The chairs were notably soft, surrounded by a bordered field of flowers ranging from roses to various pure roses, most of which were not native to the southern dominion. Jean sat on a wooden chair with a round table between herself and Solane.
Solane was instructing a Lost to pour her a drink. The red-hodded hunched man trembled with excitement each time Solane commanded him to keep his hand steady or avoid spilling. Yet, the Lost seemed lucid enough to deliberately spill a few drops each time, apparently enjoying the reprimands. Even at her age, Solane was still a Vixen, far more attractive than most her age¡ªnot to mention possessing the scentless power of charm.
This game of scolding and spilling continued until Solane finally grew exasperated and dismissed the Lost, who left looking somewhat dejected.
They sat beneath a black canopy, shielding themselves from the falling red dust that swirled down in wisps and occasionally in red tendrils.
This dust would have overtaken the world if not for the fact that grass and crops could absorb it as fertilizer. Farming was nearly effortless, as the dust nourished plants directly, making farm labor almost obsolete... well, except for the Beastmen¡¯s fields.
Jean smiled as she picked up her porcelain cup, which held a dark, reddish tea. With no men around, they could enjoy the drink¡ªwithout having to stop due to customs. Taking a sip, she relished the cold tea¡¯s soothing effect.
She glanced down at the cup, noticing a pale blue seed-like object inside... an icestone, used to keep the drink chilled.
Aren¡¯t these mostly found in the lost Eastern Dominion? Jean wondered. So how are they still in use here?
As if sensing her thoughts, Solane smiled, raising her cup to her red lips and taking a sip. ¡°Sanguines have many uses in the empire,¡± she said. ¡°Fortunately, a branch was developed with powers that mimic the icestone... Although, unlike the eternal ones from the eastern dominion, these melt after a while.¡±
¡°So it¡¯s just regular ice, then,¡± Jean replied.
Solane chuckled softly. ¡°Yes, it is just ice. But with the world being so hot, this is a luxury.¡±
¡°Doesn¡¯t the western dominion also have icestones?¡±
¡°Yes, but they¡¯re less natural than one might think. There, a particular ability is continually at work, creating these rare icestones,¡± Solane explained. ¡°I imagine the continent would have burned up long ago if not for those occasional icy reprieves.¡±
¡°Maybe one of their ancient gods caused it.¡±
¡°Possibly.¡± Solane shrugged. ¡°But it¡¯s unlikely. The giants have only ever worshipped two gods¡ªthe first, whose name has been lost to history, and the second, the Dust or Dawn Bringer, who, according to records, died during the third or maybe fourth millennium.¡±
¡°When the eleven gods freed humanity from the other races?¡± Jean asked.
¡°Precisely¡ But that millennium saw so many events that some records contradict one another. We may never know the exact sequence. Still, none of the giant gods were associated with cold. This is evident in the Golden Giant branch, which predominantly wields powers of war and sunlight.¡±
Jean nodded, though her true interest lay in the events of the third millennium. ¡°Madam Solane?¡± she asked. ¡°The Mother has given me an... urgent mission that may require an understanding of the third millennium.¡±
Solane studied her, then smiled. ¡°You know, you would have made a wonderful daughter.¡±
Jean froze, lowering her head. She had never known her parents, and perhaps this was why such words affected her deeply. Yes, she would have loved having someone like Solane as her mother.
¡°Although, your tendency to avoid learning might be a bit of a drawback,¡± Solane teased.
Jean looked up, laughing softly. ¡°Yes, yes.¡±
¡°Alright.¡± Solane took another sip of her drink. ¡°The third millennium is notable as the era when the Empire of Man was first established. However, some obscure research claims the current empire is identical to the one from that time.¡±
Jean was confused. Hadn¡¯t the empire always been the empire? So what was this about another empire before? If there was one, who founded it? Surely it would be related to the Sovereign Ruler.
¡°Of course, that information could be inaccurate,¡± Solane continued. ¡°The third millennium was a time when humanity was enslaved by various races and their gods. Then came the Mad King¡ªsome say he was human, others claim he was a demon. Either way, he led an army of men clad in rusted iron, waging war on all of humanity...¡±
"During the war, he collaborated with numerous other gods, one was said to be a wolf, and another was said to be the queen of the vampires. Of course, each of these beings had names, but that also has been long lost to history." Solane took another sip of her tea.
The Mad king worked with other gods? That would make sense since he was made. But then how about black? What role does he play during that time? Jean thought, but couldn''t gleam any answer.
Solane eyed her and added, "Nonetheless, what we know after the war was that there was no longer any God walking the world. For some reason, after the war, the gods retreated back into their divine Kingdoms, and could only interfere through special means. Outside that, many Gods also died during that time...One was called the Flesh Ancestor."
Jean froze. Did Madam Solane just mention the Full title of a god? What happens now? Was she about to die?
79: Hoisted up
Time passed, yet Jean remained frozen, unmoving. How long would it be before her soul burned out of her body? But despite her wait, nothing happened.
Sensing something unusual with her, Solane asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±
Jean snapped. ¡°You spoke the title of a god! That¡¯s forbidden knowledge¡ªI shouldn¡¯t know it!¡±
Solane frowned.
I shouted. Jean lowered her head regretfully. ¡°Sorry.¡±
Sighing, Solane replied, ¡°I understand your concern. But the Flesh Ancestor has long been... dead, and so speaking her name does nothing.¡±
So knowledge of dead gods can be known? Jean was intrigued by this revelation. ¡°What other gods died during that time?¡±
Taking a sip of tea, Solane glanced at the flowers, now covered in a thin layer of fallen red dust. ¡°I don¡¯t know all their names, but one thing is certain¡ªmany perished. Perhaps because of that, those who remained withdrew, choosing not to descend to the human world.¡± She continued, ¡°On the other hand, many new gods also emerged during that era.¡±
¡°Who?¡± Jean asked.
Solane smiled. ¡°Most of them are still around.¡±
¡°Oh.¡± Jean quieted herself, then added, ¡°Right, back to the Third Millennium.¡±
Solane nodded. ¡°Back to the Third Millennium then,¡± she said. ¡°At that time, the Empire¡ªor whatever form it took then¡ªstill existed, but eventually, the Mad King rose and declared war on the Southern Dominion. He commanded an army of metal soldiers, a powerful wolf, and a figure who wore an iron crown¡ He¡¯s often linked with laws and distortion.¡±
Black!
¡°There was also the ruler of the vampires, the Blood Moon Queen,¡± Solane continued.
So the Blood Moon Queen is gone too, Jean noted based on Solane''s revelation.
¡°In any case, with this assembly of gods, vampires, and wolves, he attacked the domination,¡± Solane explained. ¡°But he was defeated, although many other gods were killed in the chaos. It¡¯s said that the Nightmare Plains became so horrific because a god died there.¡±
A god died in the Nightmare Plains? Jean knew that Donnersburg could only be reached by crossing the Nightmare Plains. Supposedly, there were treasures scattered across that desolate land, from world-altering artifacts to scrolls of ancient knowledge that could reveal secrets of the past. But due to the horrors dwelling in its dark regions¡ªand the dreams that turned strange there¡ªnot many dared to explore it, save for the legions stationed in conflict against the city of storms. Though some safe passages existed, they were under the City¡¯s control, thus not easily accessible to the empire.
Jean didn¡¯t know much, but she was aware enough to follow the events in the East. Occasionally, she wondered why the Tau hadn¡¯t seized the chance to attack the City for the Well of Grace¡ Maybe something held them back?
She shrugged off the thought, focusing on Solane¡¯s story.
¡°The vampires disappeared¡ªor perhaps went into hiding in the Red Coral Forest¡ªafter the death of their queen,¡± Solane went on. ¡°The demonic wolves were entirely exterminated, the God of the Fairies died, and the Eastern Dominion vanished around that time as well.¡±
¡°And Black?¡± Jean asked. Though she enjoyed the tale, her primary interest lay with this being.
Solane¡¯s smile deepened. ¡°Black disappeared around the war¡¯s end.¡±
¡°So he wasn¡¯t killed?¡± Jean had already knew, but she wanted confirmation.
Solane nodded, adding, ¡°There¡¯s speculation that a faction arose after his disappearance. Perhaps to bring him back.¡±
Jean frowned. What faction could that be?
The sheer number of factions sometimes annoyed her¡ªmany had origins that were ancient and obscure.
Vin entered the interrogation room.
The room was a dark space, faintly illuminated by eternal lamps burning high on the stone walls. Most were positioned well above her head, casting a dim glow over the room. In the center of the chamber, a figure knelt.
It was a battered young man with thick, vine-like dark hair cascading down his back like tangled whips. His brown jacket hung open, exposing a well-toned torso¡ªnow bruised and bloodied from relentless beatings. The man¡¯s head was bowed, blood trickling down his face and seeping from his lips.
He was silent; even after the beating, he neither panted nor cried out. The resilience of the Maw people was unnatural.
Vin crossed her legs and sat. There was nothing beneath her¡ªjust the empty air and the stone floor.
Distortion really does have many uses.
She observed him quietly. How much more can he endure? she thought, grimacing.
Time passed in silence until she finally asked, "What are the Maw planning?"
Nothing. The man didn¡¯t respond.
With a sigh, Vin uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her hands clasped. The jewels and metal on her soundhand clicked together, creating a resounding chime that broke the silence. They weren¡¯t ideal for a quiet space, but she wouldn¡¯t take them off¡ªthey were her mark as a Knight City citizen.
"Why were you carrying a soul bomb?" she asked.
More silence. He refused to speak.
Vin remained undeterred. "You know, I don¡¯t actually have authorization to question you, given that you aren¡¯t an external threat aiming to destabilize the Empire. But I¡¯m probably the nicest interrogator you¡¯ll get. So wouldn¡¯t it be better to talk to me than to have it forced out of you by an Invigilator?"
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The man shuddered slightly, dots grew up appearing on his skin. Clearly, the mention of the Invigilator had struck a nerve. But why? As far as Vin knew, he hadn¡¯t yet encountered one. His injuries had come from the guards, who likely vented their frustrations on him.
Vin waved her soundhand. "Don¡¯t you want to explain yourself? Perhaps, by some miracle, you¡¯ll get to walk out of here instead of being dragged and tried in the law Room in chains or¡ in a coffin."
The man slowly raised his bloodied face, his deep black eyes glinting like those of a cornered animal, ready to fight with every last ounce of strength. He looked menacing, but Vin remained unfazed.
"Why would I talk to an Emperian filth?" he spat.
This again. Vin resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Many among the Maw still harbored animosity toward the Empire, frequently organizing riots or protests over the Empire¡¯s rule. This could be felt from the usual terrorist attacks, like the one at the train station the week before. Vin found their resentment a bit ungrateful. Yes, the Empire had absorbed their clan, but unlike empires such as the Tau, they hadn¡¯t been enslaved. They were given resources and the freedom to continue their pagan worship of the storm. And yet, they still revolted.
Vin sighed. "If you don¡¯t want to talk to me, then perhaps you¡¯d prefer a visit from an Invigilator with his ringing voice."
The man was silent for a moment, but then he twisted into a deranged smile. "Ha, you filth and your heretic powers!"
Really? What¡¯s the difference? If our powers are heretical, then what are yours? Don¡¯t you follow the same means of evolution? Vin held back her frustration at the absurdity of some Maw beliefs. Still, she kept her tone calm. "I suppose we are heretics¡ªto you, at least¡ªbut you still haven¡¯t answered my question."
The man¡¯s smile widened. "To free God!"
"To free God?" Vin raised an eyebrow. "When was God ever imprisoned? There are eleven gods, and last I checked, none of them seemed particularly restrained."
The man scowled. "Those pretenders? True God came before them and is the greatest."
"Sound logic, I suppose," Vin replied dryly.
"Those beings you call gods are mere pretenders. There is only one God, and She fights for us. For her sake, we must bring her back to this world."
Vin frowned. "She? Isn¡¯t the storm a male deity? You know, because of its violent nature."
The Maw shook his head with a bitter chuckle. "Uh, Such ignorance! When did I ever say I was speaking of the storm?"
Now that¡¯s interesting. Vin realized her time was short. The Invigilator would be arriving any moment, so she needed to extract as much information as possible before that happened.
"So, what?" she scoffed. "You no longer worship the storm? Doesn¡¯t that make you the heretic?"
The man roared, blood dripping from his mouth. "Of course not!" He stared down at the stone floor. "Our ancestors erred, worshipping something they didn¡¯t truly understand. We believe in the storm, yes¡ªbut not as some male force. No! The storm is female."
"And Olmer?" Vin asked, tilting her head. "Is he also among these believers?"
The man looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with an intense fury, as though she had just uttered the most offensive thing imaginable.
"Olmer?" he hissed. "Olmer? That heretic! How dare you mention his name to me?"
"Just making conversation." Vin stretched her sleeve-covered arm, causing the white kefna fabric to wrinkle slightly. "Why would a shaman of the storm even be considered a heretic? What, did he choose to continue worshipping the male version?"
The man snarled. "How dare you?"
He really should tone it down, Vin thought.
"Olmer is no shaman," he said. "He doesn¡¯t worship the storm¡ªneither the male nor the true female form. The words you speak are nonsense!"
"Then what does that heretic worship if not the so-called true storm?"
"How should I know?" The man scoffed. "Shouldn¡¯t you filth do something useful for once and kill that heretic?"
Vin smiled. "That''s what we intend to do. But you still haven''t explained why you were carrying soul bombs."
The man clamped his mouth shut, refusing to speak further.
"See," Vin leaned forward, as if seated on an invisible chair. "I understand trying to unseal your ¡®Storm,¡¯ but how do soul bombs help with that? Or is it the souls themselves you need? Either way, shouldn¡¯t you be a bit more forthcoming with me? You were so eager to speak about Olmer¡ªwhy not about this?"
Silence.
After a few moments, she shrugged. "I suppose, in the end, only one method remains."
The man looked directly into her eyes. "What method?"
Before he could finish, Vin flicked her hand, and the man was thrown backward, slamming against the wall with a resounding crack! She even heard the faint snapping of bones. Must be painful.
He winced but remained silent, impressively resilient.
She waved again, and the man was tossed up, slamming into the ceiling, then the right wall, left wall, the ceiling again, the floor, the back wall, and once more upward... over and over.
This continued for what felt like an unreasonably long time¡ªlong enough that even Vin was surprised. Any moment now, the Invigilator would arrive. She had used most of her favors to gather information on Olmer¡¯s disappearance. While those who provided the information were indifferent to the case of one missing Maw individual, after recent events, Vin couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something significant was unfolding in the city¡ªsomething hidden yet visible. Hidden in plain sight.
But whatever it was, she intended to uncover it. One of these days, I¡¯ll focus on my actual duties and stop chasing everyone else¡¯s mysteries. She mused, finally slamming the man onto the now blood-stained floor. It looked like a bucket of reddened water had be poured over the ground.
Surveying the amount of blood splattered across the black stone walls and floor, she was struck by the unyielding defiance that still flickered in the Maw man¡¯s eyes. Truly tenacious.
"Won¡¯t you just talk and end this?" Vin asked.
The man remained silent.
Just then, the door behind Vin creaked opened, revealing a dark-skinned, white-haired man¡ªa rarity among the Canense, likely a Maw. The irony wasn¡¯t lost on her. The Invigilator was dressed in a distinctive kefna: a long white coat that draped down, white trousers, and a silver monocle on his right eye.
The Invigilator glanced at Vin, who immediately sprang to her feet and bowed. "Sir Invigilator!"
He regarded her calmly. "Once again, you involve yourself in matters outside your responsibilities."
Vin flushed. "I have hunches."
"A good intuition, no doubt," he acknowledged, then turned his gaze to the battered Maw man. "Has he spoken anything of relevance?"
"No," she lied. In truth, the man had revealed enough to be worth investigating, but Olmer was her personal project, and she didn¡¯t want the Invigilators taking over. After all, the Maw man was captured merely for possessing a soul bomb, unrelated to Olmer.
The Invigilator nodded and opened a box he had brought. Inside was a transparent bottle¡ªa potion, no doubt.
"He¡¯ll be compelled to talk now," the Invigilator said, extracting the bottle as he approached the Maw man.
Perhaps noticing the bottle, the Maw man¡¯s expression twisted in horror as he began to back away, scrambling. "Stay away! Don¡¯t come near me¡ªstop, stop, stop!" he cried. "Stay back, heretic!"
The Invigilator remained unfazed, steadily closing the distance and uncapping the bottle. "Me? A heretic? And what does that make you?"
The Maw man kept backing up until his back hit the wall. His eyes widened with terror. "You¡ªyou¡¯re a Maw? Then why are you doing this? Stop!"
The Invigilator paused briefly, then said, "My origins don¡¯t prevent me from purifying heretics!"
With that, the Maw man¡¯s resolve shattered, and Vin could see it. The fury that had burned in his eyes transformed into something primal. Something was wrong.
The man gritted his teeth and let out a hoarse laugh. "Peace be upon the world... For the Goddess so loved the world that she gave herself to protect it."
What in the black is he saying?
Before Vin could respond, a blinding white light burst forth from the Invigilator, enveloping her as if a shield of light had formed around her. Startled, she nearly distorted it, when a high-pitched ringing invaded her ears.
The Maw man said something, but she couldn¡¯t hear him over the ringing. Moments later, he was hoisted into the air, white light pouring from his mouth and eyes!
He screamed!
80: Eat
Vin panted, pressing her hand against her chest in an attempt to calm her frantic heartbeat. She glanced at the composed Invigilator who stood over the corpse of the maw.
The dead man¡¯s eyes, once dark, were now hollowed and replaced by gaping black wounds that leaked dark, viscous blood. His nose and mouth shared the same fate, and his body had withered, clinging tightly to his bones as though stripped of all flesh.
What in the Black happened? Vin¡¯s back slid down the wall, her knees drawn up. She lowered her gaze to the dark stone floor, tracing its cubic joints. How did he even die? Suicide? Maybe, but how? He wasn¡¯t a sanguine, and even if he were, what kind of power kills its own user?
She turned her attention to the Invigilator. He appeared disturbingly calm, as though this were something familiar. She watched him for a moment but soon grew impatient. Rising, she placed her hands on her thighs and asked, ¡°What happened?¡±
The Invigilator turned, his pale eyes glinting with an almost purifying intensity. ¡°He died.¡±
Well, brilliant. I thought I¡¯d missed it. Vin forced a smirk. ¡°I can see that, but how did he die?¡± She paused, then added, ¡°You don¡¯t seem surprised. If anything, you seem...aware.¡±
¡°And how do you determine that?¡± the Invigilator asked, his tone neutral.
Vin thought for a moment. ¡°For one, you covered my ears and blocked my sight, meaning there was something I shouldn¡¯t hear or see.¡±
¡°Now that you understand, why are you still curious?¡± he replied.
The room seemed to brighten slightly.
Vin nodded in understanding. Something is definitely happening with the Maw.
A thrill rose within her.
The whole situation smelled of excitement and adventure.
Dunn sat cautiously in the high-backed stone chair. Across from him sat the knight in golden armor, who had yet to remove a single piece of his armor since his arrival in the dominion. Doesn¡¯t he ever get hot in that? Dunn wondered.
He knew he would.
Standing beside the knight was the revered Scribed Maiden, her head lowered, still shrouded by a golden hood. Despite the weakness that washed over him every time he glanced at her, he couldn¡¯t resist looking. Beyond their roles, the maidens possessed an almost irresistible beauty.
The grace of God dwelled within them.
Silence grew heavier with each passing second. Dunn considered speaking first to break the tension, but doing so would imply an authority over the silent knight. So he held back and waited.
Fortunately, the wait was short.
¡°You trained yourself in sun-breathing?¡± the knight¡¯s voice boomed, giving Dunn the impression that the very walls of his sanctum trembled. Dunn imagined that if the knight ever shouted, no walls would remain standing.
¡°No,¡± Dunn replied. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about sun-breathing; I was merely imitating something I¡¯d seen others do.¡±
¡°I see,¡± the knight said. ¡°Quite a talent you have. To master by accident what takes others years to achieve.¡±
Dunn flushed at the compliment. ¡°Mastery is a bit of an exaggeration. By the Warrior God, I¡¯m still just an adept.¡±
¡°Nevertheless, you will soon become the truest version of yourself,¡± the knight said, his golden armor radiating an intense energy. Dunn found himself wondering: Could mana be golden?
He quickly refocused. No room for distractions in front of the knight. Should I ask why he summoned me?
The knight placed his plated hands on the table between them, causing it to groan under the weight. ¡°In a few hours, we¡¯ll depart on the rescue mission, but before we go, I have something to share.¡±
The true nature of the rescue. Dunn¡¯s attention sharpened. He couldn¡¯t afford any distraction now.
The knight continued, ¡°I suppose some of you, if not many, have wondered about the mission¡¯s purpose.¡±
Surely.
¡°In truth, I am here to retrieve something from these lands.¡±
¡°What?¡± Dunn blurted out. Shattered heavens! May my mouth fall silent.
