Sworded Affair

Boredom alone was far from enough to break her, as the sixth floor had proven, but that didn\'t mean she enjoyed it by any means; and guard duty, as it turned out, was very boring indeed. It had been a spur of the moment decision; to use Oversoul to possess a soldier without attempting to exert any control. It had worked, thankfully, because Emma did not know nearly enough about soldiering to fool the rest of the unit, let alone the camp as a whole, whereas by leaving the body\'s original inhabitant in the driver\'s seat, unaware of her tagging along, there would be no unusual behaviour to potentially expose her.

A week of busywork had followed; her host dutifully guarding the camp, manning the trenches, or carrying heavy loads between the two, interspersed by occasional diversions up one of the guard towers. Granted, Emma knew this method of hiding wasn\'t entirely foolproof; Marcus had previously mentioned that he could detect possession amongst other vectors for infiltration, and that such invasive interviews were the norm in the Empire when dealing with matters of national security.

Thankfully, I don\'t have to fool the Empire of the modern day, just whoever\'s running this trial.

Emma felt the soldier\'s head turn, listening to some shouting from afar she couldn\'t understand. It wasn\'t a language barrier, strictly speaking, but rather a testament to the sheer amount of jargon prevalent in military life, something that she suspected had only gotten worse in the centuries since. The feeling of her body moving without conscious input was a strange one, not very pleasant but tolerable in service of a greater aim. As the soldier emerged into the open, Emma was expecting a new assignment, or perhaps a rest period. Instead, she saw a mass assembly for the first time since Day 1, everyone standing in formation whilst a number of priests walked along the front, burning incense and chanting under their breath.

[That\'s Turn Undead they\'re casting. Curious, no?]

Not casting it very well, clearly, Emma snarked, before recalling her status page. Actually never mind, I\'m not counted as undead any more, so it\'s no wonder I\'m not affected. What am I now, for that matter?

[My descendant.]

Wasn\'t I always?

[In blood, yes, and thus in the eyes of the mortal world. Magic, though, is not transferred as easily as blood; in order to qualify as a descendant, you need to inherit at least some of my power as well. Notably, this doesn\'t have to happen at birth; many of the strongest families in the Empire are completely meritocratic, sponsoring promising children to learn their magic, with those who prove successful being adopted and taking the family name in truth.]

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The rest get an early grave, presumably?

[What? No, not at all. There are never many practitioners to begin with, particularly when times are lean. We\'re talking tens of thousands across the entire Empire, compared to hundreds of millions of mortals; each potential citizen is valuable, and not to be culled for such petty reasons. A memory wipe to remove any truly sensitive information, and a non-disclosure agreement for the rest is sufficient. Only serious crimes will see a practitioner executed; merely not being talented enough does not meet that threshold.]

That\'s surprising, Emma replied after thinking it over. From what I\'ve learned so far, most magicals don\'t seem to care all that much about human life.

[That\'s also true, which speaks to the prevailing viewpoint of the Empire. You\'re only considered a person if you practice magic; everyone else is little more than an object, or perhaps charitably viewed as a pet. A practitioner wilfully killing a mortal stranger would be charged with murder in the Courts of England; whereas the Empire would view this as destruction of public property, with a fine to be paid in proportion to the earning potential of the deceased. Granted, the line isn\'t entirely clear cut; emotions such as love rarely care for such artificial divisions, and plenty of practitioners do marry into mortal families and wouldn\'t hestitate to avenge them.

As a basic level of protection, a public registry is kept of these \'protected\' mortals, and few will willingly harm someone on this list without a very good reason. After all, if you\'re willing to harm one person on that list, you\'re probably willing to do it again to someone else. That makes the whole community quite nervous, and usually, the would-be serial killer vanishes shortly after, never to be seen again. Most families will add protections beyond this as well, assuming they have the means; talismans containing bound spells that even a mortal can use, enchanted clothing and jewellery or even weapons, and so on.

The very strongest families, meanwhile, are protected entirely by the family head. Nobody has ever harmed a member of the Paradox family; because anyone who attempts it is retroactively erased from the timeline, and therefore their attempt never happened. In order to qualify as my descendant, you had to show sufficient aptitude for one of the schools of magic officially recognised as part of my family practice. Death magic makes the list; and by severing your mortal tether whilst persisting in the living world, you have shown sufficiency. This is important, because it will allow you to access certain resources that survived my death, ones not easily obtained even by the Masters of this era.]

That\'s all well and good, and I appreciate the help, but that still doesn\'t answer what I am now. In technical terms, rather than familial.

[Oh, sorry, I misunderstood the question there. I suppose the closest term you\'d be familiar with is a Lich; only instead of a dusty pendant in some crypt, your phylactery is the System itself. As long as the System exists, your anchor to the world remains and you can live on. Keep in mind this doesn\'t mean you can\'t be killed; certain attacks that strike the soul directly can do this, just look at Noah as an example.]

I thought Dad didn\'t know anything about magic until recently? Emma questioned. That\'s a bit advanced for him, isn\'t it?

[Let\'s just say his build is far from optimal, but highly specialised in certain areas, and leave it at that.]

Before Emma could reply, a commotion at the front drew her attention. A priest had fallen to the ground, blood pouring from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth; rather than help him, his fellow clergymen were mostly busy examining the blood spilled, whilst one of them stabbed the fallen priest through the heart. That same man spun around immediately after, pointing his bloody dagger directly at her.