Arcane Exfil

“We’ve raised three properties this past summer, appointed for those newly ennobled – knights, barons, lords – and for the champion we’d resolved to summon,” Warren said. “You shall have the first choice among these three, for such privilege is due your station.”

Cole glanced outside as they passed by a federalist-style home. “Still a bit surprised we’re getting this done during training. But hey, ain’t arguing with that.”

“Yes, the arrangement was amended. Proximity to the district should spare you needless travel.”

Warren’s car rolled to a stop before 23 Ashard Street. Cole had seen places like this in the movies – the kind of mansion some British lord would probably live in; the average noble aristocrat’s home in most isekai anime. Everything still had that fresh-cut look to it, the stone barely weathered. The granite seemed to flow right up from the ground itself, no seams or mortar lines where the foundation met earth. The builders must’ve used magic to shape the whole property from the bedrock up.

Miles whistled as they walked past wrought-iron gates, through a simple but well-kept courtyard. “Well, hot damn. Reckon they’re serious ‘bout keepin’ their heroes comfortable. Didn’t figure we’d be livin’ like royalty just for signin’ up.”

“Privileges due your station,” Warren repeated, opening the front door. “Shall we?”

The entrance hall was… well, elegant as fuck. Marble floors, wooden panels climbing thirty feet up the walls, and enough space to park a truck – and not one of the smaller Japanese ones, either. A full 18-wheeler.

“Little much,” Ethan said, failing to hide his smile. Even he had to appreciate the absurdity.

“This? But a glimpse,” Warren said, gesturing to their right. “Come – let us see the drawing room.”

The drawing room was nearly the size of a small hotel ballroom. Plush chairs and divans were arranged in conversational groupings, all in deep reds and golds. Tall windows filled the space with natural light.

“Through here’s the music room.” Warren led them through a side access.

“Music room?” Mack asked.

“A common indulgence. We deem it a mark of cultivation.”

The music room was smaller, but no less grand. A grand piano sat near tall windows, light spilling across its surface. Damn, they spared no expense here. And if that was the case, then how much would his phone be worth in comparison?

Past that was a hallway that led to another large space – a formal dining room that could seat twenty easily. “Bit big for four people,” Ethan noticed.

“You’ve expectations to entertain,” Warren replied. “Though your status affords you privileges, it comes with obligations as well.”

But what the hell could that even mean? That they had expectations to consider, as heroes? That these expectations included entertaining people? Probably both, knowing how these noble things usually went.

Cole stared at the massive table. He could already guess who he was referring to, but still… he had to ask. “Entertain uh… who, exactly?”

“Fellow Slayers. Local nobility. Visiting dignitaries. His Highness, the Crown Prince Valerius. Her Majesty, Queen Adelise. His Majesty, King Armonde.” Warren shrugged like this was perfectly normal.

“Social responsibilities,” Miles sighed. “We’re soldiers, not–”

“Nobles,” Mack finished, not sounding particularly thrilled about it. “But that’s exactly what we are now, technically. Most isekai heroes end up with titles and estates. High-ranking Slayers get knighted, and I imagine being heroes puts us at… what, lords? Barons?”

“Baronets,” Warren said.

Ethan crossed his arms, leaning against the table. “So… what, we’re expected to throw dinner parties?”

“Shoot, if they want good eatin’, I’ll smoke ‘em a proper brisket,” Miles grinned. “Eighteen hours, post oak, just like my daddy taught me. Ain’t never had complaints yet.”

Ethan snorted. “Because nothing says ‘Victorian nobility’ like Texas barbecue.”

“Hey,” Mack added, “if isekai’s taught me anything, it’s that the people always go crazy for whatever food the hero brings over. I mean, y’all saw the miso and Japanese food from that Aurelia place. Burgers, pizza, Texas barbecue, hot dogs, a good taco – could start up a restaurant chain, honestly.”

“That’s…” Warren paused, considering. “Indeed, summoned heroes have introduced new cuisine to Tenria. Perhaps they may well enjoy yours. Though, you’ll still be expected to maintain certain formalities, particularly in the upkeep of this property and of your image.”

Cole frowned. “So, hiring staff’s a must, then?”

“Indeed, and they are no random sort, should that be your concern. OTAC maintains a registry of thoroughly vetted personnel. Most Slayers employ no fewer than basic staff for the maintenance of their homes.”

“A chef, some maids, probably a butler to manage it all,” Mack said. “Usually how these things work.”

Ethan seemed reluctant. “Yeah, some help? Guess that makes sense. Dinner parties? Not so much.”