The knight looked at him¡ªor it felt that way. ¡°My true purpose is to bring back a Shard Armor of the Giants¡ªby the Sovereign¡¯s command.¡±
Dunn nearly frowned. Lies!
He simply nodded
Time had lost all meaning¡ªor at least, it felt that way to him.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He was left alone with his thoughts, which, due to the solitude, were growing increasingly frantic. He started seeing things that weren''t there. He saw the beastmen who had died in the shed, the eternally smiling Astrid, the vengeful Anderson, the bewildered female Newman, and even the proud Accountant. They all appeared before him.
They gathered around him like moths to a flame¡ªsome approaching close enough to whisper angry voices filled with pain and regret. Astrid, with her unwavering smile, stood opposite him, her eyes full of silent judgment. Why had he given them hope, only to abandon them?
Then there was Anderson, his face hardened with rage. He kept asking how he had died¡ªa question Karl could not answer, or rather, did not want to answer.
The apparitions were unsettling, their presence maddening as they wandered around the cage, drawing close to whisper and then fading away. He had thought he felt nothing for their deaths, but it turned out he was wrong.
A muted feeling? Karl mocked himself inwardly.
How much longer? How long before he crumbled entirely? He had stopped responding to the apparitions¡ªnot even trying to dispel them. He¡¯d attempted that countless times, but each time they reappeared.
Only one way remained to rid himself of them: escape these chains. At least, with the full power of his mind, he might be able to silence such thoughts for good.
Yet since their last visit, the puppets had been scarce. Instead, they kept him alive by routinely filling his stomach with bland soup. He had to escape.
"Forget everything else. Just focus on what you must do," a voice echoed in his mind.
It was not one of the apparitions. No, it was his friend, returning once more to guide him through the darkness. Recently, he had started hearing him, but what could he do? He lacked the strength, the power. How could he free himself and focus on what needed to be done?
"Take whatever steps you must for freedom¡ªno matter the pain," the voice urged.
Karl remained silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth.
The chains felt tight, unyielding, unbreakable. There was no way to escape them¡
At least not in the conventional way.
Anything for freedom...to survive. Karl clenched his jaw and pulled.
He began tugging at the chains. Summoning the last remnants of his strength, he pulled. The blue glow from the chains seemed to brighten, and with each surge of light, he felt his strength wane.
Soon, his wrists throbbed with pain, but he didn¡¯t stop.
He kept pulling at the chains...Of course, he knew it was futile to break them. That wasn¡¯t his goal.
He groaned but kept pulling.
Now, the apparitions drew close, watching like an audience, eager for a spectacle. Astrid wore her smile, Anderson remained wrathful, and the others observed with varied expressions. The Accountant, ever prideful, looked at him with a scornful sneer.
But Karl was undeterred. He pulled and pulled, his wrists burning with intense pain. His bones tightened under the force. It was as if they were on the verge of snapping, ready to tear from his arms.
That was what he wanted.
Since he couldn¡¯t break the chains or gather strength, only one option remained: if the chains were meant to restrain his arms, then let them. This world was filled with powers of all kinds, and somewhere, there existed healers who could repair almost anything¡ªthe sanitarium. With them, perhaps he wouldn¡¯t have to live without an arm. But even if not, it was better than living as a slave to a master¡to Olmer.
He kept pulling. The pain intensified beyond anything he¡¯d endured, yet he screamed and pulled harder. If a puppet heard his screams and came, then Karl would ensure his freedom was within reach.
Warm blood began to trickle down his wrist, sliding into his armpits before dripping. He wanted to stop, to return to the silence and peace. But he couldn¡¯t. Freedom wasn¡¯t a painless path, devoid of suffering¡ªinstead, it was marked by it. He understood what he needed to escape.
He needed pain.
To hell with trying to please Olmer for freedom. That was the tactic of a slave, and Karl was no longer a slave. He once had been, but no more.
"Do what you must!" the voice boomed, and Karl obeyed.
He pulled, feeling the top of his wrist grow numb.
Then, perhaps a pain-induced hallucination, Karl saw a glow spread through the room.
Soon, a puppet rushed in. The figure held a torch and froze when his vacant eyes found Karl.
But Karl didn¡¯t stop. He kept pulling.
The puppet quickly produced a key, inserting it into the lock. The door opened, and he entered.
Just as his eyes found Karl, a bright blue light flared from the chains¡ªsapping another part of his strength.
You think that¡¯ll stop me? Karl screamed in agony but pulled harder. If anything, the thrill of pain made him feel stronger, and the sensation had dulled considerably.
He would be free soon!
The puppet moved closer, seemingly realizing the draining light was no longer enough to subdue him.
The figure¡¯s footsteps echoed through the cage.
Come closer!
Karl kept pulling
The puppet stepped closer, his blank eyes fixed on Karl with an odd expression of confusion. Why was he confused? Or rather, why was Olmer confused? Did he really believe his prisoner favored him? Since when had a slave ever been content with bondage?
Just come closer! Karl¡¯s vision began to blur as lightheadedness crept in from blood loss.
Come closer, damn it!
The puppet gradually drew nearer, his vacant face now betraying hints of sadness, pity, and bewilderment.
Yes, let it overwhelm you! Karl kept pulling. By now, he was certain his wrist was shattered, but even that pain would be worth it if it meant escape.
The puppet finally approached, stopping just inches away.
¡°Why are you doing this to yourself?¡± the puppet asked calmly. ¡°You could have joined me to serve God.¡±
Karl grinned. ¡°Not today.¡±
Without hesitation, he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the puppet¡¯s neck. He bit down hard, pressing his teeth into the flesh. The puppet, realizing what was happening, began pounding Karl¡¯s stomach, but the blows did little to deter him.
I¡¯ve endured destroying my own wrist; you think this will stop me? His teeth tore through the puppet¡¯s skin, and blood filled his mouth. He resisted the urge to swallow, gnawing deeper into the flesh and ripping through the neck.
He was like a wild animal, a vampiric beast feeding through the neck, but Karl cared nothing for appearances. He wanted freedom, and this was the price.
Before long, the puppet¡¯s frantic struggles ceased, his arms hanging limply like leaves in the breeze. But Karl held on, clamping his jaws around the weakened flesh keeping the puppet upright. One misstep and the flesh would tear, sending the man falling. If that happened, Karl would lose his only chance at the key he needed.
Taking a shaky breath, Karl considered his predicament. He¡¯d killed the puppet, but another would likely come soon, and he still didn¡¯t have a clear way to escape.
Everything had happened so quickly, and now he found himself gripping a dead man by the neck, wondering how he would manage to retrieve the key from the puppet¡¯s clothing.
Sometimes I wish I had four arms.
Just then, a figure walked into the room. A woman, black-haired with a certain deeply rooted clarity in her eyes.
"You ate him?"
Karl stole a glance at the strange woman. She was familiar, and fortunately, it didn''t take long for him to realize where he knew her.
She was one of the two puppets that came to take the boy mutant''s body!
81: Protect me
Karl didn¡¯t attempt to respond¡ªmostly because doing so would only force his lips to move, and given the circumstances, that would make his previous efforts rather futile. Besides, was this woman an enemy? Her eyes held a degree of clarity, but was she in control, or was Olmer still pulling her strings?
They found themselves in a sort of standoff, each seeming to wait for the other to speak first. After some time in the stifling silence, the woman moved closer, holding a brown pouch in one hand and gripping a sickle in the other¡ªKarl¡¯s sickle. How did she get it?
He winced at the thought. Of course, she had it. She must be a puppet. The real question was what she intended to do with it. Would she return it to him or use it against him? Either way, he¡¯d be defenseless if she opted for the latter. All he could do was hope.
She stared at him, then slowly took cautious steps toward him. ¡°You¡¯re not going to sink your teeth into me too, right?¡± she asked, pausing as if awaiting an answer.
An answer Karl couldn¡¯t give without risking the puppet¡¯s flesh slipping from his jaws. What was she planning? He deliberated briefly, then, seeing no other choice, gave a small nod, one that nearly tore the flesh from his mouth.
Damn it!
The woman smiled and continued her approach. She entered the cage, her steps as quiet as those trained in the Mysteries school of thought. Was she one of them? A member of a group sent to the castle to rescue the mutants? He eyed her anxiously. Unlike the others who wore kefna, she wore a crude white coat¡ªsimilar, yet an imitation of the real thing, perhaps deliberately crafted that way.
What did that mean? Did it signify she wasn¡¯t a sanguine? If so, why did Olmer make her a puppet? Or maybe he wasn¡¯t selective when creating his puppets. Anyone, it seemed, could be forced into it¡ even Karl.
I need to get out of here!
The odd woman, moving in almost comical steps, came up to him, positioning herself behind the puppet¡¯s corpse.
¡°We need to hurry,¡± she said.
For what? Karl felt a surge of apprehension. What was going on?
Her gaze remained fixed on him, like she was observing a feral beast that might pounce if left unchecked. Perhaps there was some truth to that.
¡°You need to get out, don¡¯t you?¡± she said, her hand drifting to the puppet¡¯s trousers.
Is she planning to free me?
¡°I guess you can¡¯t speak with him in your mouth,¡± she continued. ¡°But you see, I need help¡ªprotection.¡± Her hand rummaged in the puppet¡¯s pockets, pulling out an intricate key.
Freedom! The key seemed to glow in Karl¡¯s eyes. It was his ticket to freedom.
But she didn¡¯t unlock his chains. Instead, she stood just inches away, watching him with an expectant gaze. Realizing she was waiting for a response, Karl loosened his grip on the puppet¡¯s flesh. It felt strange to do so after the effort he¡¯d put into holding it there. The body dropped with a muffled thud to the ground.
¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.
¡°As I said,¡± she replied, ¡°protection. Obviously, you¡¯re a sanguine, but I¡¯m not, and I¡¯m also not like the strange freaks wandering around. If I¡¯m to survive, I need your help.¡±
Karl studied her. ¡°How did you awaken?¡± He meant her newfound clarity. The last time he¡¯d seen her, though her eyes held some awareness, it hadn¡¯t been this strong. Supposedly, the boy¡¯s dream had weakened Olmer¡¯s control over the puppets, but none had fully broken free¡ªor at least, none that he had encountered.
In any case, he needed to know if there was some additional requirement for breaking free. Hopefully, he wouldn¡¯t have to test it himself anytime soon.
The woman remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on him. Finally, a sigh escaped her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t really know,¡± she replied. ¡°All I remember is that sometime yesterday, I think, I suddenly woke up¡ªmy mind trapped inside my body. I tried to move, fight back, anything. At first, it was impossible, but maybe because of my determination, the force holding my mind began to weaken. And eventually, I regained control.¡±
Karl listened intently. So those controlled by Olmer are in a state of slumber? But did she wake up because of the dream? And if so, have others awakened too, or is she unique? he wondered. Based on her account, he could deduce that she possessed a strong will¡ªa drive to survive. Perhaps that was what set her apart.
She wanted to live badly enough that she eroded Olmer¡¯s control. If that was the key to resisting puppeteering, then Karl had little to worry about. He, too, wanted to live, to exist, to retain his autonomy. If the master of the castle ever tried to seize his mind, he should be able to break free.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Karl gave a curt nod. ¡°Then we have an agreement.¡±
The woman smiled. ¡°Though there¡¯s a chance you won¡¯t even keep it,¡± she said. ¡°Moments like these make me wish for a notary. But what can a girl do?¡± She leaned in, took the key, and inserted it into the chains around Karl¡¯s wrists.
With a creak, the chains sprang open, releasing their grip on him. However, as his upper body was freed, he jerked forward and crashed onto the ground, landing with a thud. His legs had been held apart, suspending him above the floor.
He grimaced, casting a glare at the woman, who couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°Release me!¡± he commanded menacingly.
She froze momentarily, then shrugged. ¡°Remember, you promised to protect me, all right?¡±
Karl reined in his gaze and nodded tersely. She sighed again, unlocking the chains around his legs. He collapsed to the floor, his knees hitting the ground hard.
He stared at the ground¡ªor rather, the distorted ceiling¡ªfor a while, stunned by the reality of his escape. And he hadn¡¯t done it by begging at Olmer¡¯s feet. No. He¡¯d done it by his own will.
Now, he only had to grovel at someone else¡¯s feet.
Karl froze, slowly raising his head to meet the gaze of his liberator¡ªthe one who freed him yet bound him to protect her. Why should he even honor that? He could easily kill her and end it.
But perhaps she was useful for other reasons. She did possess knowledge of the castle, making her an asset. Plus, she was another living being, and heaven knew he needed a shield. If the castle had taught him anything, it was that any shield was a necessity.
In the end, she had a purpose.
Forcing a smile, Karl said, ¡°I¡¯m strong, so I¡¯ll protect you. But first,¡± he extended his hand. ¡°The pouch.¡±
The woman hesitated, then placed the pouch into his outstretched hand. Karl inspected the contents, pleased to see nothing was missing.
It seemed Olmer hadn¡¯t bothered, or perhaps viewed him as incapable of owning anything valuable. Now, at last, he had his corrosive claws.
Karl took a steadying breath and glanced at the woman. ¡°What now?¡± he asked. Naturally, it would make sense to leave their current location quickly. However, he had no clear understanding of the castle¡¯s layout and therefore lacked any real way to navigate it. If he simply left, who knew where he¡¯d end up? He could wind up right back where he started.
The woman looked at him thoughtfully and then said, ¡°I know a place we can go.¡±
A place? Karl thought, suddenly apprehensive. He had believed she¡¯d broken free from Olmer¡¯s control, but what if that wasn¡¯t true? What if Olmer was merely using her to lure him into a trap? Was he being played?
As his mind began to spiral into paranoia, he forced himself to calm down. Distrust was useful, but there was a line between distrust and paranoia. His sanity could not do with another source of stress.
¡°Where exactly is this place that you, someone who only recently broke free, know about?¡± Karl asked, watching her carefully.
The woman stared at him for a moment before sighing. ¡°First, my name¡¯s Monica,¡± she said. ¡°And second, I was only recently under Olmer¡¯s control¡ªnot always.¡±
Karl frowned. He distinctly remembered her saying she wasn¡¯t like the ¡°freaks,¡± which he took to mean the mutants. But now she was implying she had survived the castle without any extraordinary abilities. She certainly didn¡¯t appear to be part of the Mysteries school, given her lack of their attire or demeanor. So what exactly was she?
¡°Listen,¡± Monica began, ¡°I wasn¡¯t alone. But due to bad luck, I got separated from my group, and in...perhaps despair, I ended up succumbing to this place and got controlled.¡±
Karl raised an eyebrow. ¡°You have a group?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Monica replied. ¡°A man we call the Grand Helper created a small area in the castle where we can live peacefully. I was part of a group sent out to search for food. Sometimes, people newly captured by Olmer still have useful things on them.¡± She paused, casting a quick glance toward the hallway leading out of the room.
¡°Anyway,¡± she continued, ¡°I saw you being dragged here by one of them, so I followed to get your pouch. But I got lost in the castle¡¯s bizarre layout, and in that darkness, Olmer took control of me. After some time in that slumber, I woke up and had to fight my way back.¡±
With each of her words, Karl¡¯s frown deepened. He was slightly irritated that she hadn¡¯t tried to save him¡ªthough he admitted he might have done the same in her position. But more intriguing was the mention of this ¡°Grand Helper¡± who had created a safe area. Who was this person? Most likely a sanguine, possibly one of the many trapped in here. There was also a chance they could be a mutant.
After a brief pause, Karl said, ¡°Then let¡¯s get moving.¡± He had plenty of questions, but staying here to answer them would almost certainly put him in danger.
They both stepped out of the cage, and Karl paused for a moment, giving the room one last look. It had been his home for a while¡ªthough not by choice, it had been his nonetheless. It was his prison, but in a strange way, it was still his.
The darkness that had once seemed terrifying now held a strange allure, almost as if it were calling out to him. Karl took a deep breath, turning to leave. But he halted again as a faint, pale silhouette faded into the shadows.
There stood Astrid, Anderson, and others. They looked at him with various expressions: some sad, some happy, some bitter, and some proud. They didn¡¯t approach him but lingered there, ever-present¡ªa reminder that they could appear at any time.
¡°Let the past stay in the past,¡± his friend¡¯s voice echoed in his mind. Karl exhaled deeply and turned away, following Monica as they ventured further into the castle.
He would not leave without killing Olmer!
After being briefed on what to expect from this refuge, Karl initially felt some apprehension about meeting its residents. It wasn¡¯t that he disliked the idea itself, but rather that his unease came from the countless days spent in captivity¡ªchained and forced to endure people who, while appearing human, were anything but. They were puppets.
He could almost imagine meeting them only to find that Olmer had already seized control of their minds. If that happened, he¡¯d be dragged back into the darkness, drained like a sacrificial lamb, and forced into servitude¡ªeverything he loathed.
As they moved through the pulsating darkness¡ªa corridor that twisted in unnatural directions, sometimes upside down, sometimes split between paths that rose, descended, veered sideways, or spiraled¡ªhe tried to memorize the layout of the castle. But after hours of navigating the endless turns, he abandoned that hope.
Though he preferred the silence in which they traveled, Karl knew he should use this quiet time to gather whatever information he could about the castle. Monica, who had been lucid for a while thanks to their so-called ¡°Grand Helper,¡± might have insights into how it functioned.
82: Using my tricks
He understood some aspects of the situation but felt that verifying his theories wouldn¡¯t hurt.
¡°So, what do you know about the castle¡¯s structure?¡± he asked, his voice low and cautious, wary of unseen dangers.
Monica, holding a faintly glowing torch, gave him a brief glance. ¡°Well, it¡¯s¡ complicated.¡±
¡°Break it down,¡± Karl said dryly.
She glared at him for some time, then said, ¡°The castle operates like a massive battery,¡± she paused for a bit, adding soon after. ¡°Olmer draws energy from it to stabilize himself enough to carry out his plans.¡±
Karl held back his questions, opting to listen as she continued.
¡°We¡¯ve discovered that the castle exists in two overlapping states: one in the physical world and another in the Astra. This duality makes its veil extraordinarily strong¡ªit¡¯s formed from High Astra, tapping directly into that realm. By anchoring the castle in both planes, Olmer can essentially keep it hidden indefinitely.¡±
Karl nodded in the dim light, his mind racing. If that¡¯s true, how did the School of Thought locate it? Prophetic abilities? If so, why hasn¡¯t divination worked consistently? And why hasn¡¯t the Ministry tracked it down?
¡°Olmer uses accumulated mana and High Astra energy to subtly influence everyone here,¡± Monica added. ¡°It¡¯s passive¡ªjust being in the castle slowly draws people under his control. But strong willpower or physical pain can push back against it. Once someone is fully taken over, though, resisting becomes nearly impossible.¡±
As they turned a corner, the world suddenly twisted. What was once the floor became the ceiling, and vice versa. They found themselves walking upside-down. But after so many disorienting shifts, Karl had grown almost indifferent to the sensation.
Monica paused, her expression darkening. ¡°Then, there are the monsters.¡±
Karl froze momentarily, though the dimness concealed his unease. He steadied himself, focusing on the facts. He already knew the castle was steeped in Astra energy, which inevitably attracted Astra creatures¡ªstrange entities like those eerie, balloon-like beings. Still, he had convinced himself they wouldn¡¯t attack unless directly observed. Which was why his glasses remained safely stowed away.
Now, hearing this, he felt a twinge of doubt. Would he have to fight these creatures? And if so, how?
Surprisingly, the prospect felt almost comforting. Perhaps he¡¯d grown tired of fighting humans. Monsters, at least, would be a change. Still, he hoped they weren¡¯t beyond his abilities. After all, he was only an advanced-class sanguine.
¡°What kind of monsters are we talking about?¡± Karl asked, keeping his tone light.
Monica hesitated, her expression faltering. ¡°They¡¯re numerous¡ and grotesque. Each one has unique, twisted powers.¡±
¡°What would you say their general strength class is?¡± Karl pressed, masking his irritation at having to ask.
Monica sighed, slowing her pace. The weak glow of her torch barely illuminated their path. ¡°None of them are weak, that much I know. But I¡¯m not a sanguine, so I can¡¯t give precise classifications. The Grand Helper once mentioned that these creatures are all at least advanced-class, possibly higher.¡±
Karl stood in place, lost in thought. He summoned the face of the soul and examined the countless flickering lights. Could he gain power here quickly?
There was a strong chance that killing these monsters could yield more significant benefits than hunting members of a noble house. This might be an opportunity to grow stronger.
He would need every advantage if he hoped to confront Olmer and live.
Although the revelation wasn¡¯t shocking, it confirmed much of what he had suspected. Refusing to dwell on the inevitability of his situation, Karl refocused on preparing himself.
He thought briefly of the Mist-faced Man¡¯s blood and sighed. If only he had some grace to spare¡ªthen the risks of evolving wouldn¡¯t matter. Yes, Fredrick and Anette had warned against it, but what choice did he have?
