Buzz—
Milky-white purifying light wrapped around his body, and a surge of newfound power poured in. Charles closed his eyes, feeling the wave of strange new knowledge flooding into him as his spellcasting abilities took another leap forward.
First, his Spell Slot maximum rose from fifty-seven to sixty-four—an increase of seven, a whole 5th-level spell's worth—not insignificant, really. But that was just a bonus; the real prize was the new ability provided by the Hexblade subclass:
Armor of Hexes.
The effect? Any foe affected by your Hexblade's Curse has a 50% chance for their attacks to be nullified outright—as if blocked by some unseen armor. That's why they call it "Armor of Hexes."
Put simply, it's a god-tier skill for soloing bosses. Next time Charles faces off with a heavy hitter, his survival odds just went way up.
That meant he could save a lot of spell slots he'd otherwise dump into Shield, and start using more offensive spells instead.
Like Staggering Smite or Banishing Smite…
Thinking of those spells, Charles couldn't help but frown slightly.
Despite the names, both focus more on utility—one terrifies, the other banishes—they're functional tools, high on mana cost but not exactly devastating in terms of damage.
If you wanted raw bang-for-buck in a "smite" style ability, the spells weren't actually the best choice. Uh…
Divine Smite was out of the question—that's paladin-only and an exclusive godsend for them. Hexblades simply can't get it.
But, among the Warlock's Eldritch Invocations, there actually was a high-value strike option:
Eldritch Smite.
Same deal—costs two spell slots, just like Divine Smite—and hits just as hard. Plus, it comes with an extra perk: it can knock prone any foe no more than one size category larger than you.
It was just, for now, he had way too many things on his plate. He'd have to work it into his training schedule, one thing at a time.
With that in mind, a mosquito buzzed near his ear. Andny's voice piped up: "Master, someone is here to see you—looks like they're from the District Office!"
The Insect Witch had been obsessed with raising her daughter lately, paying zero attention to outside matters. Still, she was diligent in her basic tasks, keeping a close eye on everything around the monastery.
Charles's expression changed slightly at the news. He quickly put away the mini-beholder, got up, and left the scriptorium to greet them. When he opened the gates to the monastery, he saw a huge carriage parked outside, embroidered with the Liberl Port City Hall insignia.
Several middle-aged men in crisp black suits—with perfectly styled curls—were climbing down from the carriage, looking sharp and official. Spotting Charles, they beamed in surprise: "Lord Charles, what keen perception! We've only just arrived and you're already here to greet us!"
Charles smiled, noncommittal. "What brings you gentlemen to see me today?"
The lead official straightened up. "We're here representing City Hall, for your investiture. You've no doubt been looking forward to this—please, take a look at this map. It details the boundaries of your new fief."
After his ennoblement, the size and exact location of his fief hadn't been announced—everything was too rushed before New Year's, no time to prepare the details.
Now that the holiday was over, it was time to make good on those promises.
"By law, future taxes from these territories are to be remitted to you, and all local official appointments require your approval." The bureaucrat explained Charles's many privileges as a life noble, concluding, "Congratulations!"
Charles nodded with a polite smile as he accepted the map and unfolded it on the spot. Realistically, he knew that as a life noble, he'd be lucky to see any real cut of the taxes, and his power over appointments was mostly ceremonial—a rubber stamp, really.
But the real problem was, from the looks of things, there wasn't much tax revenue here anyway.
"…Huh."
Staring at the mapped territory assigned to him, Charles couldn't help but make a subtle face. "Rubble District? Wait, no—this isn't even in the Rubble District anymore, it's in the middle of the Ridgecrest Plateau…"
He honestly hadn't expected that. Technically, those lands weren't even under the actual control of Liberl Port: even the sprawling Rubble District was mostly outside the city's authority, and their local governor's seat was still vacant.
So… after everything, they gave me a place like this?
Charles mused wryly—and caught the lead official's awkward smile.
"It's like this, my lord Count," the man explained, "perhaps you're not aware, but it's Empire of Sein tradition—whoever conquers or tames new territory, that land becomes their fief."
"Ridgecrest Plateau has always been imperial land. It's just that, in recent years, due to all sorts of troubles, the empire's lost any real control over it."
"But we've heard you've not only won the loyalty of many of the Mountain People, but established a camp there. In practice, you really have tamed that territory, so it's only right you be granted it now."
Charles got the picture. No wonder Laeral Silverhand had granted him so prestigious a title—his fief itself was a poor, remote region, ringed on all sides by hostile Mountain People. This was the city's way of having him guard the frontier.
Still, it wasn't all bad. Ridgecrest Plateau was no economic center, but it was rich in rare herbs and minerals—plenty of untapped potential. And dealing with Mountain People wasn't impossible; for him, this was acceptable.
At the very least, on his own land, he really would wield true authority.
With that thought, his mood lightened. Charles joked, "I should be given hereditary nobility, then. That land was won by my own hand—shouldn't my family rule it for generations?"
The officials all laughed, but didn't take the bait. Instead, one added, "Besides that, the Upper Chamber has reserved a seat for you."
As he spoke, another man stepped forward, carrying a square box about thirty centimeters wide. "Inside are your Upper Chamber legislator credentials and related documents. Please accept them."
Charles nodded, reaching to take the box. The Upper Chamber—Liberl Port's legislative body—was only open to nobles, tasked with approving government projects and policies.
But in truth, the chamber had been effectively neutered; to appease international conglomerates, its real power had been stripped by previous Lord Mayors, and by law, its members couldn't even hold executive government positions.
Simply put, they had no real authority.
But the stipends were enormous—as compensation for their lost power. So, once officials got too old or tired, their disciples or heirs would find ways to get them into the Upper Chamber—a soft retirement gig.
Likewise, those who lost political power struggles might be politely "kicked upstairs," never to threaten anyone again.
And here he was, not even started yet, and they were already shuffling him away…
Ah, whatever. His real power came from his own combat strength, not from any city office.
He didn't care.
Turning the facts over in his mind, Charles nodded lightly. "I'd be honored to serve in the Upper Chamber. I look forward to using my wisdom to help shape this city's future."
Even if the place was toothless, it would be a good venue for making connections.
He was genuinely looking forward to it. The clerks smiled as well. "Then we'll look forward to seeing you shine. The first Chamber session is on the 7th—please don't miss it."
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