“The social obligations may be… deferred,” Warren admitted. “There are many justifications for a Slayer’s absence, particularly when such men bear the title of hero. But excuses will not last forever.”

Cole exchanged looks with his team. If they couldn’t fight it, at least they could take solace in what benefits the job offered.

They moved onto the kitchen. Copper pipes snaked across the ceiling, feeding into the stoves and that familiar rune-etched icebox in the corner. Smaller than the castle’s setup, but just as functional. The adjacent pantry was equally impressive, boasting climate controlled storage, and even had something like a dumbwaiter system connecting to the dining room above.

Upstairs revealed eight bedrooms, each with its own sitting room and private bath, plus quarters for servants. The master suite was practically an apartment unto itself. The library and study were down another hallway, partially stocked with simple books on the history of Celdorne and magic.

Overall, the property was objectively impressive. Hard not to be, considering their previous accommodations ran the gamut from FOB tents to that safehouse in Khaldat. Still, no reason to rush the decision when they had options. Better to see them all, even if this one was already a significant upgrade from anything they'd known before.

“What’s the next one like?” Cole asked.

The second property, 8 Brunswick Square, was a short carriage ride up the district's main road. The design was boldly neoclassical – Corinthian columns framed the entrance, and the facade looked like something straight out of ancient Rome. The entrance hall doubled down on the impression, complete with a coffered dome that would’ve made Hadrian proud and gilded excess that would’ve made Gatsby cry.

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Warren led them through the same sort of rooms they'd just seen. Different furniture, different wallpaper, but the same haughty aristocratic formality. Miles barely glanced at the formal dining room this time. Ethan looked like he’d already made up his mind to veto this property if anyone showed even the slightest bit of interest. Even Mack, who usually had something to say about everything, stayed quiet as they climbed another sweeping staircase.

The only feature that even got much reaction was the conservatory – massive glass-enclosed garden space that reminded Cole of pictures he’d seen of the Kew Gardens. Probably exactly what they were going for, complete with tropical specimens that had no business surviving this far north. Not that he could ever imagine actually using this space, but at least it looked pretty.

By the time they reached the library, with its two-story classical portico and fancy ass frescos, Cole was ready to move on. The amenities were there; same Celdornian conveniences as the first house, but buried under layers of aristocratic dick-measuring. Maybe there were people out there who’d be willing to don the toga, but not him. And certainly not Ethan.

“Last one, then,” Warren announced as they pulled up to 15 Kerling Road. “Our latest construction.”

The last one was really something. The mansion at Kerling Road made an interesting first impression. Though unmistakably a noble's residence, it had none of that architectural peacocking they'd seen at the last two properties. Hell, they even had a garage out front, with enough space for several Forëas.

“Well shit,” Miles said, turning a slow circle in the entrance hall. His grin said everything – after two properties of stuffy excess, this place actually felt comfortable. The looks on the others’ faces suggested they’d already locked this place in as their pick, and honestly? Cole had to agree. But they at least owed themselves a complete tour before finalizing it.

“The architect took inspiration from the ruins of Istrayn. A touch too foreign for my tastes, I confess. But the modern conveniences it affords, such as the electrical wiring, cannot be dismissed.”

Cole felt his heart jump a little bit. Celdornian ‘modern’ was nowhere near their understanding of modern, but it was as close as they were ever gonna get. “Electrical wiring?”

“Yes, outfitted throughout.” Warren gestured to an aerochalcum plate mounted in the wall. “All derived from Istraynian ingenuity.”

Cole noticed more of the brass fixtures as they moved deeper into the house. They looked like some kind of early power outlets, more robust than what he’d expect from Victorian technology. Though, if the Istraynians were somewhere between the World Wars in terms of tech, it did seem plausible. From what he understood, they probably weren’t too far ahead of Edison’s time, but that was still impressive for this world.

“Alas, they see scarce utility. For now, their purpose is confined to the artifacts we recover – those we’ve not found much sense in hoarding. That our researchers strive to adapt them is no small ambition. Perhaps in due time these outlets will grow more useful.”

Warren brought them to the kitchen next. “Here, if you would, one such artifact.” He lifted a sleek metal box resting by a stove. “An authentic contraption of Istraynian make – prized, assuredly.”

“Is that…” Miles squinted. “A toaster?”

“Yes,” Warren said with a small smile. “Merely a device for toasting bread, but an artifact of rare pedigree nonetheless. Perhaps not as grand as its reputation suggests, but… serviceable, I trust.”

Cole had to suppress a grin. Here they were, standing in one of the pinnacles of aristocracy, and Warren was proudly showing off a toaster like he’d spent all his caps just to get it. Though considering it was probably hundreds of years old and still working perfectly, maybe that pride wasn’t entirely misplaced.