The endless corridors seemed to stretch forever. Monica clicked her tongue in frustration, her irritation almost palpable. The castle felt infinite¡ªand perhaps it was. No matter how far they traveled, they never seemed to draw closer to their destination. Karl couldn¡¯t help but wonder how the refugees managed to find food. Given the castle¡¯s nature, it seemed implausible they always made it back safely.
Maybe the Grand Helper had something to do with keeping them alive?
They stopped occasionally in secluded corners to rest. Although Karl didn¡¯t need the breaks, Monica insisted on halting every hour. Each pause tested his patience. Often he pondered killing her here.
Hours later, Karl stood over a mangled corpse, his gaze cold. From his perspective, the body lay on the ceiling. The man, dressed similarly to Monica, stared back with wide eyes filled with terror and despair. Whatever had killed him had pushed him to the brink before finishing him off.
Monica lowered her head, the torchlight dimming further. She exhaled deeply. ¡°That¡¯s Lumian. He¡¯s been missing for a week. So this is what happened to him.¡±
Karl remained silent, studying her expression. They lingered there because Monica insisted on retrieving the body. She didn¡¯t seem to care that the corpse wasn¡¯t hanging¡ªit was they who were upside-down. Pulling it down felt like trying to lift something off the ground while standing on a rooftop.
It was possible but undeniably tedious.
Eventually, Karl relented and helped, regretting the decision almost immediately. Although he was free from the chains, the castle still subtly drained his energy. He needed to reach the Grand Helper soon and uncover how he had managed to shield himself from the castle¡¯s siphoning effects.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
After lowering the corpse, Karl rummaged through Lumian¡¯s belongings, ignoring Monica¡¯s disapproval. Sadly, unless he had some use for a sorrowful letter, the dead man carried nothing of value.
Worthless. Karl held back a sigh.
They had ventured deeper into the castle, now standing in a dark, silent chamber. At its center stood a spiral staircase, winding upward to a door embedded in the ceiling. The room was unnervingly quiet, the faint creak of their steps the only sound breaking the stillness.
Without hesitation, they ascended.
The air grew colder with each step, making Karl¡¯s nose itch from the abrupt shift. They passed through a labyrinth of hallways, encountering no signs of life¡ªnot even the monsters supposedly roaming these halls. Instead, traces of violence littered their path: shards of broken glass, torn scraps of fabric, and the unmistakable remnants of conflict.
Karl had pieced it together by now. Contrary to his faint hopes, the School of Thought didn¡¯t appear to be holding its ground against the castle¡¯s puppets and monstrosities. I wonder if Louis is still alive. The thought flickered briefly in his mind before he shoved it aside, forcing himself to focus on their immediate surroundings.
He still hoped for at least one survivor¡ªsomeone useful.
They continued onward, stepping over debris¡ªsplintered wood, shattered stone, fragments of glass¡ªuntil Karl stopped before a door. It was black and unremarkable, yet it drew his attention. After a moment of deliberation, he pushed it open. A wave of frigid air washed over him, seeping through his clothes and into his bones.
It¡¯s getting colder by the minute, Karl thought, his breath forming faint wisps in the freezing air.
Inside, the room was lined with wooden crates stacked neatly along the walls. Some were open, revealing an assortment of food: fruits, bottles of drink, and other supplies that made Karl¡¯s stomach tighten with hunger. After enduring nothing but bone soup, the sight was almost intoxicating.
But a thought gnawed at him: Why did Olmer need so much food?
Suspicion crept in, though he hoped he was overthinking it. If Olmer had an entire group working with him, the situation would drastically change. The presence of food hinted at something larger than just puppets. After all, the puppets had fed him bone soup. Why not this?
For now, he doubted the food was meant for the castle¡¯s thralls. Something didn¡¯t add up.
Monica, however, seemed unconcerned by the mystery. She dove into the crates, grabbing handfuls of food and eating ravenously, as though she hadn¡¯t eaten in days¡ªwhich, Karl admitted, might be true. Her hunger was understandable, especially if his theory held weight. The puppets didn¡¯t eat. Perhaps starvation was another factor driving her.
Karl observed her for a moment, then hesitantly reached for a piece of food himself.
The storage room was vast, resembling a banquet hall. Tables and chairs were neatly arranged, untouched by the chaos outside. It was strangely pristine, a stark contrast to the destruction elsewhere. That only unsettled Karl further.
He moved toward a long wooden table. Despite its age, it was remarkably well-preserved compared to the wreckage they had passed. Distortion lingered here too; some tables clung to the walls as if they had grown there, while others were affixed to the ceiling. A few chairs floated eerily in the chilled air, suspended in defiance of gravity.
Monica settled across from him, placing the torch between them. Its weak flame struggled against the cold, and Karl doubted it would last much longer.
Soon, it¡¯ll be dark, he thought, biting into a black apple. Its flavor was surprisingly sweet and fresh, a stark contrast to the bland monotony of bone soup. Or perhaps he was exaggerating its taste, given his desperate hunger. Either way, he didn¡¯t care.
Karl ate in silence, occasionally returning to the crates for more. The more he ate, the hungrier he seemed to become. It confirmed what he had suspected: the bone soup was far from sufficient, leaving his body craving proper sustenance.
Monica, meanwhile, ate with abandon, shoving food into her mouth with a lack of restraint that Karl found repulsive. She barely chewed, consuming as though driven by sheer desperation. He watched her for a while, his disgust mounting, before shutting his eyes.
The simple act of staying awake felt exhausting. Rest was necessary, and with Monica still eating, she was in no position to protest keeping watch. Without a word, Karl crossed his arms on the table and closed his eyes.
Gods knew given all that he had endured, this was something he was owed.
Aurelian, former legionnaire of the Chaos Hunters, spun deftly between the two thugs. Their heads slid cleanly from their necks, tumbling to the ground with a muted thud, followed by a spray of dark, warm blood. The bodies crumpled lifelessly onto the cold, unyielding stone floor.
With four efficient slashes, Aurelian¡¯s mist blade severed the hinges and latch of the grand hall door. The Order of Newmans was surprisingly wealthy for an evil faction. Amused, he allowed himself a brief thought: Of course, my faction¡ªthe Knights of Disordered Order¡ªoutclassed this pitiful rabble in strength, wealth, and power.
He felt a swell of pride for his group.
Planting his foot firmly, he drove the door inward with a crashing kick. It flew open, the heavy wood slamming into the stone floor with a resounding echo before sliding further into the room.
The small hall was teeming with figures¡ªgrotesque beings of various shapes and deformities. Spiked heads, single glaring eyes, grotesquely elongated tongues, and bone protrusions distorted their bodies. They were a vile collection of inhuman creatures.
For Order! he thought as he surged forward, his glass-like blade poised to bring swift judgment.
Chaos erupted. Screams and shouts filled the air, mingled with frantic cries of defiance. Aurelian vaulted onto a nearby table littered with iron scraps and potion bottles¡ªevidence of their work crafting soul bombs. That was his mission: to retrieve those things in abundance.
Every so often, a Newman charged at him, attempting to gain the upper hand. They relied on disorienting tricks that sometimes made the floor seem to flip beneath his feet, but such deceptions were useless against his resolve. With cold precision, he struck them down, one by one.
He felt proud¡ªproud of his skill, his purpose, his unwavering resolve.
Why?
Leaping from table to table, he wielded his blade like an instrument of divine order, slicing through the chaos that surrounded him.
¡°Ambush him!¡± bellowed a particularly burly Newman. At his command, others snapped to attention, their palms glowing as they unleashed beams of green light.
Aurelian dodged with practiced agility, his blade cutting down anyone foolish enough to cross his path. He pressed onward, unwavering. His goal was clear: acquire the soul bombs and bring order to these wretched beings.
Near him, several Newmans attempted to flee, but he refused to let such filth escape. With a casual swipe of his blade, their blood sprayed into the air, cascading like dust in sunlight.
Ahead, a Newman raised his hand, conjuring a crackling ball of fire that radiated dangerous, destructive energy. The man grinned wickedly as the flames danced above his head.
Aurelian¡¯s brow furrowed, though his grip on his weapon remained steady. He dashed forward just as the Newman hurled the flaming projectile.
Feeling the pained surge of mana drain through his body, Aurelian dissolved into mist, his ethereal form rising as the fireball sailed harmlessly beneath him. It struck the wall behind him, but instead of erupting in a powerful explosion, the flames fizzled and vanished.
For a fleeting moment, Aurelian hesitated, stunned. Then realization dawned. An illusion.
Displeased with himself for being momentarily deceived, he resolved to make amends.
I will rectify this mistake with his blood.
He reformed his body, though his left hand remained partially in its misty state. His blade descended in a swift arc, aiming to cleave through the fire-wielder. But as the sword struck, the Newman dissolved into mist, vanishing at the point of contact.
Aurelian frowned deeply. Using my own tricks against me?
83: Hunger
Aurelian stepped back, but as he did, another group of attackers charged at him from the side. He surged his mana, tugging at their mental tendrils. One of them faltered, his movements becoming sluggish before turning against his former comrades.
Meanwhile, the mist-born Newman was slowly reforming his body. Aurelian seized the opportunity and dashed forward, only to be struck by a sudden, overwhelming pressure.
He yelped as his body smashed against the cold stone floor. But with the impact, his form dissolved into a swirling white mist. Mist cannot be pressed down!
In his misty form, he surged forward, gliding towards his foes. The most imposing Newman among them staggered backward, clearly drained¡ªlikely his power had entered a cooldown phase.
This is good.
Aurelian reformed, his blade slicing cleanly through a nearby Newman¡ªa woman. The weapon cleaved from her shoulder to her waist, splitting her into uneven halves. Blood sprayed across the now-slick crimson floor, pooling around fallen bodies.
Others attempted to flee, edging toward the chamber¡¯s exit. Aurelian¡¯s boot, now coated in silver-plated armor, struck a nearby table, sending it flipping through the air. The makeshift barrier crashed against the exit, barricading their escape.
Several Newmans rushed to remove the obstacle, their backs turned to him. A fatal mistake. Aurelian moved in, hacking and slashing with calculated precision.
This is for order. All of this death is for order¡ But why?
He shook his head to clear the thought, pressing forward. Stepping over bloodied corpses, he approached the mist-born Newman, who was now fully reformed. The man¡¯s frantic eyes darted about, his body trembling as Aurelian loomed over him.
Aurelian smiled coldly. ¡°Where is your soul bomb vault?¡±
The Newman froze, his teeth clenching in defiance.
Oh? What¡¯s he planning now?
The man reached into his robes, pulling out an unusually large soul bomb. Its bronze surface was netted with intricate designs, revealing faint wisps of white light within. Inscriptions etched across the device radiated a strange energy, sapping Aurelian¡¯s strength as he gazed at it.
Snapping out of the momentary daze, Aurelian surged forward, his blade poised to strike. He had no intention of letting the bomb detonate; the consequences would be catastrophic. The ensuing explosion would surely draw invigilators and the garrison to the scene¡ªan outcome that would doom his mission.
His blade descended, but just before the killing blow, a faint blue spark flared to life before the Newman.
Instinctively, Aurelian leaped back. The spark expanded into a constellation of glowing blue stars, hovering protectively around the man.
From the starlight emerged two figures, their forms solidifying into men clad in interlocking plated armor. Shard-bearers.
Impossible.
No, not quite. Aurelian¡¯s sharp eyes caught the subtle flaws in their appearance. Though their armor resembled shard-armor, it was not the real thing. It was a cheap imitation, adorned with glowing inscriptions to mimic the genuine article.
Was this their purpose here? he thought, his mind racing. The Newmans are advancing far beyond what should be allowed. Are they attempting to replicate shard armor? If they succeed, what would become of the Ministry? Of peace?
Aurelian hesitated, confused by his own concern for the Ministry. Why do I care about the Ministry?
The fake shard-bearers charged with startling precision. Despite their inferior armor, they moved with the skill of seasoned swordsmen¡ªlikely hired freeblades.
Aurelian twisted mid-air, dodging a chain bladed swing that would have cleaved him in two. He dissolved into mist, avoiding another deadly strike, then reformed atop a table. From his perch, he eyed the Newman holding the soul bomb, who watched the fight with fevered intensity.
The soul bomb in the man¡¯s hands had cracked. So it¡¯s not a real soul bomb after all. What is it? A summoning device for these imposters?
Aurelian dismissed the thought. He had a mission to complete, and no obstacle would deter him. By order, I will see this through.
¡°You think you can just waltz in here and do as you please?¡± the Newman yelled, his voice rising in defiance. ¡°The Newmans are the future! We are progress! And nothing can stop progress. Change is inevitable!¡±
Reaching into his robes, the Newman produced another soul bomb. As he touched it, another blue spark ignited, followed by the appearance of a crystal-edged blade.
Another fake shard? Aurelian smirked. ¡°You¡¯re far from inevitable.¡±
The Newman grinned mockingly. ¡°Why? Do you think you can save yourself? Nothing can stop chang!¡±
Aurelian leaped gracefully, landing on a nearby table. ¡°Everything has an order to it,¡± he replied. ¡°Even change. And if something has order, it must also have disorder. Disorder is chaos, chaos is ruin, and ruin is death.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
¡°What are you talking about?¡±
Aurelian sheathed his blade, retrieving a small bottle from his garments.
Drink the odium, and let disorder reign.
As the metallic-tasting liquid slid down his throat, a wave of distortion consumed Aurelian¡¯s senses. Everything around him blurred and vanished, as though he were being dragged into an eternal abyss of darkness.
Is it just me, or did that taste like blood?
What happened next was lost to him. His awareness flickered out, replaced by fragmented flashes of chaos. When his senses returned, he found himself standing amidst sheer carnage. Time had passed¡ªhow much, he couldn¡¯t tell¡ªand now he stood at the epicenter of a bloodbath.
Blood pooled around him, splattered across the walls and floor, mingling with shards of metal and chunks of flesh. His once-pristine white garments were soaked in crimson, the deep stains blending into the air like falling dust.
Aurelian¡¯s attention was drawn to the movement ahead. Against the far wall, a fake shard-bearer leaned with a gaping hole in his stomach. Blood poured from the wound in a grotesque fountain, staining the already macabre scene. The man¡¯s eyes remained wide open, alive yet teetering on the brink of death. That state wouldn¡¯t last long.
What kind of potion was that? Aurelian wondered, a mix of apprehension and awe twisting through his mind. Awe for the sheer might of the Knights of Order¡ªtheir tools, their power, their devotion.
Scanning the ruined hall, his eyes froze at an eerie sight. Furniture¡ªtables, chairs, and remnants of broken objects¡ªwas either pinned against the walls, suspended upside down, or floating mid-air, defying the very laws of nature.
"Disorder to order!" Aurelian exclaimed, dropping to one knee in reverence. He bowed piously, his voice low and reverent. "Praise Him!"
With renewed purpose, he dashed deeper into the hall. His goal was clear: the soul bombs. Once wielded correctly, these potent weapons would ensure the freedom of his master and God.
The priest will be allowed to play once again, he thought, though an unexpected scowl crept onto his face. The thought unsettled him, though he didn¡¯t know why
Karl jolted awake with a gasp. Disoriented and groggy, he sat up, blinking away the remnants of sleep.
Across the table, Monica lay fast asleep, her breathing steady and undisturbed.
Damn it! he cursed inwardly. Why had he even expected her to stay awake?
He glanced down at the table between them, noting the remnants of half-eaten apples and scattered seeds. Without the energy-draining siphoning impairing him, his vision had cleared. He could now see reasonably well in the dimly lit hall.
The torch on the table had long since burned out, leaving behind only a faint trace of aftersmoke. Other than that and his own breathing, the hall was unnervingly silent.
Should we be moving now?
The stillness gnawed at Karl. Something about remaining in the hall unsettled him. Perhaps it was the cold, or his ever-present intuition. Either way, he had woken up startled, as if some unseen force had prodded him.
Of course, it could just be his growing paranoia.
Standing up, Karl scowled. A nagging sensation itched at the edges of his mind¡ªa feeling that he was missing something important. He¡¯d been asleep, and now he was awake... startled. Why?
What about my dream?
The fragments of an odd dream flashed briefly in his memory. At least, he thought it was a dream. It felt more like a memory¡ªdisjointed, elusive, and frustratingly unclear.
Karl tried to recall it, but every effort seemed to push the details further into the recesses of his mind. Even with the aid of his cognitive powers, it remained out of reach. Yet, there was one thing he remembered with certainty: the dream had terrified him.
Did I see Monica? he wondered. He thought he had. But unlike her usual entitled demeanor, the memory painted her face in stark horror. I think she said something...
Rubbing his temples, Karl strained to retrieve the elusive words. What was it?
Then, like a bolt of realization, the memory surged forward. Monica¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, trembling with fear:
¡°We need to get out of this hall! We can¡¯t sleep again.¡±
What kind of dream was that? Karl shook his head, dismissing the oddness of it.
He glanced again at Monica, who slept with such abandon that it would have been easy to kill her¡ªif someone wanted to.
But that dream... he thought, uneasy. Karl couldn¡¯t recall the last time he¡¯d dreamed, much less one that left him so shaken. Perhaps he should share it with Monica. She had been here longer; maybe it was a symptom of the castle itself.
His gaze drifted to the table pinned against the wall. A sudden pang of hunger growled from his stomach, breaking his concentration.
Haven¡¯t I already eaten? Karl frowned and looked at Monica again. No point waking her for a dream.
Sighing, he stood and focused for a moment, then summoned the face of the soul. Colored dots glimmered in his vision, his attention drawn to those glowing with white radiance¡ªthe white flames.
Even now, he missed that power. Maybe I should take action, catch and kill something.
Another growl from his stomach derailed his thoughts. First, I eat... again.
Karl¡¯s movements stirred Monica. Her eyes snapped open, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw dread lurking in them. But just as quickly, it was gone.
Just imagining things.
¡°I thought you were supposed to keep watch?¡± Karl asked, his tone deliberately sharp. He needed her placid.
Monica shook her head, shaking off her grogginess. Her expression quickly hardened into annoyance. ¡°Did you tell me to do that, huh?¡± she snapped. ¡°Black! You¡¯re the one who¡¯s supposed to protect me, not the other way around.¡±
Karl scowled at her outburst. Shouldn¡¯t she calm herself in a place like this? Without a word, he turned and walked forward, leaving her behind.
His attention was drawn to something on the floor. Broken chairs and tables littered the space. It struck him as odd¡ªthe hall had been in pristine condition before.
What had happened?
Though he couldn¡¯t be sure, Karl couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that a battle had taken place here. But how? Even weakened by the siphoning, he would have noticed something as significant as a fight.
Could I have missed it? His gaze shifted to the many crates in the room. Despite the wreckage, they were untouched.
That doesn¡¯t make sense. Either the battle was to protect the crates, or I¡¯ve gotten so dull I didn¡¯t notice. He didn¡¯t like either option. One seemed to reveal something deeper, while the ther simply mocked his competence.
Karl sighed quietly and approached the crates. Opening one, he found an assortment of fresh fruits. Strange, given the chaos around them. Still, with his stomach protesting and his head aching, the sweet aroma was irresistible.
He bit into the fruit. Moments later, Monica joined him, eating with the enthusiasm of a starving animal.
Is she still hungry? Karl cringed but continued his meal.
Monica soon exclaimed, ¡°Found meat!¡±
Karl frowned. Meat? In these crates?
While the presence of meat wasn¡¯t impossible, he hadn¡¯t seen any icestones to preserve it. How could it be stored in pristine condition?
Then he noticed his breath¡ªa misty exhale. Ah. The cold. Is this room meant for storing meat?
Monica held up two slabs of red meat, grinning widely. ¡°I¡¯ll have to tell the grand helper about this place when we get back,¡± she said. ¡°Oh? Do you want some?¡±
Karl raised a brow. How does she plan to cook it?
84: The hall protects
I don¡¯t see how you¡¯ll manage without cooking it. Karl thought, amused. Not long ago, he had practically been gnawing on raw flesh.
It¡¯s different.
Karl gave a slight nod, observing Monica as she moved to her side of the table. A faint wisp of smoke still rose from the torch lying there.
Impossible! Karl nearly blurted out. He was certain the flames should have cooled by now, given the intense chill of the hall. Yet, there it was¡ªstill warm enough to be useful. How?
Monica placed the meat on the table and began blowing on the torch. The cold slowed her efforts, but eventually, a weak orange-red flame flickered to life. She let out an excited exclamation at its birth, quickly gathering planks of wood from broken chairs and tables.
She arranged the wood in a particular pattern before nursing the flames. Before long, she had created a functioning cooking setup, with the meat hanging over the fire. The aroma wafting from it was enough to make Karl¡¯s mouth water.
So hungry. Karl¡¯s initial apprehension faded. Whatever oddity kept the torch alive didn¡¯t seem to pose a threat. As long as that remained true, he would enjoy the meal¡ and maybe take a nap afterward.
A nap.
He frowned, though he wasn¡¯t sure why.
The meal was simple but satisfying. Saltless, yet still good. Karl let out a contented breath and leaned back against his chair, his eyes wandering to the ceiling. It was high and cloaked in darkness. Even with his enhanced sight, he couldn¡¯t discern its limits. Whether it was the sheer height or some strange distortion in this place, he didn¡¯t know.
