of their enemies. “For now, we shall return to collect the Heir.”