They continued through the rest of the house, finding more pleasant surprises with each room. The living spaces were open and bright, with tall windows and that contemporary almost-modern feel. Even the formal areas managed to feel comfortable rather than stuffy. The bedrooms were generous without being excessive, each with its own ‘modern’ amenities like magic temperature control. The workshop space attached to the garage was neat as well – probably meant for hired craftsmen, but Cole could already see how well it would serve their needs.

The team had grown quieter as the tour went on – not from disappointment, but because they’d stopped looking for reasons to say no. This place managed to thread the needle perfectly: impressive enough for their new station without drowning in aristocratic excess. This was it.

“Well,” Cole said, “Unless anyone objects…”

The unanimous grins were more than sufficient.

“A sound choice,” Warren said. “I shall see to it that your belongings are conveyed from the castle, and that someone is sent to pick up Sergeant MacPherson.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document. “Your itinerary for the weeks ahead. Now, if you’ll pardon me.”

Cole accepted the document. “Appreciate the tour.”

After the front door closed, Miles plopped onto a nearby couch with a long exhale. “Home sweet home. For real this time, huh?”

Cole looked around the entrance hall, still taking in the space. After everything that had happened in the past month… “Yeah. Guess it is.”

“Should make it a bit more like home then,” Mack said, walking over to the grand staircase. He jabbed a finger at the large empty wall space above it. “You know what this is missing? A big fat picture of Mercer, in that goofy ass getup – the one with the top hat, and the uh, the fancy neck ruffle things…”

“Cravats,” Ethan supplied from near the front door.

“Wait, why me specifically?” Cole asked.

Mack smirked, as if there couldn’t possibly be any other answer. “Cause you’re the team lead? Every noble mansion’s got it – giant portrait of the head of household looking all important and shit. Usually with some fancy props to show off their status.”

“Like what, my busted AK?” Cole snorted. “Or maybe that toaster from the kitchen?”

“Nah man,” Mack shook his head. “Gotta be more… dramatic. You standing there all noble-like, demon head mounted on the wall. Or… hey, maybe they’ve got more artifacts laying around. We should check ‘em out.”

They spent the next hour wandering their new home. The kitchen especially got Miles’ attention; that walk-in cold storage was currently empty, but he was already talking about how much he could fit in there, all the exotic foods he could test out. Eventually they made their way upstairs to check out the bedrooms again, this time with more scrutiny – and to select their personal rooms.

“Damn,” Ethan said as they walked into the master bedroom. He approached the private balcony, checking out the view of the courtyard out front. “This is nice.”

Cole could already see everyone thinking the same thing. Best room in the house, hands down.

“Dibs,” Miles said.

Cole turned around, eyebrow arched. “What, so you want your picture hanging downstairs instead?”

“Oh, nah. Room’s all yours, chief. See, I’m talking about none other than Lady Kathyra Valise.”

“Didn’t peg you for a goth girl type,” Ethan said.

“Think it’s the other way around with goth girls,” Mack snickered.

“Fuck it. Totally worth it.” Cole couldn’t tell if Miles was dead serious, or just fucking around. “Y’all saw her. That voice? That… That charm? Ooowee! Now that’s the kinda woman who knows what she wants.”

“Yeah, to peg you,” Ethan snorted. “Next we hear from you, it’s gonna be from the darkest dungeon in her basement.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Y’all don’t see the vision. Not like I do.”

Cole smirked. He could somewhat see the vision. Despite Mack’s comment, she’d probably earned his approval already. But for Cole? Probably too much for him. Elina, though…

“Alright, I’ll take this room, then,” Cole said.

They eventually sorted out the rest of the rooms. All of the rooms were plenty big, each with its own character, so there wasn’t much to fight over. Miles took the corner suite since no one seriously objected – probably because it was the furthest from the others. The walls seemed soundproofed so it wasn’t really necessary, but at least the man was considerate.

It wasn’t until they were back downstairs that Cole remembered the papers Warren had given to him. He pulled out the folded itinerary. Basic integration stuff for the next couple weeks – briefings, policy reviews, equipment maintenance, and so on. But… something near the bottom of the first page caught his eye.

“Training mission to Nolaren in two weeks,” he said.

“The forward post with the goblin problems?” Mack asked, looking over his shoulder. “Could be interesting.”

“Got time to settle, at least,” Ethan said. “Get the place running before we head out. Maybe figure out the whole ‘staff’ situation Warren was talking about.”

“And commission that portrait,” Mack added with a grin.

Cole shook his head. “Yeah, fuck no.”