Either way, staring won¡¯t change anything.
His gaze shifted to the right, toward the unexplored side of the hall. He hadn¡¯t ventured there yet and could only wonder what it held. Like the ceiling, the stretch of the hall was vast, much of it concealed by shadow.
Maybe there¡¯s more food? His tongue clicked at the thought. Maybe fish? Or something even better.
The darkness became oddly appetizing, as though he could smell a feast waiting beyond. Bread, meats, fruits¡ even pork. He cringed.
No, I should be more productive. He shook off the thoughts. This place has food, and while the cold is persistent, it¡¯s not lethal. I could train here for a while.
He knew he needed it. The Mysteries School had made it clear that his light-foot technique wasn¡¯t as refined as he thought. Worse, his skill with the sickle was sorely lacking. His victories relied more on brute force than actual technique.
That has to change.
Brutality was effective, but it wasn¡¯t efficient. What if he faced someone in the future with abilities similar to the castle? Someone who could drain his energy? He wouldn¡¯t last long in a battle where conserving strength was key. He needed more than raw power; he needed skill.
Perhaps if he were strong enough to compensate for his lack of technique, it wouldn¡¯t matter. But his current arsenal was limited, and the only solution was to create his own abilities.
Karl glanced at Monica, who lay sprawled lazily on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Her lips glistened with meat oil, and smudges of fruit stained her cheeks. He scowled at her nonchalance.
Moving away, Karl picked a spot not too deep into the shadows but far enough that the faint glow from the makeshift cooker barely reached him. The cold battered his skin, sending mild shivers down his body. He felt a sneeze coming; Nose itching, and throat pumping with air, but Karl suppressed it. His eyes watered, but no sound escaped.
Once composed, he raised the sickle and stared at it, his expression puzzled.
How the Black am I supposed to do this? He wasn¡¯t a swordsman, had no training, and lacked even a basic understanding of weapon techniques. How could he replicate something he didn¡¯t understand?
Karl frowned, his grip tightening on the iron until it grew warm against his fingers.
Warm.
The strange visions.
A shiver ran down his spine as the memory washed over him. He tried to rein in the thought but paused.
Why? His frown deepened. The dream¡ the visions¡ memories? he frowned. Too many terms for a single thing.
Why was he afraid of them? Karl rubbed his temples. After a while of relentless pondering, he dismissed the thoughts. Whatever was happening to him could wait. What he needed now was focus. The dreams¡ªor visions, whatever they were¡ªwould be dealt with later.
With that resolution, he swung his sickle in a hacking motion. At least, he believed it looked professional enough.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He continued the futile swings for some time¡ªminutes, perhaps¡ªbut eventually stopped. Not due to exhaustion, no. It was hunger that interrupted him.
The siphoning is getting stronger, Karl surmised, his gaze drifting to the table where a faint reddish glow emanated from its edge.
He moved toward the glow, toward Monica.
Karl froze.
Monica was holding a piece of raw, bloody meat. Its skin was deep crimson, rough with streaks of dark and brighter red. Her hands, chin, and lips were smeared with the juices. The scent hit Karl¡¯s nose, and he stiffened.
Blood!
¡°What are you doing?¡± he yelled, his voice slicing through the eerie silence of the hall.
Monica turned to him, her dark eyes carrying an expression of mild confusion, as though her actions were perfectly ordinary. She was eating raw meat, for Black¡¯s sake! What in the hell?
Karl staggered back, but his stomach growled in protest.
Hunger.
Monica continued to stare at him, then offered a relaxed smile. ¡°Hey,¡± she said nonchalantly. ¡°It tastes pretty good.¡±
Karl¡¯s gaze remained fixed on her, his thoughts in turmoil. What he saw defied reason¡ªa girl gnawing on raw flesh as though it were a delicacy. And yet, despite the wrongness of it, the sight and smell of the meat were¡ inviting.
He wanted a bite.
Karl clenched his fists, closing his eyes to block out the temptation. ¡°What the Black are you doing?¡± he demanded.
Monica cocked her head, her brow furrowing. ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked, her tone light. ¡°I was hungry, so I ate. What¡¯s the problem?¡±
Karl gaped at her, his hunger clashing with his growing unease.
¡°If you¡¯re hungry, then wait and cook it,¡± he said, pointing toward the still-burning pyre. ¡°You¡¯ve got flames right there.¡±
Monica tilted her head further, almost to the point of breaking. ¡°Why would I do that?¡± she asked. ¡°I was starving, and the food was right here. Why waste time? I just ate it.¡± She grabbed another slab of raw meat from the ground and held it out to him. ¡°Here, take it. It¡¯s really sweet.¡±
Karl¡¯s stomach growled again, loud and insistent, as his senses warred with reason. The bloodied meat dripped onto the floor, its metallic scent intoxicating. He wanted to eat¡ but why was the meat still dripp---?
Shaking his head to clear the fog creeping into his thoughts, Karl stared at her for a moment longer. The meat looked so fresh.
What was I thinking about? The thought was slippery, vanishing before he could catch it. His gaze remained locked on the slab of flesh, his hunger overwhelming him.
Maybe it¡¯s nothing. If it were important, my cognition would have revealed it to me. He nodded to himself, eyes still on the meat. Besides, I¡¯ve bitten into a man¡¯s flesh before. My enhanced teeth made it easy. But Monica doesn¡¯t have those enhancements, so how is she eating this so effortlessly?
He watched her lips, now stained redder than the meat itself. Her teeth, previously white, appeared soaked in blood. Karl observed her for a long moment before dismissing his unease. She must¡¯ve been starving.
And so was he.
¡°You want it or not?¡± Monica asked, still chewing on a fresh piece of meat. As she spoke, her hands began retreating, pulling the meat closer to her face.
¡°No!¡± Karl shouted, snatching the slab from her. ¡°I want it, okay?¡±
Monica smacked her lips, a small smile tugging at them. ¡°I thought you wouldn¡¯t.¡±
Karl stared at the cold, red slab of flesh in his hands. It smelled divine. Sweet.
But isn¡¯t it strange that it¡¯s still dripp---?
He lost the thought again. Shrugging it off, he brought the meat close to his lips, closed his eyes, and sank his teeth into it.
His enhanced teeth made the task effortless.
The moment the flesh touched his tongue, his mouth was flooded with a delightful, cold sweetness. The taste was otherworldly¡ªrich and metallic with an icy undertone. It was profoundly satisfying, perhaps the best thing he had ever eaten. The crimson meat smacked against his teeth and tongue, dissolving into a delicious paste that flowed easily down his throat.
His stomach quieted, contented by the meal.
So good.
Despite his satisfaction, a deep sense of wrongness gnawed at the edges of his mind. Something about the situation was unsettling¡ but what? The lack of salt? No, it was something else. Something important.
Karl shook his head, dismissing the thought. Whatever it was could wait. Right now, he was eating.
He took another bite, savoring the cold sweetness, then stretched his arms and legs once he finished. Leaning back against the cold stone floor, a wave of tiredness washed over him.
So tired.
Should get some rest before tomorrow, he thought, though an odd sadness lingered in his heart.
Why leave? Why would he want to abandon this peaceful haven just to roam the dangerous castle, battling monsters in search of some supposed ally who might already be dead¡ªor worse, under Olmer¡¯s control? Why not just stay here, where everything seemed so perfect? The food was plentiful¡ªwell, he still needed water, but there was food, and that was enough. So why leave?
It would be nice to rest in a place like this... Karl thought, a smile tugging at his lips. How long had it been since he last smiled? If ever?
The hall was good to him. It made him smile, fed him, sheltered him, and even with the cold, it felt welcoming. What a place to be.
I don¡¯t think I need to go anywhere... Monica doesn¡¯t seem interested in leaving either, so why should I?
Suddenly, the sounds of the hall dulled, and the world seemed to sharpen unnaturally, as though reality itself was twisting. But before the crispness and blurring could overwhelm him, they vanished, as if swept away by an unseen, powerful hand.
See? Karl thought with a gleeful chuckle. The hall protects me¡ªeven from the visions.
A wave of peace swept over him, dispelling any lingering fear or unease. For the first time, he felt calm¡ªtruly calm. His earlier doubts and uncertainties were gone. Only tranquility remained.
Out of the corner of his eye, something shifted. Karl turned toward the movement. Normally, he would have felt a pang of dread or unease. But this was the hall. Nothing bad could happen here.
The figure glowed faintly with a bluish hue, its form seeming independent from the shadows. It looked... strange. The figure had black dog-like ears and a long black tail. Its ragged clothing clung to its wiry frame, and its face was eerily blank, as though wiped clean by some giant eraser. Yet, faint whispers emanated from it, a sound Karl couldn¡¯t quite decipher.
Well, whatever. I can¡¯t be bothered with that. Whatever it is, it won¡¯t harm me¡ªnot here in the hall.
With a shrug, Karl turned away, closed his eyes, and let the warm pull of sleep claim him.
Once again, he dreamed.
When he woke, it was with a sharp gasp. Sitting upright, Karl rubbed his temples. He had the nagging sense he¡¯d forgotten something¡ªsomething important¡ªbut it eluded him once more.
Pushing the thought aside, he rose and walked a few steps toward one of the crates.
He was hungry.
Reaching the crate, he pried it open, just as he had done with so many others. But this time, there was no fruit or meat waiting for him.
Karl¡¯s eyes widened.
Inside were rows of brown bottles.
Water!
85: Countermeasure
In the morning¡ªor at least what he assumed was morning¡ªKarl awoke to the sharp pangs of hunger. His stomach growled, an insistent reminder of his craving. In his groggy state, he barely registered the scattered and splintered wood around him. Yet, a nagging sensation gnawed at his senses, as though he had forgotten something crucial.
He rubbed his temples, trying to shake the feeling.
If I can¡¯t remember it, it probably wasn¡¯t important. he told himself.
His gaze shifted, and there it was¡ªthe strange specter beastman, muttering silently to himself.
Why am I even seeing¡ Karl shrugged, pushing the thought aside as he stood up from the cold floor.
Monica, who he thought was still asleep, suddenly yawned and smacked her lips before glancing around. After a moment, she asked, ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of the meat?¡±
Karl¡¯s eyes flicked to the many crates nearby. For some reason, the wooden surfaces bore deep scratches and scars. Had something attacked them?
He smiled faintly, dismissing the thought. Nothing wrong can happen in the castle.
Pointing at the crates, he said, ¡°Check there. The hall must have provided more.¡±
Monica nodded, seemingly trusting the hall¡¯s generosity. It had been a savior to them both.
Karl watched as she searched and fortunately uncovered more meat, always in pristine condition, as though freshly cut from some unknown animal.
What animal did it even come from? The thought flickered briefly before he dismissed it. His attention turned to the dark end of the hall, a weak spark of curiosity igniting within him. Gripping his sickle and a few corrosive claws, he doubted he would need them¡ªbut caution was second nature now.
He paused, contemplating. Leaving Monica here felt unwise. She might eat all the food. And besides, why leave? The hall had always protected him. Here, he was free of danger, free of responsibility. He could live safely, beyond anyone¡¯s control. Nothing could touch him here.
Yet¡
A desire, faint but persistent, still smoldered inside him.
What did he truly want? Was safety and freedom from control enough?
Karl felt there was more¡ªsomething deeper that drove his actions. But what was it?
Frustrated, he slammed his palm against his forehead. His forgetfulness was maddening. The siphoning was to blame, but wasn¡¯t he forgetting too much?
Maybe it¡¯s just not importa¡ª He paused, a new thought dawning. He glanced into the hall¡¯s shadowy depths.
What if there were monsters lurking there?
No, the hall protects. There can¡¯t be. But if the hall sought his wellbeing, wouldn¡¯t it know what he desired? Karl looked down at the sickle in his hand.
And then he remembered.
I want power!
He drew a chilled breath, hunger gnawing at him, but his focus was elsewhere. If the hall truly wanted his well-being, wouldn¡¯t it provide monsters or sanguine creatures for him to slay and grow stronger?
Yes! This is right! This is true. He smiled, a spark of defiance lighting his eyes. The hall protects, doesn¡¯t it?
With that purpose, he casually strode into the cold, dark depths of the hall.
The darkness thickened with each step, and even his enhanced vision struggled to penetrate it. He stumbled over stray chairs and tables¡ªsome embedded in walls, others floating inexplicably.
Encouraged by the prospect of gaining strength, Karl pressed on, his sickle gripped tightly. His eyes darted around, vigilant for any sign of danger.
As he walked, faint specters appeared, glowing softly in the darkness. Some resembled people he knew, their lips moving in silent mutterings.
What is this? The thought flickered and faded as he ignored the apparitions, determined to push forward. But the specters grew more numerous¡ªmen, women, even a young girl in ragged clothes. They all muttered something unintelligible.
They¡¯re not important. He told himself this, though a small part of him felt they might hold some meaning. Perhaps the hall was trying to communicate with him.
Still, he ventured deeper. The cold grew more intense, biting into his flesh, and seeping into his bones. He shivered, the chill becoming unbearable.
Should I turn back? There seemed to be nothing here.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
But he couldn¡¯t stop now. He needed to reach the end, to find power, to seize his freedom with his own hands.
This was what he had always wanted. His ultimate.
Karl stood still, peering into the oppressive darkness. No light, no movement¡ªjust cold and shadow.
He wanted to move forward, but where was he supposed to go?
Then he noticed something.
A few steps away, the blurred figure of the strange beastman stood alone. The other specters were gone.
Was the hall finally¡ª
It opened his mouth.
¡°Won¡¯t you¡¡± it said.
It spoke! Karl¡¯s eyes widened, despite the cold that threatened to freeze them in their sockets. The hall¡ª
¡°For damn¡¯s sake. Remember!¡±
¡°Friend?¡± The word escaped Karl¡¯s lips as his legs buckled, sending him crashing to his knees. His hands slapped against the frigid pavement. Weakness swept over him.
He was remembering¡ remembering everything.
There had been a battle¡ªa relentless, unending battle. He had fought something, day after day, for who knew how long. A monster? A being that devoured their memories and pacified them with food. Food that it¡ª
Karl¡¯s stomach churned violently. Bile surged up his throat, and he vomited onto the floor, splattering his arm and palm with the foul mess.
The darkness around him began to lift, thinning like the night''s mist before a rising sun.
¡°Why do you always come here?¡± The shrill voice pierced through the clearing gloom.
A chill deeper than the cold ran down Karl¡¯s spine. His eyes snapped up, and he saw it.
Just a few feet away, the creature sat like a grotesque king upon a throne of shattered dark stones and wood. A bear-like beast with three heads: one spewing icy wind, another exhaling dark fog, and the central head weeping endlessly.
He remembered this creature. He had fought it many times before.
The monstrous figure dug into its bulging, fleshy stomach with delicate care, pulling out chunks of its own bloody meat and tossing them into crates. The flesh morphed into fragrant fruits, the same food they had been eating all along.
Then, it collected scattered bottles and held them beneath the crying head. Tears flowed like a waterfall, filling the bottles.
Their water.
Karl¡¯s stomach heaved again.
This thing¡ it¡¯s controlling me!
His hands tightened into fists, his vision sharpening, sounds fading into a distant hum. Then everything snapped back to clarity.
Nothing came. No vision. No revelation.
He slammed his fist into the ground. ¡°How dare you!¡± he roared. ¡°That is mine, not yours!¡±
The creature¡¯s shrill voice echoed, but with three heads, it was impossible to know which one spoke. ¡°Why do you keep remembering?¡± it hissed. ¡°I¡¯ve done everything for you. Protected you, fed you, taken away your pain. And still, you resist. Why?¡±
Karl¡¯s memories flooded back. This wasn¡¯t the first time. He had discovered the truth countless times before, fought the creature, and lost. Each time, it devoured his memories and instilled a false sense of reverence.
The ruins, the shattered crates, the scattered debris¡ªthey were the aftermath of his futile battles. Each time, the creature didn¡¯t bother cleaning up. It simply restocked their ¡°foods"
They were eating it while it fed on them.
¡°You must have enjoyed it,¡± Karl said, his voice trembling with fury. He staggered to his feet. ¡°You must have loved controlling me, making my decisions for me. Feeding me your flesh and tears in exchange for my servitude.¡±
¡°I want to save you,¡± the creature said, its shrill voice pleading. ¡°Only with me can you be saved.¡±
Without hesitation, Karl hurled his sickle.
Futile.
The head that spewed frost widened its maw, unleashing a torrent of icy wind. A wall of ice surged upward, sealing off the path to the creature.
Karl spun on his heel and dashed in the opposite direction. He knew he couldn¡¯t win¡ªnot like this. He needed more. Greater strength. In every past attempt, his downfall had been hubris.
He always believed he could defeat the creature through sheer will. That arrogance led to his defeat, his memories devoured once more.
Not this time.
His rage burned hot, but he tamped it down. In the past, rage had driven him to reckless attacks. Each time he acted on it, the creature stole his memories, his very identity.
He couldn¡¯t let that happen again.
He ran, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The cold intensified, biting into his flesh, the darkness deepening around him.
The creature was closing in. He could feel it.
Don¡¯t think about that. Focus!
What I need is power! He remembered Frederick¡¯s words: The visions will give you power. But where was that power now, when he needed it most?
A thought sparked. Rage!
I need to get angry! But the idea was absurd. He was furious already, yet no power came.
Or is it the monster? he wondered. It devours my memories, even thoughts that might threaten it. I need to surprise it. I need to gain my rage so quickly that it can¡¯t take it away.
The power that comes with rage.
A surge of apprehension gripped him. Could he really acquire that kind of anger? Could he use it fast enough to escape the creature¡¯s influence?
No! No time for doubt. Not when something is controlling me.
He needed a trigger¡ªsomething that could ignite his rage instantly.
He knew what it was.
A bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought, but he dismissed it.
It doesn¡¯t matter.
He ran harder, the cold searing his lungs, the darkness pressing in.
What I need is something to spark that fury. Something to remind me¡
His grip on the sickle tightened.
No more forgetting.
Just then, he saw it¡ªa faint gray light filtering through the shadows, illuminating part of the hall.
Rows of tables lay before him. Karl sprinted, his breath ragged, but the cold denied him the sweat that should have accompanied his run.
Monica, who had been grilling meat, startled at his abrupt entrance. But he didn¡¯t have time to care.
He reached the table where he had slept, his hands diving into his pouch. He pulled out the corrosive claws. He would have preferred his sickle, but that was likely embedded in the monster by now. This would have to do.
Without hesitation, he began etching words into the table. Not in Canese, nor any language from this world, but the words of his previous life. He needed a reminder¡ªsomething potent enough to fuel his rage. And it had to be something the monster wouldn¡¯t understand or erase.
He worked quickly, his hands trembling, the claws scratching deep into the wood. He knew the creature wouldn¡¯t have time to decipher or destroy it.
These words would be his lifeline.
A shiver ran through him. The air grew heavier.
A powerful growl reverberated through the hall. Monica froze, her gaze locked on the dark edge of the room. Slowly, the monstrous figure stepped into the light.
Its stomach hung open, entrails dangling like bloody veins. White frost and dark fog streamed from its three heads. The center head¡¯s ceaseless weeping stained the creature¡¯s fur with tears.
¡°Why this battle again?¡± it hissed, the shrill voice echoing.
Karl didn¡¯t look up. His focus was on the lines he carved into the table. Faster. Faster. The message had to be complete.
Monica¡¯s scream sliced through the air.
Everything went dark.
Karl awoke with a gasp.
86: Truly Awakened
His heart pounded frantically, his vision shaking so much that he couldn¡¯t even focus on what lay before him. What in black is happening? He thought, blinking a bit.
Heaving a few calming breaths, Karl turned, surveying the safe hall. He had a dream again..though this time, he was sure something was chasing him in it, but what was it?
He couldn¡¯t remember.
It doesn¡¯t matter, I suppose, he thought, stretching his arms and legs. The sweet relief washed over him, and the cold, though intense, wasn¡¯t that great. It''s a bit colder today, he realized but subsequently dismissed it. Next, his stomach growled, tears swelling up before chilling in his eyes.
What to eat today? Karl thought gleefully, spotting Monica; who still lay on the cold ground, asleep.
Isn¡¯t she..
She awoke, startled. Eyes darting around the room. She stood up looking around as though searching for something. Eyes wide, breath coming out as puffs of white smock, she seemed deeply apprehensive about something. Maybe she was just hungry? Yes, if she ate food then the serene calmness would also come to her.
Karl stood up, walking towards the series of crates arranged in the room. What would she like to eat? he thought, hands pressing against the crate''s lid, opening it. In there, he spotted a few things.
Cast by the unknown source of gray light, the box held several well-cooked meats¨Csteamed, boiled, and salted. The scent filled his nostrils, his mind clearing up via the intoxication, yet he still felt odd.
He reached into the box, taking out a few slabs of perfect steak, then did the same for several other boxes. In the end, he left there with a handful of cooked steak, fruits, some he hadn¡¯t even seen before, and chilled water. Reaching Monica who sat on the ground, feet brought close to her chin, arms wrapped around herself.
