Smugglers and Dungeons!

Icarus's hands were shaking. There it was. A glowing piece of metal.

 His scissors were glowing as well.

"Let them connect," Basila's voice was the cold whispers of winter.

 Icarus didn't want to. He was just a child. Even one who was old enough to think about wives.

"Let them be reforged," the piece of metal was small. Not big enough for the entire greatsword to be reforged.

Icarus didn't believe that he would be able to lift the entire thing. The entire greatsword.

And…

It was one thing to wield scissors. Another a dagger.

"You have only once chance," Basila continued, the teachings of her own mother slipping into her voice. The soft hand behind the throne.

The woman who had ruled after Basila's father, Justinian, had died defending the Pearl of the World.

"And if you miss it," her soft hands closed around his right one. Gently. So, as if she was holding a bottle with poison. "You will never get it again."

"I'm afraid," he said truthfully.

"I know," she moved his hand closer to the blade. The hand which was holding the other piece of the most magical elven sword there was.

One forged with the blood. Blood produced from the blinding of Icarus' own people.

"But you can't die the way you are now," she continued, as the scissors touched the piece of Order which was lying on a purple pillow. "You said it yourself: these lands are ripe for the taking. They need to be taken over. They need to become our home."

"People will die," it was his last fear. A fear he had known about before, but never thought that he'd need to worry about.

Baldwin nudged his back. Icarus nearly fell into the treasure chest.

"I know," Basila repeated.

The iron around Order's two pieces, Irina's and Isbul's melted.

Icarus let the pieces go.

Soon, there was a hiltless dagger lying on the pillow. It had elven runes, but also, Icarus noted, a horselord's sigil.

Just the Y of the Dulo. Without the two lines.

"Take it," Basila urged on. If she were to be a Tsar maker, then so be it. Even if they were never going to get back her lands, her people would be free!

Icarus had promised!

"You take it," he tried to make a step back, but Baldwin nudged him again.

Basila's fingers twitched. Oh, how she wanted to. But the Y mocked her. Showed her who Basil's heir was.

For all that she wore the Emperor's name, she did not share his blood.

Because he wasn't just an elf. He had been an elf, true, but he had also been a horselord.

The one who had achieved what his war hound of a grandfather had dreamed about. With the blood of his own people on his hands.

A cruel man, a man who brought order.

Basila couldn't call him kind.

No one could.

"I can't," she said finally, berating herself for taking so long. "It's not for me."

She let go of his hand. She was a Tsar maker, but a Tsar had to take his own steps.

"No," she heard a whisper in her head. Something old and primal was still there. The last traces of the dungeon core? "Basil was no Tsar."

She sighed.

No, that wasn't the core.

That was her own wretched self.

Icarus took the dagger, placing it in the pouch where he had stored the scissors. Then, he lifted the pillow.

There, over a silken scarf, were mana stones!

"Those are worth a fortune!" Basila gasped, as she reached inside the chest.

Icarus tried to take one as well. Wanting to see what the big deal was.

Only to be zapped!

"Hey!" He yelled.

Basila blinked, already absorbing a mana stone, so she could level up.

"Huh. I guess that the piece of Order was your loot, and the mana stones are for me," she reasoned.

Baldwin neighed twice behind them.

"Well," Basila said, as she began to absorb the best mana stones, sorting out the weaker ones which were just precious gems with just the whisper of mana into a pouch. "I guess that we won't be eating rats for a while!"

"If we end up being rich, the Emperor will know," Icarus said, not wanting to rain on her parade, but not wanting to risk everything for just a couple of days of luxury.

"I know," she told him with a wink. "I have a plan!"

She took one final mana stone, which was just a blue river stone. That one she wrapped in the silk it had laid on.

"Trust me!" She told him, as she gave him the river stone. "After all, we are both artists!"

Basila felt remorse for just a second. The dead painter couldn't say otherwise anymore, but they really shouldn't make such use of his name.

And yet, they didn't have much of a choice.

Her eyes traveled to the pouch where the most destructive weapon in elven history was kept hidden.

Order needed a hilt. She was going to make sure it was a wooden one, yes, but it was going to be one fitting the blade.

"Come on! Baldwin can…" Basila paused. She looked at Baldwin, who showed off his fangs at her.

She knew that the horse didn't mean to threaten her. No, Baldwin was showing her that he, unlike them, was a mob.

One which wouldn't be welcomed in the human town.

"Ok," Basila said, as she touched Baldwin on the snout. "If you know a spell, you can use my mana."

Maybe it was too much to trust in the horse. Mana was not something which could be taken back.

But Baldwin had saved them more than once. The boss mob connected to Basila through the broken crystal in her pocket.

Soon, he was just a red horse. One with a saddle!

"Baldwin, you're awesome!" Icarus proclaimed, who was soon atop his mount's back. "Basila, come on! We have to get back to Ingrid!"

His words were spoken with mirth, but Basila had to bite back a huff.

Ingrid…

The elven lady still took Icarus' hand. Fully intending to get rid of her rival…