Was she cold?
Karl laid the food at her feet and sat down across from her. He picked up a cooked piece of meat, exerting far more strength than expected to tear it in half, then handed one portion to Monica. Of course, he could have simply given her another piece, but with her current odd state, he needed an excuse to speak to her.
She¡¯s finally made an impression, Karl thought. He had never imagined a time when he¡¯d care about what happened to her, but after spending time together in the safe hall, perhaps some level of camaraderie had formed.
Not that he trusted her with his secrets. But he was willing to ask about her state¡ªif not out of genuine concern, then because she was his ticket to the so-called Grand Helper.
Karl paused. Grand Helper? Why hadn¡¯t he thought about that before? Had he forgotten? Was the siphoning so strong that it had stripped him of his goals?
He frowned. That wasn¡¯t a possibility he liked considering.
Should I leave the hall? The thought flickered and vanished as quickly as it came. He shook his head and nudged the meat closer to Monica.
¡°Have some,¡± he said softly, his eyes fixed on her.
But she didn¡¯t move. She should have¡ªshe loved the meat provided by the hall. What was wrong with her? Was she not hungry?
Yet, for some reason, Karl didn¡¯t believe that to be the issue. He leaned back slightly, feeling the cold seep through the stone into his body.
He kept Monica¡¯s portion of meat at arm¡¯s length while he chewed on his own. The flavor was extraordinary, as always, but even the entrancing taste couldn¡¯t distract him. His gaze remained locked on Monica¡ªwatching, scrutinizing.
Something about her solemn state unsettled him. Ever since arriving at the hall, she had been the one who embraced its strange bounty the most. Sure, she¡¯d sometimes wake abruptly from her sleep¡
The thought faded. Karl rubbed his temples as a mild headache bloomed, then pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his frantic heartbeat.
The pulse pounded against his palm, and a deep frown creased his brow. Why was he so anxious? Was Monica¡¯s mood seeping into him?
His eyes flicked to the tables scattered around¡ªsome hanging upside down, others floating mid-air, and a few latched unnaturally to the dark stone walls.
He exhaled a misty breath and turned his attention back to Monica¡ªthe girl he was supposed to protect.
¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± he asked again, nudging the meat closer.
Monica didn¡¯t respond. Her gaze remained downward, arms curled tightly around her knees.
Karl hesitated, then picked up a black apple and devoured it in large bites. Even with the food, hunger gnawed at his stomach.
What should I even ask her?
Karl wasn¡¯t good at moments like this. He preferred silence to awkward conversation, but she was the only other human in the hall. Talking to her, even clumsily, was better than letting his mind slip into madness from prolonged solitude.
Monica¡¯s head slowly rose.
She met his eyes.
Fear.
Karl froze.
What he saw wasn¡¯t mild fear¡ªit was deep, primal, maddening. The kind of fear that makes someone want to scream until their voice breaks.
But she didn¡¯t scream. She simply stared at him, horrified.
One thought echoed in Karl¡¯s mind: She needs meat. That would fix it. Once she ate, the fear would fade.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Wide-eyed, Karl thrust the meat closer to her face.
¡°Eat,¡± he said, his voice hoarse.
But Monica didn¡¯t move. Her lips stayed sealed, her eyes wide with terror.
I need to stop.
Instead, Karl pushed harder, pressing the cooked meat against her mouth. Monica flinched, choking as he leaned over her, one arm pinning her down.
¡°Just eat the meat!¡± Karl shouted, his voice cracking.
But Monica remained steadfast, her body trembling under his weight, her lips pressed shut.
Karl froze, realization crashing over him like icy water.
Stop this.
Karl¡¯s heart pounded faster. Faster. Wildly.
Monica¡¯s eyes were slightly swollen, her skin edging toward blue, and her trembling hands slapped against him in desperate defiance. She was fighting for her life¡ And he? He was taking it.
Stop this!
Karl needed to stop, but the meat¡ it needed to be eaten. It must be eaten. Why wouldn¡¯t she eat it?
Stop this?
¡°Eat the meat!¡±
Stop this!
¡°Just eat it, and this will be over!¡±
Please stop this!
¡°Accept the mercy of the hall!¡± he shouted, his voice cracking. ¡°Devour it¡ Eat it. It needs to be eaten. It needs to feed you.¡±
Why?
The fear in Monica¡¯s eyes shifted. It wasn¡¯t gone, but something new had taken its place. Her dark hair was scattered messily around her face and neck, but her eyes¡ they held something else now.
An epiphany.
Monica¡¯s lips parted, the meat pressed fast against her mouth, but in a split second, she screamed
¡°The hall controls you!¡±
Karl¡¯s eyes went wide. His fist clenched instinctively, then struck his own face. The impact sent him tumbling backward, crashing into a cold table and smashing through a chair at the other end of the room.
From the wreckage of splintered wood, Karl reached up, grabbing hold of the table and pulling himself upright. His mind swirled with vanishing thoughts, his chest heaving as his eyes darted across the strange room.
How? Why? How long¡
His gaze froze on the table. Something was written there¡ªnot in Canese, nor in any other language known to this world.
It was¡ from his world.
Karl¡¯s hands trembled, vibrating with a sudden chill. The cold hadn¡¯t bothered him before, but now, it was all he could feel¡ªan unyielding frost seeping into his very bones.
Memories surged. They poured in, crashing into him like a relentless tide. Days? Years? Months? He couldn¡¯t be sure how long he¡¯d been trapped in this hall, but in all that time, it had been feeding him¡ and feeding on him.
His memories.
Tears streamed down Karl¡¯s face¡ªnot out of fear, nor sadness. No.
It was rage.
Nothing should control him. Nothing!
The world turned crisp, each detail sharp and painfully vivid.
But there it was¡ªsomething. A force. A presence. Whatever it was, it surged forward, intent on silencing the memories. On reclaiming control.
Karl could feel it now. The intrusion.
It was as though his mind was made of countless tendrils, each holding fragments of memory, pieces of thought. And that force¡ªthat beast¡ªwas entwined among them, coiling like a parasite.
No more.
With a surge of will, Karl tore it away.
The intrusion vanished, obliterated in an instant.
And with it came the memories.
A man¡ªhimself¡ªwith wild red hair and a fluttering crimson cape stood firm before a massive, towering black wolf. Shadows clung to the beast, moving with it as though they were part of it.
Despite the monstrosity before him, the man felt no fear. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.
¡°We¡¯re surrounded,¡± he said, his voice steady.
The wolf¡¯s maw twisted into something resembling a smile. Its voice, deep and thunderous, filled the air.
¡°After today, these plains will become a place of nightmares.¡±
The man in red frowned, though most of his face was blurry.
The jagged stone ground trembled as mist¡ªthick and acrid, scented of sulfur and ash¡ªbegan to seep upward. The air churned, heavy and boiling, as the mist grew denser. Shadows moved within it¡ªfigures clad in iron, marching forward.
The memory shattered like glass.
Karl¡¯s head rose slowly, his gaze sweeping over the familiar darkened room¡ªthe black stone floor, the scattered tables and chairs.
But the reverence was gone. Whatever creature had held sway over him, whatever force had clouded his mind¡ªit was gone.
His mind was clear.
The ground shuddered violently beneath him, falls of dust descending from the ceiling.
It was the same trembling he¡¯d felt once before¡ªwhen the young mutant had spoken of a dream.
There¡¯s a connection.
The thought was fleeting, so Karl didn¡¯t linger on it. His attention shifted to the far side of the hall, where darkness pooled thick and impenetrable.
But now, the darkness was nothing more than a thin veil.
And Karl could see what lay hidden within it.
Black ink began to wash down the walls, spilling over tables and crates. Everything. In the aftermath of the dark flood lay the truth¡ªthe trueness of the hall. It was not a safe place. It was a desolate ruin, with molten, broken chairs and tables shattered as though a violent battle had torn through them.
The walls were etched with scratches, grime, and filth. Blood and flesh. Even the fruits and meat in the crates had decayed into foul, stinking slabs of tissue. There was nothing safe here.
Karl sighed, then said, ¡°Come out!¡±
From the darkness emerged a towering figure¡ªsomething like a bear, yet grotesquely different. It had three heads, each displaying distinct traits: one weeping, one spewing out frost like wind. Its stomach was caved in, tendrils of viscera dragging across the grime-slick floor.
The creature stopped a few meters away, looming between two large tables.
¡°Why do you always have to remember?¡± Its voice was a shrill, illusory cry. ¡°Why can¡¯t you let me take care of you? Why? Why?¡±
Karl remained silent, his eyes fixed on the void behind the creature.
¡°Just allow me to feed you,¡± the monster begged. ¡°Please. The outside is dangerous. Stay with me, and you will be safe. I¡¯ll feed you. Please.¡±
Karl stayed quiet. Monica, on the other hand, had passed out at some point¡ªperhaps from strangulation, the cold, or any number of reasons. Whatever the cause, it was her willpower that had kept him alive, free from the creature¡¯s control. What a will she must have.
The beast took a step forward, viscera dragging behind it.
¡°There are monsters outside. Dangerous ones. Stay here.¡±
Karl¡¯s gaze sharpened. This is the thing that had controlled me? He recalled the text on the table and gritted his teeth. Then he raised his hand, and from the shadows, something whistled.
A glint of light cut through the gloom, flying past the monster and into Karl¡¯s waiting hand. His weapon. His sickle.
It wasn¡¯t the white flames, but it was something. Something useful.
Drawing a deep, freezing breath, Karl said coldly, ¡°I refuse.¡±
87: I hate you
He shot forward, sickle gripped tightly in his hand. The creature seemed startled by the sudden outburst¡ªa momentary advantage that favored Karl. Seizing that distraction, he flung his weapon.
The sickle whistled through the air, slicing toward the beast. But before it could connect, a wall of white ice erupted, shielding the creature.
The sickle embedded tip-first into the frozen barrier, leaving only a spiderweb of glass-like cracks. It didn¡¯t shatter¡ªnot that Karl had expected anything so dramatic.
Even without the constant erasure of his memories, the castle itself was more than enough to weaken him significantly.
Can¡¯t the memories grant me greater strength? Karl cursed under his breath. Yet, despite his frustration, he realized he was already stronger than before. Once he managed to kill Olmer and escape this wretched castle, his strength would likely grow even further.
That was enough.
For now.
The creature hesitated, its hulking form wavering. It stepped back¡ªa good sign. Karl stretched out his hand, and the sickle embedded in the icy wall quivered. Then, with a sharp whistle, it shot free, slicing through the air before landing firmly in his grip.
This was his new ability; Recall: anything he had held for an extended period¡ªspecifically for about a minute¡ªcould be summoned back with a mere thought. Unfortunately, the ability didn¡¯t work on living things, only inanimate objects. Regardless, it was an invaluable boon. Karl¡¯s greatest weakness in battle had always been how quickly he lost his weapon.
This fixes that.
He leaped onto a table, then sprang onto a floating chair. It wobbled beneath him but held steady enough.
The monster still didn¡¯t attack. It simply stared at him with its six gleaming eyes.
Attack if you want, Karl thought, but I will still kill you.
Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out one of the corrosive claws, glanced at it, then placed it back.
At that moment, the beast¡ªwatching him with something disturbingly close to pity¡ªlowered its heads and sighed.
It¡ sighed?
For a brief moment, Karl froze, stunned by the strangely human gesture. Then rage surged through him, burning away his hesitation.
This thing controlled me for so long, and now it sighs?
But there was no time to dwell on it. The creature moved, raising one massive paw, its many eyes locking onto him with deadly intent. It was ready now¡ªKarl could feel it in the air, sharp as glass.
It doesn¡¯t matter.
Karl leaped from the chair just as the beast lunged into the air¡ªa shocking display of agility for something so big.
He landed on the grime-covered floor, rolling to steady himself. Above him, the chair and table were obliterated as the monster crashed down, shattering them into splinters and shards under its colossal weight.
One of the creature¡¯s mouths opened wide, and a wave of frozen spikes erupted outward.
Karl¡¯s mind raced.
He kicked off the ground, pushing himself backward in a quick dive. Ice rods slammed into the floor where he¡¯d been standing, embedding themselves in a chaotic fashion.
His breath misted in the freezing air as he stared at the creature.
How am I supposed to kill this thing?
Karl looked up at the ceiling. Dozens of decrepit chairs hung upside down, suspended like eerily chandeliers. He was certain there was a reason he had looked at them¡ªhis mind was forming an idea, though he wasn¡¯t yet aware of what it was. The same for the claws.
Karl snapped his mind back into focus, leaping away just as the creature lunged at him. Perhaps due to the clarity he now felt, its movements seemed more discernible¡ªsharper, almost predictable.
Grabbing a tall table nearby, Karl strained his muscles as he lifted it by the edge and slammed it down onto the creature¡¯s back. The wood shattered into splinters, but he was already moving as another barrage of frozen spikes shot past him.
His eyes flicked upward.
He jumped, and as he neared the ceiling, the world twisted. Up became down, and down became up. Karl grinned, a flicker of realization sparking in his eyes.
The monster stared up at him, while he stared down at it.
As it should be.
Karl clenched his fist and drilled a punch into the ceiling. Then jumped down, but to him, it was as though he jumped up.
The world twisted, momentum carried him downward, sickle in hand, and he hurled it at the creature mid-fall. As expected, a wall of ice shot up to intercept the weapon, the blade embedding harmlessly in its frozen surface.
No cooldowns, Karl noted. It can summon ice endlessly.
But he was already behind the beast. With a sharp whistle, the sickle ripped free from the ice and flew back into his grip. He swung it at the monster¡¯s hind legs, drawing a thin line of surprisingly red blood across the thick fur.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
It was barely a scratch.
Karl wasn¡¯t surprised, but he still flinched when the creature¡¯s leg vanished from his view.
It¡¯s getting faster!
His instincts screamed. Karl glanced up just in time to see the monster descending, viscera-like red rope flapping, claws outstretched. He threw himself backward, barely avoiding the crushing strike as the ground shattered beneath its weight.
But debris followed. Shards of stone and splintered wood struck Karl, one slamming against his right eye. His vision flashed black for an instant.
In that moment of vulnerability, the creature spun and drilled its leg into his stomach.
Pain flared, hot and sharp. Karl was hurled backward, crashing into the wall. His bones rattled, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. But he was still alive.
A little more.
The creature loomed closer, its steps slow and deliberate. Its three heads stared down at him, the weeping one in the center twisted into something resembling pity.
Karl raised his sickle and flung it. The blade missed, embedding itself in the ceiling.
The creature stopped, all six eyes glancing upward. Then, slowly, its gaze returned to Karl.
¡°Is that it?¡± it asked, voice thin and illusory. ¡°This is how you intend to survive the outside world? Death will be your only outcome. Please, again¡ªI beg you. Stay here. Remain safe.¡±
Karl said nothing. He simply grinned and spared a glance at Monica beside him, still asleep amidst scattered food and debris.
She deserves the rest, he thought. After all, without her momentary awakening, I¡¯d still be lost.
He exhaled deeply, recalling the sickle to his hand, and charged forward.
The beast moved to meet him, and Karl flung the sickle again. Once more, it missed, embedding in the ceiling with a sharp thunk.
The creature paid no attention to the miss and lunged forward.
Karl clenched his fist and met the attack head-on. They collided in a chaotic blur of spikes, shadows, and blood.
He seized one of the creature¡¯s many dangling entrails, gripping it like a slimy rope, and pulled hard. It was warm and slick in his hands, but there was no time to hesitate.
They tumbled across the hall, smashing tables, breaking chairs, and leaving destruction in their wake. Karl stayed focused on two things: surviving the monster¡¯s relentless attacks and ensuring his strikes landed on the ceiling.
They separated, Karl landing hard on his back.
He bent his knees and kicked a table upward. It struck the beast¡¯s side, shattering into splinters. But from the wreckage, a jagged icicle launched forward, striking Karl¡¯s left arm.
He gasped as blood spurted, only for the wound to freeze almost immediately. A deep chill began spreading down his arm.
The creature advanced fast, its massive steps echoing across the broken hall. It was bleeding now¡ªarms, legs, even one of its six eyes had been clawed out. Karl had done that one with his teeth. The disgusting copper taste still lingered on his tongue.
But none of it mattered now.
Karl¡¯s eye flicked to the cracked ceiling. Then back to the monster.
He forced himself to stand, sickle trembling in his grip. His left eye burned, his vision blurred, but he could still see the creature stepping closer.
¡°Do you like this state of yours?¡± the creature asked softly, its voice tinged with something mournful. ¡°If only you¡¯d heeded me. Why must you be rebellious, like all those your age? Just listen. Listen to the wisdom of an elder.¡±
It stepped closer.
¡°Look at you. Broken, battered. But there¡¯s still a chance. Give in, and I¡¯ll protect you. I¡¯ll heal you.¡±
It was nearly upon him now.
Karl smiled.
Now!
Karl clenched his sickle tightly, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and flung the weapon with all his might. It whistled through the air and struck with a resounding bang. Then¡ªsilence.
Nothing happened.
The beast below the ceiling seemed to curl its lip into a smile.
¡°If only you had just stayed here,¡± it said. ¡°Now you die.¡±
Karl glanced at the creature, then smiled faintly, jerking his hand. The sickle embedded in the ceiling quivered, then shot out, flying straight into his arm.
At that moment, the ceiling began to crumble. Stone and debris fell like a meteorite storm.
Be buried. Karl thought.
In moments, the towering monstrosity was buried beneath tons of stone and rubble. But Karl wasn¡¯t finished.
One of the creature¡¯s heads¡ªthe one that wept¡ªremained exposed, struggling weakly under the weight.
Karl quickly counted the remaining claws. Only six left. Something that likes to eat should be devoured by something of equal measure.
He gathered four claws and leaped into the air.
It took only a heartbeat. In the next moment, Karl descended upon the creature, claws in hand, vengeance carved into his face.
Boom!
The beast¡¯s struggling head was pinned down by two powerful hands, claws piercing deep into its flesh. A corrosive hiss filled the air as the claws sank into the creature, its dark blood sizzling and culling the life from its veins.
Karl raised his hand, watching as the convulsing head¡¯s darkened flesh turned a pale, deathly white.
¡°No, no, no!¡± the monster roared. ¡°Please don¡¯t do this. You need me. You need me to save you. The monsters¡ The people¡ They will kill you. Please, please!¡±
Karl said nothing, his eyes cold and unmoving as he watched the head quake frantically. Stones trembled as though the beast might rise again. But Karl knew better. This was nothing more than the futile resistance of a slaughtered animal¡ªa pig twitching under the blade of inevitability.
¡°I don¡¯t need you to save me,¡± Karl said quietly. ¡°You fed me and fed from me. I suppose I shouldn¡¯t hate you for that. But¡¡± His heart grew cold. ¡°I hate you for what you did afterward. You didn¡¯t just feed; you controlled. You toyed with your food as though it had no will, no desire. If you had simply fed, this might not have happened. But instead, you chose to control me. And for that¡ I despise you.¡±
The creature fell still.
Its pale, sunken flesh began to steam, turning into black smoke that curled upward, evaporating like ink dissolving in water.
Karl remained silent, watching the creature¡¯s final moments.
This is it.
He was free.
But at what cost?
He dismissed the thought, unwilling to linger on the memories he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted back. The memories that gave him power.
As he turned to leave, something caught his eye¡ªa glint amidst the rubble. Black, viscous liquid slithered out from the crevices, pooling into an odd, shifting shape.
Karl froze, his body tensing with caution. Then, recognition dawned.
Could it be¡ that?
Sure enough, the shape solidified into a black, strange chest, about the size of a man¡¯s head.
Karl leaped forward and pried it open. Inside lay a brown parchment and an axe¡ªor rather, the sharp edge of one, unmistakable in its glimmer.
A world chest, he realized. A knowledge scroll and a world item. Rewards supposedly given by the hidden voice of the world.
You have slain a nameless Astral Kin.
Karl jolted, his eyes darting into the darkness.
What in the Black was that?
A voice. He had heard a voice. Was he going mad? No, that couldn¡¯t be it. Right?
88: Montage
After the tense moment, he calmed himself. The voice was likely the so-called voice of the world. This was the first time he had heard it. Its tone¡ It almost seemed excited.
Hmm.
He turned his attention back to the chest and carefully picked up the parchment.
When he unrolled it, he found black ink sprawled across the surface. Despite its small size, the words seemed endless. No matter how much he read, more lines scrolled upward from below, as though the parchment had no end.
He read what he could.
So Philip was the monster¡¯s name.
The scroll, as he suspected, was a collection of events¡ªa life etched in ink.
Philip had been a man living in the knight city of Clegane. Or, rather, what would eventually become Clegane. He had died long ago, during the Annihilation Wars.
He had three children: two daughters and a son. His son, eager for the glory of war, had desperately wanted to join the newly formed legion. The stories of the Golden Knights had filled him with reverence. But Philip, once a soldier himself and bearing scars both physical and mental, had refused to let him go.
He locked his son away, feeding him daily but never allowing him to leave.
His daughters, on the other hand, were his pride and joy. He loved them deeply, even as he wondered about their odd habits¡ªone daughter played endlessly with icestones, while the other found comfort in the shadows.
But still, he loved them.
When famine struck the town, Philip fought desperately to provide. Hunger clawed at his family, hollowing out their bodies and minds. Despite his efforts¡ªdespite his suffering¡ªit was never enough.
But what could he do? He still needed to feed them. And so¡ he did.
Every day, Philip would cut off parts of his body to feed his daughter and son, though the latter had come to see him as a monster¡ªa captor rather than a father. Why couldn¡¯t he understand? All of this was for his safety.
Yes, Philip was in pain, but his children were alive. They were fed.
That was until news of his actions reached the townsfolk. They called him a heretic, a blasphemer, and threatened to take his children from him.
No. No. No.
They would not leave him.
In fear¡ªand love¡ªPhilip realized the townsfolk could never take his children if they were always with him. Inseparable.
And so¡ he acted.
Alchemy. Using parts of different creatures, he created a temporary potion. But when it was done, he needed one final ingredient: the heads of his daughters.
He would have chosen them all, but it turned out that three heads was the limit.
But it didn¡¯t matter. If his daughters were with him, then he would focus on his son.
He took their heads, and they became part of him¡ªunited forever.
Things were good¡ that was, however, until the Invigilator came and burned him with pure white light.
Karl sighed and tossed the parchment aside. It floated, swaying gently before settling on the stained slightly cold ground.
I was never your son, he thought, reaching into the chest and pulling out its final item.
The axe.
The moment he touched it, Karl felt something¡ªan overwhelming connection, a unity that felt both internal and external. It was as though a piece of himself had been returned or perhaps had been awakened within him.
He summoned the face of the soul.
Starlight shimmered into view¡ªcolors swirling in a myriad of vibrant hues. Among them, he saw his physical enhancements and the faint, grayish glow of his Recall ability. But beyond them, something else caught his attention: a distant, bluish star, its shade reminiscent of an icestone.
The knowledge flowed into him.
¡°Iceful Axe.¡±
That was the name Karl gave it.
It was a world item, capable of freezing anything it touched depending on Karl¡¯s will. The intensity of the cold was tied directly to the amount of mana he channeled into it. But its true brilliance lay in how seamlessly it complemented his Recall ability, allowing him to strike harder and recover the weapon with ease.
Amazing.
He studied the axe. It was deceptively simple¡ªa wooden handle, slightly bent in places, and a silvery metal head engraved with strange white inscriptions. Even gazing at it left him feeling slightly drained, though not enough to cause concern.
Astra.
He recognized it immediately but cared little for the implications. Smiling, he gripped the weapon tightly and hurled it across the room.
It flew with a soft, ringing tune before embedding itself in the far wall.
Karl activated its ability.
A white wave of frost exploded outward from the point of impact, rapidly spreading across the surface and cascading further into the room.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
He smiled, raising his hand.
The axe quivered, then tore itself free from the icy wall, flying back into his grasp.
He had grown stronger.
His gaze shifted to his left hand, where his sickle still rested.
You did good, he thought, before slipping it inside his clothes.
But the sickle would slowly grow obsolete. It was a fine weapon, yes, but compared to the axe, it was nothing. One was crafted by normal hands¡ªa simple newman. The other was born of the Astra.
Karl sighed, admiring the axe one final time before scanning the literally destroyed hall. His eyes settled on Monica, lying amidst shattered furniture, smeared blood, and scattered debris.
He approached her and gently tapped her shoulder.
No response.
Frowning, Karl brought the axe closer to her face, letting the edge graze her cheek. A frosty mist washed over her skin, and with a sharp gasp, Monica¡¯s eyes shot open.
She screamed¡ªa sound raw and primal¡ªand her fist lashed out, striking Karl across the face.
But he didn¡¯t flinch. The blow was far too weak to affect him.
Monica¡¯s eyes regained some clarity, then widened in raw terror. She scrambled backward until her back slammed against the black grime-painted wall.
¡°No! No! No!¡± she cried, voice trembling. ¡°Wake up! It¡¯s eating your memories! Wake up!¡±
Karl stared at her in silence.
How did she know that?
Even with all his memories intact, Monica played no significant role in any of them. At most, she would scream in terror at the monster¡¯s approach¡ªexplaining why she often awoke gasping.
But beyond that? Nothing.
So how did she know about the memory erosion?
Did her willpower break through the control for brief moments, granting her fragments of awareness? Similar to what happened in the case of Olmer? Perhaps her will to survive outshined even his own.
¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± she shouted, pulling Karl¡¯s gaze back to her.
He raised his hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he said, gesturing toward a pile of shattered stone. ¡°It¡¯s dead. I killed it.¡±
Monica froze, her breath hitching. Her eyes darted around the room, then back to him.
¡°You?¡±
Karl nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±
Tears welled in her eyes, and her hands began to tremble uncontrollably.
Karl watched her silently, and once again, a thought struck him.
What a will she must have.
After a few uncomfortable minutes of watching someone cry, Monica eventually fell asleep herself. Which was good for both of them.
Karl lingered a while longer, then moved closer to Monica. He sat beside her, axe in hand, staring at the vast, nearly destroyed hall. The hunger had faded, but so had the food. Sooner or later, they would grow hungry and desperate.
He looked down at his axe, running a finger across the silvery head. Maybe licking ice might stave off the thirst, he thought. Would she want to lick it?
Tilting his head, Karl stabbed the axe into the ground. A thin wave of frost spread outward, covering a few inches of the stone floor. He broke off a frozen shard and brought it to his lips. The chill stung briefly before it dissolved into water.
His eyes gleamed. Yes¡ªwater.
Karl glanced at the sleeping Monica. There won¡¯t be thirst, then.
After a few more tests with the axe, he leaned back against the wall, exhaustion seeping into his bones. The siphoning and his battle with the monster had drained him¡ªmentally and physically. What he needed now was sleep.
But he hesitated.
There was the fear of waking with a gasp, realizing he had forgotten something important. There was the fear of the monster¡ªof Philip¡ªreviving.
Still, he couldn¡¯t avoid it forever. With much effort, Karl allowed himself to drift into sleep.
When Karl woke, he felt better. His mind was clearer, his body lighter. But as he turned to the side, his eyes widened.
Where is Monica?
He stood abruptly, axe gripped tightly in hand. He could make it vanish and summon it again at will, but an irrational fear kept him clutching it.
His eyes darted around the hall, breath quick and sharp. Then he spotted her, rummaging through a pile of rubble. She seemed to be searching for something.
Karl watched her for a moment before calmly walking over.
¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked.
Monica dropped a head-sized stone and turned to face him, a flicker of fear crossing her face before vanishing with a relieved breath.
¡°I wanted to be sure.¡± She smiled brightly. ¡°Turns out you really did kill it! Feels good having a protector like you.¡±
Karl said nothing. His gaze shifted to the large door at the end of the hall. It was strange to think that the door had always been there, yet under the monster¡¯s control, it had seemed practically invisible. Or maybe it was him that refused to acknowledge it.
Monica stepped beside him, coughed awkwardly, then asked, ¡°So¡ what are we doing now?¡±
Karl was silent for a moment. Then, simply: ¡°We leave.¡±
That was all there was to it. He was done here. And whether intentionally or not, the monster had left him stronger. His body also seemed to be healing faster.
Perhaps I¡¯m approaching being a special-class Sanguine.
Monica nodded.
No sass?
Together, they walked to the door. It creaked open, revealing an endless void of darkness beyond.
Without their torchlight, the darkness was now their only companion.
Standing at the threshold, Karl hesitated. He was free, yes, but the creature¡¯s words lingered in his mind. The monsters. The humans it claimed to have been protecting him from.
He shook away the thoughts and stepped forward, Monica close behind.
It didn¡¯t take long before they stumbled upon a corpse. Or rather, Monica stepped on one.
They spent a full minute arguing about how Karl, with his supposed sharp senses, hadn¡¯t detected it first.
I don¡¯t have night vision, Karl growled inwardly, then sighed.
In the oppressive dark of the corridor, Karl had to rely on his hearing to discern faint shifts in wind flow and other subtle cues.
They pressed onward, and eventually, Karl discovered something akin to a stairwell. But the moment they stepped onto it, the scent of death hit them in a suffocating wave.
He grimaced, covering his nose. With his enhanced senses, the stench was unbearable¡ªfar more intense than what Monica must have perceived.
Did someone fight here? Karl wondered. Members of the Mysteries School, perhaps?
They continued downward.
Before long, Karl felt something sticky and dry beneath his boots. Blood¡ªlong dried but still distinct. He could smell it too.
How many died here?
He crouched, running his fingers along the floor, feeling the crusted stains and scattered debris.
What happened in this place?
Sometime later, Karl felt something beneath his hand. It didn¡¯t take long to realize he was touching a corpse. Calmly, he searched through the clothes and soon found something round within the robes.
As soon as he touched it, a faint drain of energy seeped from him, and a white glow shone through the cloth. Karl flinched, dropping the object, apprehensive about what it could be. But the moment he let go, the light faded.
Is it some kind of torchlight?
¡°I think that¡¯s a lighter,¡± Monica¡¯s voice said beside him.
Lighter? Karl had an idea of what she meant. He felt around on the ground again, quickly finding the small orb. Once more, the weakness crept in, and a brilliant white light blazed from the sphere.
89: Found
With the orb¡¯s illumination, the space around them revealed itself.
¡°By Pure!¡± Monica exclaimed.
It was as Karl expected¡ªat least in part. There were corpses, but it didn¡¯t seem like they had died in battle. The bodies, dressed in white kefnas, had their eyes burned out.
Dried blood streaked from the charred sockets. Some corpses had bits of flesh caught under their nails, their faces marred with self-inflicted claw marks.
Having gained deeper knowledge of many things, Karl understood what he was looking at.
Divination gone wrong, he realized, standing and scanning the corridor. They were all members of the Mysteries School, judging from their attire. It¡¯s strange they didn¡¯t understand the consequences of peering beyond the Special Class. Or¡
He glanced at Monica, who was rifling through the corpses¡¯ belongings, likely searching for food or other supplies.
It could be they weren¡¯t aware of the threat posed by what they were divining. If that¡¯s the case, it¡¯s easy to speculate they were searching for something about Olmer. Perhaps a way to escape the castle.
He sighed, taking one last look through the bodies. There was little of value¡ªsome daggers, shards of glass, and, oddly, a piece of moldy cake.
Karl grimaced in disgust, but Monica made quick work of it, eating half before tucking the rest away for later.
¡°Hey,¡± Monica called, holding something. ¡°I found something.¡±
Karl walked over.
She stood before the pale corpse of a woman. Her hollow eye sockets seemed frozen in terror. But it wasn¡¯t the empty gaze that unsettled Karl¡ªit was her fingers. They were bloodied, far more so than the others, as if intentionally cut.
Before her body, written in smeared, dried blood, was a message.
Karl frowned. ¡°Have you read this?¡±
Monica raised an eyebrow. ¡°I can¡¯t read,¡± she said flatly.
Good, Karl thought. If you could, you¡¯d probably already be dead.
The warning written in blood was brief but haunting:
¡°Do not read the two words together. Please don¡¯t. There is something horrific here. Olmer is doing something we couldn¡¯t even imagine. The mutants. They are important. They are the Key. He needs them¡ Please kill the mutants. The castle cannot continue to feed on Mana.
Please stop it. Before he. He. He. He. That being crowned in a rusty metal crown. He is many things. He is Black¡ and a priest.¡±
Karl¡¯s frown deepened. The situation had become even more dangerous. He glanced at Monica, who stood a few steps behind him. The reason he worried for her survival was simple¡ªif she ever spoke the forbidden name aloud, she wouldn¡¯t survive it. She lacked the strength to endure the weight of such knowledge. Her eyes would simply burn away, her mind collapsing in on itself.
Black¡ Karl paused, the word echoing in his mind. Priest. The boy from before mentioned something about a Trinity, and one of them was a Priest. It¡¯s safe to assume this is the same person. Olmer might be planning something that involves him.
The warning was clear: kill the mutants to stop the flow of mana. The castle¡ªthis whole place¡ªwas functioning as a massive battery. If so, the final outcome must tie back to this Priest.
Olmer had left the Maw people behind for something. Likely to become a believer of a god beyond the storm-worship of the Maw. Does this Priest have something to do with that? Yes. Are they a Priest of that god?
Karl dazedly recalled a memory of the red-haired man¡ªa man who wanted to kill the gods.
Turns out he failed.
He sighed and stood up. Can¡¯t figure out much more from here.
Of course, he could use the glasses to probe deeper into the corridor, but in a place like this, doing so would be a death sentence.
After lingering for a few more minutes, Karl and Monica resumed their journey. The lighter made their path notably easier to traverse.
At some point, Karl stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing.
He heard footsteps.
¡°Someone¡¯s coming,¡± he said, his hand tightening around his axe.
Moments passed. Light began to flicker around the corner, shadows stretching and warping along the stone walls. Figures emerged¡ªsome limping, others carrying stretchers laden with the wounded.
They weren¡¯t wearing kefnas. Instead, they wore ragged, mismatched clothing.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Scavengers. They matched Monica¡¯s description of the people saved by the so-called Grand Helper.
So they were real.
At one point, Karl had entertained the idea that Monica¡¯s scavengers were a figment of a frightened imagination¡ªa coping mechanism. But here they were, flesh and blood.
Whether that¡¯s good or bad remains to be seen.
What now?
Karl hesitated. Could they be trusted? What if the monster¡¯s words had been true? If they were¡
He tightened his grip on his axe. If it came to it, he could carve a path out for himself and Monica.
But before he could decide, Monica bolted forward, her voice breaking the tension.
¡°Tint!¡± she cried, running toward one of the scavengers.
Black! Karl¡¯s mind flared in warning. His hand twitched as he prepared to recall Monica¡¯s boots, which he¡¯d imprinted on earlier.
But then one of the scavengers raised his hand in recognition, and the two embraced.
For some reason, Karl felt a pang of emotion.
Moments later, Monica was recounting their journey¡ªthe hall, the monsters, how Karl had saved her single-handedly.
For some reason, the mention of Karl defeating a monster drew several envious glares from the scavengers.
Which makes sense. According to their story, their group had been devastated by a creature that could silence all sound and transform noise into deadly weapons.
That ability sounds familiar¡
If they¡¯d been stronger, perhaps death and agony wouldn¡¯t have been their outcome.
The conversation continued without Karl. He remained on the outskirts, ignored, watched with suspicion.
Eventually, frustration boiled over, and he strode toward Tint¡ªthe scavenger Monica had been speaking with.
¡°Hey,¡± Karl said, his voice firm. ¡°How exactly do you guys find your way back here?¡±
The scavengers tensed. Eyes sharpened, suspicion thickened. They looked at him as if he might be an enemy agent, a puppet of Olmer.
If anything, it¡¯s more likely that one of you is compromised. With so many injured, so many desperate faces, it was impossible to tell who might be hiding a dangerous secret.
Tint glanced at Monica, who gave him a small nod. Then he sighed.
¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Tint admitted.
¡°What?¡± Karl frowned.
¡°To be exact,¡± Tint clarified, ¡°we wander. But somehow, we always end up back at the base.¡±
You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.
Karl looked up at the ceiling, exhaling deeply. So it¡¯s something connected to Sanguine abilities? Is he manipulating the layout of the castle? Or is this¡ luck?
At first, Karl had been skeptical of the Grand Helper. Now he felt something bordering on awe.
In front of them stood a pair of massive bolted doors. Their path had twisted and turned¡ªleft, right, backtracking, looping¡ªand yet none of the scavengers seemed irritated or lost. Now Karl understood why.
So finding their way back is a guarantee.
Tint stepped forward, pulling out a small parchment. He slid it through a thin crack beneath the door and knocked in a specific rhythm.
A password.
The door groaned and creaked. The sound of countless locks and bolts shifting echoed through the narrow hallway.
When the door finally opened, scavengers carrying crude wooden spears surged forward, surrounding Karl, Monica, and the group. Their eyes were wide, sharp with fear, but their posture remained steady.
The group was ushered inside.
The interior was cramped and worn. Cracks ran along the walls, and clusters of scavengers huddled together in corners. Desperation clung to the air like mildew.
There wasn¡¯t much here worth saving. Not that Karl cared about these people.
His attention was fixed elsewhere.
The Grand-Helper.
If this man could truly navigate or control the castle, he might have far more value for Karl
The mist clung thick over the city. Viin, with her soundhand hidden beneath her long sleeves and her free hand adorned with glinting jewels, inhaled deeply. Her sharp eyes scanned the sprawling city below. Despite the vaguely red gloom, the towering statue of the pure white god still stood, looming over the city. Watching. Protecting.
The Maw are obviously planning something, Vin thought. The question is¡ what?
She sat on the edge of a flat wooden rooftop, legs dangling freely over the side. She was waiting¡ªfor something, or more precisely, someone. After many tiresome investigations, she had managed to piece together a hazy outline of events.
For one, Olmer was indeed a heretic, worshipping another god. And the strange occurrences that had plagued Canen over the last few weeks were undeniably connected. Just as she¡¯d suspected.
From the Maw to the Newmans to the Thieving Guild¡ªeverything seemed intertwined. According to her sources, the Thieving Guild operated like a nomadic group, never staying in one city for too long. Yet, they were primarily active in hive cities, where the dense populations made it difficult for officials to track them.
They also functioned like mercenaries, taking any job so long as the pay was high enough. And, to Vin¡¯s irritation, they were loud about it. Despite their name, secrecy wasn¡¯t their style. They preferred to operate boldly, right in the open.
Stupid of them to use the same tactic when dealing with the Ministry.
Vin¡¯s hand distorted briefly as she pulled something from the ground¡ªa stone that shot upward and landed lightly in her palm.
The Thieving Guild¡ Given their mercenary nature, it made sense they¡¯d been hired. Before the attack on Thales Cathedral, they¡¯d never been active in this region.
So which group? Which group? Which group? Vin paused. Could it have been the Maw? But they didn¡¯t gain anything from that attack. Or maybe they did, and the information is just well hidden¡
If the Maw weren¡¯t the perpetrators, then who was? It could have been the same faction backing that strange woman who¡¯d wanted to birth a child with a man¡ But certain clues made Vin doubt that possibility.
Which is it, then? She scratched her head in frustration. Vin liked adventure, but not when the answers were so annoyingly out of reach. Why couldn¡¯t they just come easy?
She shook her head and returned to her thoughts.
If it¡¯s not the Maw, nor whatever faction supported that woman, then who? Not the Newmans, that¡¯s certain. Though they seem to have allied themselves with some gang in the slums, it feels more like a distraction than anything substantial.
Vin¡¯s eyes lit up with sudden realization.
What if there¡¯s another faction? One that wasn¡¯t originally in Canen but needed some kind of smokescreen to enter the city unnoticed? Maybe that¡¯s why they used the Guild. If the Ministry was distracted by that chaos, they wouldn¡¯t notice someone slipping through¡
She paused. Could this be right?
Boom!
A flash of explosive light tore through the distant mist. Vin¡¯s head snapped up, her sharp eyes locking onto the source. A faint ringing sound followed, muted by the distance.
Seems they¡¯ve arrived.
The person she¡¯d been waiting for.
A pillar of white light surged skyward from the explosion¡¯s epicenter, briefly illuminating the red dust-streaked buildings surrounding it.
Vin didn¡¯t hesitate. She jumped.
The ground distorted beneath her, propelling her skyward. Wind screamed against her face as she soared through the air, her eyes fixed on the distant, burning building amid the crowded cityscape.
90: Battle of Orders
She was moving quickly, the city below her scrolling past in a frenzied blur of rooftops. She stopped suddenly, her body jerking slightly from the inertia. Looking down, she spotted it¡ªa two-story building engulfed in red-orange flames.
The man she¡¯d been waiting for stood in front of it. Or, to be precise, the Invigilator she¡¯d been waiting for. Vin didn¡¯t know his name; Invigilators rarely gave them. He was dark-skinned¡ªa Maw, most likely.
After their encounter in the interrogation room, suspicion had grown in her. What exactly had he prevented her from hearing? Of course, it could have been the weight of the knowledge spoken in that room. Ever since the Maw¡¯s sudden outburst, Vin had tirelessly pursued leads and uncovered something fascinating: knowledge above a certain class carried a penalty when known by beings below that class.
Who would have thought?
But that revelation only brought more questions. The Invigilators seemed immune to this penalty. Did that mean he was of that class himself, or did he possess other means to bypass the restriction? Who could guess the extent of the Ministry¡¯s abilities? Whatever the case, his casual nonchalance told Vin one thing: whatever he was hiding was worth knowing.
And so, she followed.
What do we have here?
Below, the Invigilator stood, accompanied by two Scribed Maidens and several pawns. His palm glowed with a calm white light. The Maidens flanked him, heads covered by white hoods while the rest of their bodies lay exposed, etched with glowing symbols. Just looking at them filled Vin with a deep weakness.
In front of them lay several charred, black-hooded corpses.
Vin paid little attention to the Maidens themselves. While the general public might revere these women, Vin knew better. They were walking corpses. Even a sealed Sanguine had more life in them than these poor souls. She understood the strain of using something like divination. Now imagine a body entirely inscribed with such symbols¡ªan existence where death wasn¡¯t just certain but a requirement.
And when they did die, they rarely left behind a soul. They simply ceased.
Vin felt a rare solemnity creep into her chest.
One of the two Maidens slowly raised her hand. The symbols along her wrist began to glow. Vin¡¯s eyes narrowed. She recognized those markings¡ªthey were for a veil.
They¡¯re trying to seal the area!
She stopped distorting. The air warped around her, and she plummeted downward, landing in a roll on the dust-streaked ground. Her white attire was smeared with red stains.
Puffy, curtain-like veils of purple began descending from the sky, though their origin was impossible to pinpoint. They fell in slow, deliberate waves before fading away, leaving the world seemingly untouched¡ªbut now isolated.
One of the pawns turned sharply, sensing her. His head snapped around, his wide eyes filled with fear as he raised his chain sword. He should fear her. She was Sanguine; he was merely human¡ªa pawn.
But before he could act, a voice¡ªno, voices, layered and thunderous¡ªboomed from nowhere.
¡°Malice is prohibited here!¡±
Vin froze. Her emotions dulled abruptly as if smothered under a heavy blanket. What just happened? Alarm flickered in her mind.
Figures, shadowy and hooded in black robes, descended from the sky. They landed silently, surrounding the group. Where had they come from? She hadn¡¯t seen them, hadn¡¯t sensed them. And how had they broken the veil created by a Scribed Maiden?
But despite their palpable malice, Vin felt¡ nothing. Or rather, she lacked the desire to act against them. The intent to harm had been removed.
They¡¯re powerful. That much was clear. To suppress emotion with a single word? That was no ordinary Soother¡¯s trick. No, this was something else entirely. Soothers were subtle, silent. This was raw authority.
From the burning building stepped a figure. A man with brown hair that fell over one eye, his expression solemn. He wore a white kefna, buttoned to one side, and loose, flowing trousers. In his hand was a sleek, glass-like blade, its surface beaded with droplets of water.
In his other hand, he carried a black case. Even without her bizarre eyes, Vin felt what was inside.
Soul bombs!
She was about to move when a sharp, piercing ring filled the air. She staggered, clutching her ears, though it did little to muffle the sound. Avoiding the cry of an Invigilator wasn¡¯t something as simple as covering your ears.
The robed figures staggered too, clearly unprepared for the assault. How had the Invigilator attacked them without malice?
He¡¯s an Invigilator. That was the only explanation.
The Scribed Maidens began to glow¡ªquiet, pale, and desperate. Their bodies radiated light, not the pure white of the Invigilator but something tinged with faint blue. Like mana.
They were burning their very souls to fuel their power.
As the glow intensified, Vin felt the dull weight on her emotions begin to lift. The absence of feeling was replaced with a sharp, furious desire¡ªto kill these heretics.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
¡°Vin of the SS0!¡±
The voice rang in her mind, sharp and commanding.
The Invigilator.
She steadied herself and answered inwardly.
Yes.
¡°I suppose ¡®no¡¯ doesn¡¯t always mean that to you,¡± the invigilator said.
I suppose. Vin almost flushed but caught herself.
¡°This will be dealt with later. For now, the Ministry and the Empire require you to end the heretic.¡±
Vin smiled. Suffer not life upon the heretic! It was something of a motto among the Pure White Invigilators.
There was no response. I wonder what kind of trouble I¡¯ll be getting into now. She sighed.
Silence followed. Both sides stared at each other, unmoving. Who would be the first to act?
¡°Order-unrelated powers are prohibited here!¡±
Turns out it¡¯s them!
The invigilator staggered slightly, the white light seeping from his body recoiling as though forced back into him.
The Order is working? Vin realized, then frowned. Something was odd. Her components were still very much active. Was the Order not working on me?
Could our branches be related? She dismissed the thought, dashing forward toward the nearest hooded figure. The strange Pitcher Branch was incomplete, but somewhere out there, there might exist a fully evolved version.
She closed the distance swiftly, drawing her rapier and slicing with a clean, precise slash. The heretic stepped back and then¡ªshot into the air. Not leaped. Shot.
But something felt off. For some reason, Vin felt the ground beneath her had¡ distorted.
She frowned, then jumped. Like a stone hurled by a slingshot, she rocketed upward, the wind screaming against her face.
So we do follow the same branch! The realization unsettled her. She and a heretic¡ sharing the same branch.
The hooded man extended his hand, and the air around Vin thickened¡ªsolid, unyielding, like petrified stone. She was trapped.
The hooded man drifted closer, his dark robes flapping like torn banners in the wind.
¡°So, you were the one watching from above?¡± he said. ¡°Do you enjoy spying or what?¡± He chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s not very orderly.¡±
So this must be the other group¡ªthe ones who hired the Thieving Guild.
It was a guess, but Vin felt it was likely correct. She smiled. Now she knew where to focus.
The hooded man froze, sensing something, and abruptly retreated. At that moment, the solid wind around her began to dissolve, as though ink was being washed from the air.
He distorted the wind to trap me¡ and I just reversed it.
¡°I see,¡± the man said, his voice calm. ¡°You follow the same branch¡ªthough yours is likely incomplete.¡± He raised his hand. ¡°What about joining the path of Order?¡±
Does that ever work on anyone?
Vin lunged at him, but before she could strike, a pillar of white light erupted from the ground below, illuminating the surroundings like a sudden sunrise.
Her momentum faltered. What?!
Her components weakened, as though forcibly cooled down¡ªor perhaps¡ purified into one.
The ground rushed up to meet her, but just before impact, her components flared back to life. She bounced off the ground, light as air¡ªbecause, in a way, she was air.
Rolling to her feet, her sharp eyes scanned the chaos. The invigilator was locked in combat with someone¡ªa man in flowing white robes.
It was an odd battle: the heretic flickered between mist and flesh, while the invigilator¡¯s blazing white light carved through the air like a blade.
He must be their leader, Vin thought. Him first.
Though she¡¯d have preferred to aid the pawns first, they were, after all, just pawns. Meanwhile, the scribed maidens¡ªhad summoned massive chain swords and was swinging them in wide, destructive arcs at the hooded figures.
Vin sprinted forward, distorting an incoming blade meant for the invigilator¡¯s arm. The weapon rebounded mid-air, as though striking an invisible wall. She reached the invigilator¡¯s side, but the proximity to him caused her components to flare with agonizing heat.
¡°Support me!¡± the invigilator ordered, his voice firm and commanding.
He clenched his fist, summoning a gleaming sword of pure white light before charging at the robed heretic.
Fighting while my own components are breaking apart¡ Vin felt a thrill spark in her chest¡ªthe kind swordsmen often spoke of.
She ran after the invigilator, pushing her components to their limit and making her body nearly weightless. Her speed increased, her form blurring slightly as she moved.
The two of them charged together¡ªVin on the left, the invigilator on the right. The man in white stood motionless, reforming from mist, watching them approach with unsettling calm.
Why isn¡¯t he attacking?
She cursed internally.
At the last moment, the man twisted his body, and the invigilator¡¯s blade of light passed harmlessly through a swirling column of mist. The heretic reformed a few steps away, his footing slightly unsteady.
Vin saw her chance. She lunged, rapier flashing. The blade struck¡ªbut only air. The mist caved around the point of impact.
A glint of silvery light blinked just in front of her. Instinct roared in her mind, and she leaped backward.
She landed hard, just as a glassy blade hacked into the spot she¡¯d been moments before. If she¡¯d been a heartbeat slower, her head would have rolled on the stone floor.
¡°Move!¡± the invigilator barked, hurling radiant spears of light toward the heretic.
The heretic launched himself into the sky, his legs dissolving into swirling white mist that blended seamlessly with the foggy surroundings. His torso remained solid, his head still visible amid the white smoke.
His legs solidified from the swirling mist, and he landed with a heavy thud, closing the distance between himself and Vin in a blink.
He hacked downward with his sword. Vin sidestepped, narrowly dodging the strike, but he twisted mid-motion and slammed a steel-like kick into her side.
The force of the blow sent her flying, her body flailing through the air like a ragdoll. She crashed onto the damp, dusty ground, rolling to a stop.
She tried to move¡ªtried¡ªbut her legs were locked in place. Distortion.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a black-robed heretic charging her with a dagger. He was likely the one who had latched her to the floor.
I don¡¯t have time for this!
With a sharp thrust of her rapier, Vin pierced the air. The heretic collapsed mid-stride, a clean, round hole bleeding from his forehead.
She hadn¡¯t even touched him physically¡ªshe had distorted the distance between her weapon and the target.
But the maneuver came at a cost. Agony flared through her body, her components strained to their limits. The purification pressure, the instability caused by the Astra inscribed on the maidens, and the pain of mana usage piled onto her senses.
She gritted her teeth, barely holding in a scream.
Her legs were freed.
Vin launched herself back toward the invigilator, her movements sharp and precise despite the haze of pain clouding her focus. On her way, she felled another heretic with a deft slash.
A roar echoed through the chaos¡ªa guttural, enraged scream from the invigilator.
¡°I need more!¡± he bellowed, his voice like cracking glass.
Needs what? Vin¡¯s sharp eyes scanned the battlefield.
From what she could see, the invigilator was undeniably stronger than the white-robed man. The problem wasn¡¯t strength¡ªit was endurance. Despite the purification radiating from the invigilator, the heretic remained unaffected, almost¡ untouched.
Of course, if the invigilator unleashed his full power without regard for collateral damage, this fight would already be over.
A sharp cry pulled Vin¡¯s attention.
One of the scribed maidens collapsed, a dagger lodged deep in her chest. Blood seeped into the dusty ground as her lifeless body slumped over.
Around them, most of the pawns lay dead. Predictable¡ªthey had no powers to defend themselves.
¡°Violence is prohibited here!¡±
The booming voice of a hooded figure rippled across the battlefield, and with it, Vin felt her body freeze.
Chains¡ªillusory¡ªwove themselves around her limbs and torso. They weren¡¯t physical restraints, but each time she tried to move, to act with any intention of violence, her body seized up. Even her mana stuttered and froze.
This is bad!
91: Undertaking
The white-robed man lunged at the Invigilator, his blade embedding tip-first into the man¡¯s chest, blood splattering as he wrenched the weapon free.
No! Vin¡¯s eyes widened. What just happened?
But before she could process it, one of the maidens began to glow¡ªa powerful, blinding white light radiating from her form. The hooded men noticed and surged forward, but they were too late. In an instant, she was gone, reduced to smoldering ash.
Vin froze, flabbergasted. But it wasn¡¯t over.
The Invigilator¡¯s body flared next, suffused with that same searing white light. Vin staggered as an intense, burning pain racked her body, as if her very components were being violently torn apart. Or purified.
She recalled the Invigilator¡¯s earlier words. Did she sacrifice herself¡ to give him power?
Perhaps the sheer intensity of the purifying light had disrupted the illusion holding her in place, for the chains around her began to melt into nothingness. Realizing her chance, Vin turned and sprinted, feet pounding against the damp floor as she ran from the light.
She¡¯d seen this before¡ªthis suicidal act. If the Invigilator truly was a special-class Sanguine, then this power surge could only mean one thing: he was about to explode, releasing all his purifying light in one catastrophic burst. That was an ability of that branch.
And Vin had no intention of being caught in it.
She distorted the ground beneath her feet, trying to launch herself away, but barely rose a few inches before crashing back down. The purification¡ªit was suppressing her abilities.
Chaos erupted behind her. Some of the hooded men managed to flee, while others frantically shouted, ¡°Order reigns supreme!¡± as they charged toward the Invigilator.
Vin didn¡¯t care.
Boom!
A blinding flash of white consumed everything.
When Vin woke, the ground beneath her was smoldering, still radiating intense heat. Her body ached as though she¡¯d been wrung dry, and her components¡ªher very abilities¡ªfelt more absent than present.
It would take time¡ªor a strong potion¡ªto recover.
Groggy and disoriented, she pushed herself upright. Her blurred gaze swept over the misty street. No movement. Only charred corpses, twisted and still, leaking viscous black liquid.
In the distance, her eyes caught sight of the Invigilator¡¯s body, crumpled amid the devastation.
Staggering forward, Vin fell to her knees beside him. Without hesitation, she pulled a vial of red healing potion from her pouch, uncorked it, and carefully poured it into his mouth.
The Invigilator coughed weakly. His body shimmered faintly with an illusory light, but his wounds showed no signs of improvement¡ªespecially the one in his chest.
Isn¡¯t this supposed to be a high-quality potion? Vin frowned. Or is the attack itself preventing the potion from working?
It seemed likely.
Her gaze lingered on the dying man. To think I¡¯d see an Invigilator fall¡
The weight of the moment pressed on her chest. She glanced upward at the red-tinged sky, the mist swirling like a veil over the ruins. Wouldn¡¯t the Sanitarium be able to fix this?
She hesitated. Normally, that would be the first thought. But the Sanitarium also meant needles¡ªlots of them.
It doesn¡¯t matter.
She was about to move when she felt a weak grip on her arm. Vin froze, her eyes flicking downward.
The Invigilator¡¯s bloodshot eyes stared up at her. ¡°You¡¯re¡ okay?¡±
He mumbled something unintelligible, his gaze drifting into the distance as if he were staring into eternity. ¡°I failed¡ the Pure White¡¡± he said, tears carving pale streaks down his grime-covered face.
Damn. Vin had never seen an Invigilator cry before. She hadn¡¯t even thought they could cry.
¡°You didn¡¯t fail,¡± she said softly, trying to console him. ¡°You¡¯ve served faithfully¡ªand you¡¯ll continue to serve.¡±
The man¡¯s lips trembled. ¡°No.¡±
Vin hesitated, brows knitting together.
¡°I¡¯ve been attacked by something¡ an affliction only the gods can heal.¡±
The gods? Confusion swirled in her mind. ¡°But¡ the Sanitarium can heal anything.¡±
¡°People still die.¡±
¡°You won¡¯t.¡±
¡°I will.¡± Blood bubbled from his lips as he coughed. ¡°Unless the Pure White God Himself descends¡ I¡¯m done. A failure.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Vin stared at him, her chest tight with something she couldn¡¯t name. Against her better judgment, she spoke.
¡°What knowledge did the Maw have that made you block my ears earlier? And what do you mean by an injury only the gods can heal?¡±
The Invigilator said nothing, only staring at her with pale, hollow eyes. ¡°This is¡ a secret.¡±
¡°But¡ª¡± Vin¡¯s voice faltered. She hated herself for pressing, but the words spilled out anyway. ¡°You failed, didn¡¯t you? An Invigilator failed. Why not let me carry out the Pure White¡¯s will? If you can¡¯t aid him, let me.¡±
The man¡¯s lips curled into a faint, broken smile. ¡°Yes¡ I failed. I was Maw once¡ but the Ministry accepted me. Graciously. And what did I do with that blessing? I failed.¡±
He heaved a shuddering breath, blood trickling from his mouth. ¡°The Maw spoke the name¡ªor title¡ªof a living god.¡±
Vin froze. A living god? The Eleven Gods didn¡¯t behave this way. Their names caused no harm. So¡ which is it? A ruinous god? An evil one?
¡°That god¡ªor goddess¡ªhas been watched over by the Ministry. To ensure nothing¡ happens.¡± His voice was fading, growing faint. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you more. But know this¡ªthe Maw are trying to free her. And if they do, what she guards will be unleashed upon everything.¡±
Vin¡¯s breath hitched. ¡°Wait, what? Are you saying this is¡ a catastrophe-level threat?¡±
¡°But there¡¯s no need to fear that¡ not yet. The Maw are still far from gathering the souls they need to set her free.¡±
Souls. Vin¡¯s mind raced. So that¡¯s why they used a soul bomb¡
Souls are mana. They need the raw power within souls to break the seal?
The goddess... A female form of the storm.
Vin¡¯s blood ran cold as the truth settled over her.
The Invigilator went still. His pale, hollow eyes stared at the sky.
Vin remained kneeling beside him, pondering his words.
The invigilator added, ¡°As for the other¡ªthat one is perhaps the true danger.¡± He said, ¡°Some weeks ago, the Thales Cathedral was attacked by a faction known as the Thieving Guild. However, the attack was a ruse. They were hired by another faction to fool the city''s Paragon Engine and gain entry.¡±
¡°Paragon Engine?¡± Vin had already deduced most of what was being said and didn¡¯t need much time to ponder.
The invigilator shook his head. ¡°I cannot explain that to you,¡± he said. ¡°The faction that entered Canen is known as the Knights of Disordered Order, and they are the ones who attacked tonight.¡±
Seems to fit with their whole aesthetic.
¡°They''ve been sighted in other Glory Cities, as though searching for something. It turns out that ''something'' is here,¡± he continued. ¡°They came into contact with a Maw, who shortly after vanished. Not only that, but they seem to have an alliance with the Order of Newman.¡±
Vin frowned. That doesn¡¯t make sense. As far as she knew, this building was used by the Order of Newman as a front for one of their specialized hospitals. Why would members of the Knights attack their supposed allies? Unless they aren''t allies and are being used.
The Order of Newman is being manipulated by the Knights while maintaining the illusion of alliance.
The invigilator smiled painfully. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ve guessed it now,¡± he said. ¡°Yes. With all the souls they''ve taken, they would have acquired enough power to do whatever they intend... It was always about the souls.¡±
The Maw needs souls, and the Knights need souls... Vin¡¯s eyes sparked with realization. Could they need them for similar reasons? Could the Knights also have some god they wish to bring back? A sudden sense of inevitability washed over her, like everything was spiraling into a single point.
Like a vortex. She shivered. Of course, she knew what that was. But it wasn¡¯t conducive to dwell on whether one¡¯s life was simply part of some grand event, orchestrated to lead them toward something¡ªor someone.
Vin heaved a misty breath. ¡°So that means...¡±
¡°Yes!¡± the invigilator said. ¡°The Knights are trying to free a god¡ªan evil god. The one who attacked me is likely a vessel for that god.¡±
Which explains why the injuries cannot be healed. He already carries components of that god within him. Vin analyzed.
The invigilator''s voice had dropped to a whisper. ¡°But that must never happen. It would be disastrous for such a thing to occur in Canen¡ªthe capital of the empire, the land of Pure White. No. We know what they are doing, but what we need¡ªwhat the Ministry needs¡ªis their location.¡± He paused, catching his breath... or perhaps his final moments. ¡°Can you do that, Vin? Can you find them and stop such heresy from taking root in the Pure White God''s land?¡±
Vin closed her eyes briefly, then parted her lips as if to speak. But her gaze fell to the invigilator.
His eyes were closed. He had died.
¡°Yes. No such god will descend upon Canen.¡±
A memory flashed in her mind¡ªa man, radiant with wings.
She dismissed it, then carefully laid the invigilator''s body down. Stretching out her hand, she spoke a silent prayer. Her eyes scanned the battlefield for a time before her feet slowly lifted from the ground.
Now, I need to find myself a heretic. She drank the last remnants of the potion and exhaled deeply.
She shot into the skies, slicing through the veil of mist.
Below the Grand Helper, two main leaders seemed to hold authority, each with their own faction of survivors and scavengers. One was a Sanguine; the other, a Swordsman. Tint''s group belonged to the latter, which was also Monica''s group.
Speaking of her... Karl hadn¡¯t seen Monica for some time. After arriving in the hold, she had broken away from him, likely to meet her friends or deal with some task. But something about her absence unsettled him. Especially with the way crates were arranged strategically in certain spots throughout the hall.
It reminded him of... that place. The hall that fed and controlled him. Never again.
From his observations, survival here was precarious. Despite Monica¡¯s earlier reassurances, the reality was far grimmer. The people here were barely scraping by on scraps scavenged from the castle.
The wounded were being tended to by young women¡ªbarely adults. In fact, most of the people in the hall seemed between twelve and twenty-three. Some looked like potential mutants, evident in their fitter physiques. Mutants would last longer under mana siphoning, but the rest... they were hollow.
Eyes dull. Skin pulled tight over fragile bones.
After some time, a figure approached Karl. A woman, her steps hesitant, her unease visible. Likely, stories of him killing Astra Kin had spread.
Just don¡¯t think I¡¯m some savior.
¡°The Grand-Helper would like to speak with you,¡± she said.
That was fast. Karl raised an eyebrow but then considered it. I¡¯m likely one of the strongest here. If I were him, I¡¯d also want to secure an alliance. But Karl had no intention of playing diplomat.
He was led into a separate room, where Faus and Lock waited behind a long square table. Faus, the Sanguine, stood out immediately. Angular face, deep eyes, and skin so radiant it almost glowed. He was tall, easily six feet.
A physical component.
Lock was silent. So silent that even with enhanced hearing, Karl could barely pick up his breathing.
But they were not his objective. The one he sought was seated at the very head of the table. Black hair, dark robes adorned with jewels. His face was stoic, his eyes hidden behind slightly cracked glass lenses. He had an air of both scholarship and mystery.
Before either could speak, Karl moved toward the chair at the end of the table. He pulled it back and sat with a solemn expression. He did not carry his axe but could summon it at any moment. He would have preferred to hold it, but given the nature of these people, showing his cards was perhaps not the best move.
92: Astral Kins
There was silence as the three watched him. Then the one, muscular and radiant, spoke, his voice booming like a roar. ¡°We heard of how you saved Monica¡¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Karl said simply.
Faus frowned but remained silent. Cautious. He was likely still assessing Karl''s strength. Good. I suppose. As strong as he may be, Karl harbored not much illusion that he could take on a Sanguine, a swordsman, and whatever it was the Grand-Helper represented.
Maybe not impossible.
About the Grand-Helper: Karl felt something off about him. Perhaps it was his general paranoia, but whatever it was, he was keen on staying vigilant.
¡°How about you tell us exactly how you killed that monster,¡± said Faus.
I see. From what Karl had gathered from whispers and scraps of conversation, none of the people here had ever killed an Astra Kin. Of course, the reason for this could be that the monsters they fought were vastly stronger than his. Maybe not. That one said it was protecting me from the monsters outside, so it must''ve had the power to back up its words.
Karl deliberated for a moment, then began telling the long tale of his days in the hall. Safe as it was. Many parts of the story were carefully edited. He made sure not to mention how Monica had helped awaken him. Doing so would likely turn her into something akin to bait.
The scavengers might think she had some unique ability to combat Astra Kins. Karl wouldn''t want that, right? I promised to protect her, so...
When he finished his tale, which ended with him "by luck burying" the monster, the three leaders remained silent. Finally, Faus spoke, his voice powerful. ¡°Hmm, so you bested it one on one?¡±
Karl did not respond.
Faus''s gaze lingered for a bit. ¡°From what you said, I don¡¯t see the possibility of you besting such a creature. A powerful one. Your Sanguine powers seem only strength-related... Did you perhaps evolve after you killed the creature?¡±
You mean whether I gained my ice power from that. Karl mused. Monica hadn''t blabbed about his secrets and powers. Due to her lack of knowledge, she didn''t understand that the ice powers weren''t his but a product of his World Item. Judging by these people, they likely didn''t know about it either. And as far as he could recall, she hadn''t seen him use it.
So... ¡°Yes,¡± he lied. ¡°After I killed the monster, there seemed to be a vial of grace, perhaps one left by a previous victim of the creature. Regardless, I needed strength, and the monster didn''t seem to have any quarrels with me using its blood.¡± He paused, a smile curling up on his lips. ¡°I suppose, in a way, my greed was greater than the monster''s.¡±
There was silence. Then, out of nowhere, the man at the end of the table snorted happily.
The Grand-Helper burst into laughter. ¡°You heard what he said?¡± He pointed at Karl, grinning at the solemn swordsman. ¡°He said his greed was greater than the monster''s!¡± He then turned his gaze back to Karl. ¡°You are good, quite good. In fact, you are among us now... A leader.¡±
Faus stood up abruptly, the table quaking beneath his hands. His face contorted into intense fury. ¡°What in the shattered heavens is this?! You believe him?!¡±
Now that Faus was standing, Karl noticed several rings on his fingers. Is he a citizen of a Knight City?
¡°We have been fighting this battle for years,¡± Faus said, his hands clenched tightly.
Well, considering the rate of time passage, you likely haven¡¯t been here for more than a week or two.
¡°And this?¡± Faus glanced furiously at Karl. ¡°Just because he¡¯s capable of killing a monster? Who knows, maybe the one he killed was just weak. The bottom of the barrel. And you tell me that you wish to make him a leader? The same rank as us?¡±
Lock remained silent, his eyes staring into the distance as though everything happening was unnecessary to him. An attitude only the strong have? Karl wondered.
The Grand-Helper¡¯s face quickly turned cold, stoic. ¡°Where were you when I alone ventured into the darkness to bring these people to safety?¡±
Faus went silent, veins bulging across his forehead.
The Grand-Helper slowly stood, an authoritative aura radiating from him. ¡°You were a puppet, Faus.¡±
Karl''s eyes widened. What? He nearly blurted it aloud. Faus was a puppet? Then how did he escape? Was he like Monica? Or was his will strong enough? Karl didn¡¯t like the notion of another person being a survived puppet. There was always a chance it was a trick¡ªthat Faus was still a puppet but one playing real.
Of course, given how vacant puppets'' gazes usually were, Karl wasn''t very inclined to believe that possibility.
At some point, Faus had sat back down, though his eyes still gleamed with murderous intensity. If not for the Helper''s presence, he would have challenged Karl outright. The Warrior God Ministry seemed to have such an aesthetic.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
¡°Alright.¡± The Grand-Helper sat down again, then glanced at Karl. ¡°I suppose you have no problem being a new leader?¡±
Karl shook his head.
¡°Then that''s that,¡± the Helper said. ¡°You can choose your own team, but they have to willingly join you.¡±
The Helper proceeded to list off the perks of being a leader. For one, Karl could organize expeditions to search for supplies. He could also leave the encampment anytime he liked.
After some brief discussion, Karl finally asked what he truly wanted to know. ¡°I will soon go on an expedition. But before I leave, I would like to know how exactly your ability works in bringing back those who have left the camp.¡±
It was a roundabout way of asking, but the question had been posed. As he expected, it triggered a number of sharp glares. Even the solemn swordsman gave him a passive glance.
Interesting.
The Grand-Helper lingered in silence for a moment before speaking. ¡°I suppose being curious about that is warranted.¡± He leaned back in his chair. ¡°After all, if I weren''t, then I would likely be controlled.¡±
¡°Controlled?¡±
¡°Ah.¡± Karl realized. ¡°I call them puppets.¡±
The Helper rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ¡°Puppets. That¡¯s better than our term. Alright, that''s what we''ll call them from now on.¡±
Karl shrugged.
¡°Alright then,¡± the Grand-Helper continued, ¡°as you might have expected, my power operates in relation to luck.¡±
Hmm.
¡°I can grant a certain degree of luck towards a specific outcome. However, it must be logically possible. For example, the chance of this place being discovered by accident exists, so it can occur. But because luck is chaotic and unpredictable, it sometimes takes longer to manifest. I simply hope it happens before the entire group perishes.¡± He smiled oddly.
¡°Makes sense,¡± Karl said with a nod. Then, glancing around the dimly lit stone room, he added, ¡°I suppose you found this place using that method?¡±
Am I missing something? Karl frowned slightly.
The Grand-Helper nodded and leaned back. ¡°You¡¯re strong,¡± he said, his voice dropping slightly. ¡°Perhaps you can...¡±
And now the extortion begins. Karl remained solemn, head tilted slightly. He stayed silent, refusing to speak first.
The Helper glanced briefly between Faus and Lock before continuing. ¡°There¡¯s a monster.¡±
Karl acted surprised, his eyes widening slightly.
¡°There are very few paths connecting the encampment to the rest of the castle,¡± the Helper explained. ¡°One such path is dominated by a particularly ferocious beast. It resembles an ash hound but far larger.¡± He smiled faintly.
Does he have a thing for hounds or something?
¡°Normally, we would have avoided it entirely, but it sits atop numerous crates of supplies¡ªfood, to be specific. Supplies we believe were originally brought here by the castle¡¯s owner.¡±
Olmer? Karl recalled the crates he had found in the hall. Could this be the same situation, or was this another anomaly? Questions upon questions.
¡°Of course,¡± the Helper added, ¡°we¡¯ve tried multiple times to kill it. But we couldn¡¯t.¡±
¡°So you need me,¡± Karl said with a faint smirk. ¡°Since I¡¯m the only one who¡¯s killed one.¡±
Faus scowled audibly, but Karl ignored him.
The Grand-Helper was silent for a moment before nodding. ¡°Yes, we need you.¡± He adjusted his cracked glasses. ¡°So, will you aid your fellow humans and show these creatures the might of man... for the First Order?¡±
First Order... Karl¡¯s grin widened slightly. The Grand-Helper was clever. With just a few exchanges, he had tied Karl down with responsibility. Now Karl would have to play the hero or face the scorn of the scavengers.
But... I still have a choice. Help them or not. Either way, I lose nothing. At most, I could force them all into submission. He liked that thought.
However, I need knowledge¡ªabout the Astra Kin, their nature, and their weaknesses. If I dominate them now, they might lie to me. And one wrong piece of information could get me killed.
Though every lie had some kernel of truth.
Karl let the silence stretch before speaking. ¡°I suppose I can help. However, I want something in return.¡±
¡°As you should,¡± said the Grand-Helper.
Karl¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°I want knowledge about these monsters. Everything you know.¡± He chose not to refer to them as Astra Kin. The leaders didn¡¯t seem to know the term, and enriching their understanding served no purpose. I¡¯m the one who needs to learn, not them.
The Grand-Helper nodded. ¡°Alright. Where do you want to start?¡±
¡°Not only that,¡± Karl interrupted. ¡°I want to know everything about this castle. Its origins, its anomalies, and¡ the difference between the monsters in here and the creatures one can normally evolve into.¡±
Faus scowled. ¡°What, do you want to evolve into one? Like you did with that monster you killed?¡±
The Grand-Helper raised his hand to silence Faus. ¡°Very reasonable.¡± He chuckled softly. ¡°Honestly, I thought you might ask about my evolution.¡±
¡°I wouldn¡¯t need to,¡± Karl said simply.
Faus groaned again, but Karl paid him no mind.
The Grand-Helper clasped his hands together. ¡°Evolvable creatures differ in one fundamental way. They exist in reality. They are, in essence, animals¡ªalbeit powerful ones. They have instincts; mental components but a human mind can normally suppress them. For example, a sanguine who evolves into a Shadow Wisp might feel an irresistible urge to loiter around light sources. But their human will overrides it.¡±
Karl listened intently.
¡°But these monsters... their mental components are far stronger. If someone attempted to evolve into them, the monster¡¯s mind would likely awaken inside them. A resurrection, in a sense. Through the bond formed by consuming their blood or essence, their mind would overpower the host.¡±
Faus and Lock exchanged glances.
¡°That¡¯s why I remain skeptical about your supposed evolution from that monster,¡± the Helper said.
¡°My mind simply overpowered it,¡± Karl replied.
¡°Possible,¡± the Grand-Helper allowed. ¡°Though here¡¯s another key difference¡ªthese monsters don¡¯t naturally have a physical form.¡±
Karl frowned slightly. But I saw blood.
¡°You could say this castle is an anomaly. It forced them into physicality. Or perhaps their entry into our world gave them form. Regardless, they¡¯re not entirely bound by normal rules.¡±
Astra Kin exists in the Astra. Karl knew this. They are illusory by nature, but when exposed to physical traits, they gain substance. Maybe if they remain disconnected from the real world, they stay ephemeral.
¡°Another thing,¡± the Helper added, ¡°these creatures¡¯ powers seem... inconsistent. A sanguine creature usually has powers tied to its nature¡ªfog and illusion, lightning and wind. But these monsters can have entirely unrelated abilities.¡±
Karl leaned back, processing the information.
¡°Perhaps their strange state is the reason they remain so unstable,¡± the Helper concluded. ¡°Either way, they share one thing with evolvable creatures¡ªthey lack the cooldowns or mana pain typical of sanguines.¡±
Karl¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. Interesting.
They seem similar but are also different. If anything, an astra kin is stronger than a sanguine creature, Karl realized, then nodded.
93: Expedition
The Grand-Helper heaved a breath. ¡°The monster in particular is able to walk on any surface, turn invisible, and summon a sword of pure golden light that can purify components. But unlike the light of an Invigilator, it purifies even faster and stronger. If one is not careful, one can lose all of their components in a matter of seconds.¡±
That can be a problem. However, for some reason, Karl recalled the golden light that came from Vin back when they fought the impregnating woman. Perhaps she had a similar component.
¡°That''s that.¡± The Grand-Helper clapped, startling Lock, who at some point had fallen asleep. ¡°That¡¯s all about the monster, though it''s also very, very strong¡ Now, for the castle. As you may have known, many things are distorted in it.¡±
And there was that feeling again. That feeling as if he was missing something.
¡°However, the castle is a giant energy construct. It constantly drains mana from those in it to power something. Perhaps the distortion or the monsters. Either way, the distortions seem to have something related to order.¡±
The world turned crisp.
There was nothing but darkness. No. Not darkness. It was as though the darkness was changing. Perhaps pulsing. Then there was playing. Music. A beautiful tune that brought about an odd sensation. Peace. Familiarity. What was it?
He saw a face. Stoic.
The vision shattered.
Just as the world around him blurred back into life, the ground began to shake. Trembling. Falls of dust descended from the roof. Karl had already expected that, so his eyes drifted to the leaders of the encampment.
His eyes flickered. They weren¡¯t surprised!
The Grand-Helper seemed annoyed. Faus enraged. And Lock was¡ asleep.
¡°Sorry,¡± the Grand-Helper said. ¡°This has been happening for some time now. We still don¡¯t know the reason.¡±
¡°How many times exactly?¡±
¡°Three. Four. Not sure,¡± the Grand-Helper said.
Roughly the same amount of time I had those memories¡ªvisions. And also the dream with that mutant boy.
Soon, the quaking stopped, and the ground grew silent.
¡°Alright,¡± the Grand-Helper said. ¡°That¡¯s just about it with the castle. At least, all that we know of.¡±
After that, they had a brief conversation before Karl eventually left the room. Supposedly, the Grand-Helper wanted to speak with his leaders. Not that it mattered to him, but he still couldn¡¯t help but think about what it was.
Well, whatever it may be. If it threatens me, I can always just destroy it.
Now that he was free, he thought back to the strange face in the visions. One thing that he picked from his visions, was that they usually triggered to give him a reward or power, or in relation to something else. Of course, the relation of most of them hadn''t yet been figured out.
And given how he didn''t feel any stronger, did it mean that the face had some relation to what was happening to the castle?
Karl racked his brain for a couple of minutes but eventually dismissed it. It would be something to think about later.
Karl walked past several scavengers. Something felt off. That much he knew. However, the problem was that he didn¡¯t know what. It was a nagging feeling¡ªannoying even. He knew there was something he was missing or perhaps not seeing. Or maybe he had seen it and simply hadn¡¯t grasped it yet.
Karl shook his head, dismissing the thought. He would let it rest for now. After all, pondering something without knowing what it was proved fruitless. Thus, he moved to a certain part of the hall; there, a few women were serving food.
However, despite the cluster, men and women remained apart while eating.
Even in such desperation, they still cling to culture. Karl mused, knowing no such thing could ever happen to him. He took a spot in line, which resulted in many gazes drawing toward him¡ªor more like looking down at him. It was annoying, yes, but even with all his enhancements, he was still not tall.
After suffering numerous gazes, he moved to a secluded corner and then began dining on his meal. The food in question was placed in a black stone-curved bowl. Likely, it was made from the very walls of the castle.
Disgusting.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Sitting down, he scooped a spoon of an old sludge. It seemed to have some meat within it, but most of it was just bones. This again. Karl felt like laughing.
Once again, he had returned to this.
He ate nonetheless. After a while, Monica walked up to him, standing with a satisfied smile.
¡°You seem to be enjoying the company,¡± Karl said, taking another spoonful of the dish. It tasted horrible.
Monica placed her hand on her waist. ¡°Yeah, yeah. So, what have you been up to?¡± she said. ¡°I heard you were summoned by the leaders. So, what did they ask?¡±
Karl frowned a bit. Summoned? He shook his head, then looked at her. ¡°They made me one of them.¡±
There was silence. Monica seemed confused, her eyes absent to his revelation. ¡°What in the Black are you talking about?¡±
Karl took another scoop. ¡°They made me a leader,¡± he said simply.
Monica remained still, and then slowly, a curtain of realization flowed over her expression. ¡°What?¡± she exclaimed. ¡°How? When? Why?¡±
¡°I¡¯m strong,¡± Karl said.
¡°That still¡¡± Monica seemed worried.
About me? he felt warm for some reason. He lingered a bit, then said, ¡°I want you to join my team.¡±
Monica snapped out of her daze. ¡°Ah.¡± She looked around. ¡°I can¡¯t. I¡¯m part of Leader Faus¡¯ team.¡±
¡°So?¡± Karl was a bit confused as to why that mattered.
Monica rubbed her hair. ¡°He¡¯s the leader¡ If I just leave, it would seem like I don¡¯t have loyalty.¡±
Once again, Karl was dumbfounded. What were people even thinking? Loyalty? What? Again, he realized he would never be caught having such chains. He placed the plate beside him on the floor. And just as he did, children who loitered away from him cast hungry eyes on him.
He glanced at the plate on the floor, then back at them. But for some reason, his eyes moved to Monica, who still had a confused expression on her face. After that, he waved at the children, picked up the plate, and handed it to them.
They took the food ravenously, moving to a dirty corner and devouring it as though it was the sweetest thing they had ever tasted.
Karl watched them for a few moments, shaking his head. This isn¡¯t loyalty.
He stood up, taking a step towards Monica. ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡±
Her eyes widened in terror, and Karl smiled. He waved his hand and added, ¡°For an expedition of sorts.¡±
¡°Ah.¡± Monica propped her head on her hand. ¡°So that¡¯s why you want me?¡±
No. ¡°I need a navigator. Someone who knows the castle¡¯s terrain. At least enough to guide us.¡±
Monica giggled. ¡°I¡¯m not from the Navigator Houses,¡± she said. ¡°Even then... many others know the terrain. Maybe even better than me.¡±
Karl grew solemn but hid it well.
¡°But what exactly is this expedition for, anyway?¡± Monica asked.
Feeling no need to hide this particular matter, he said, ¡°To hunt the monsters surrounding the encampment, or those wandering dangerously close to it.¡±
Monica clicked her tongue. ¡°Not many would want to join for that,¡± she said. ¡°The stronger survivors are already part of one team or another, under the leaders. So the only ones left¡¡±
¡°Are the scraps,¡± Karl interjected. This was something he expected.
Monica frowned slightly before continuing. ¡°The only ones left would only attempt to join if there was an assurance of food.¡±
Karl glanced across the gloomy hall. Not that any of them would be of help. At most, they¡¯d simply be cannon fodder. Which is something I don¡¯t particularly need. So¡ they need to be witnesses.
He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll take anyone I need.¡±
¡°Yeah, I suppose.¡± Monica turned, looking at the survivors. ¡°Everyone here needs hope¡ªfor food, for safety.¡±
After departing from Monica, Karl spent hours lying far more than he ever had to. From spinning tales about a possibility mentioned by the grand-helper of food being stored somewhere, to claiming he had supposedly seen some on his way back.
¡°Then why didn¡¯t you bring it when you were coming?¡± one of the gathered people asked with a stern gaze.
Karl glanced at the figure, whom he could only see due to standing on a high bench. ¡°That area is guarded by a monster.¡±
¡°Then why aren¡¯t the other leaders attempting to kill it?¡± another asked.
Karl smiled faintly. ¡°Have they ever been able to?¡±
The gathering grew quiet. By now, his exploits had been dutifully spread by Monica. Good girl. Karl thought, then addressed the group. ¡°I alone have done it. So why not take the risk?¡±
Of course, once it turned out the food did not exist¡ªor more like ¡®had been eaten by the monster¡¯¡ªhe would still have accomplished his goal.
After the silence, several hands rose from the crowd.
Good.
The next day¡ªor what felt like one¡ªthey were prepared to go on the hunt. A small crowd of survivors gathered to see him off, their hollow eyes burning with some hope or anguish. Though some carried spite and hatred, specifically the leader, Faus, standing off in the corner.
Not that it mattered.
Standing before the door of the encampment, Monica stepped up beside him. ¡°This is stupid,¡± she said. ¡°These people aren¡¯t good, nor are they strong. Are you just taking them to kill them? What are they? Bait?¡±
Karl locked eyes with her, feeling a certain pang of emotion...After remaining silent for a couple of seconds, he said, ¡°See what I do, then judge.¡±
She stared at him for a couple of moments, then sighed. Her back turned towards him as she walked into the crowd.
The door opened with a powerful series of clangs and creaks. And just like that, Karl was moving into the depths of the castle again. And who was his team? A navigator spotted by Monica, and some pathetic entourage of scavengers¡
If he were weak, this group would be the end of him. But he wasn¡¯t. This was merely a step toward his desire. He would use them as they tried to use him¡
With that, he and his cohort walked out of the encampment.
The darkness was the first thing that met them. Though some carried lamps and burners, Karl held his lighter in his hand, raising it like a fragile lantern. He moved calmly, following the male navigator.
He hadn¡¯t asked for a name, but the man¡ªor rather, boy¡ªseemed barely eighteen, though he was older than Karl. He had coarse dark hair, hollow eyes, and a small, taut frame. He carried a worn-out book, constantly consulting it, touching walls, and making strange nods.
It looked like some repetitive ritual of some sort.
¡°This way,¡± the boy would say from time to time, which Karl, as his supposed employer, had to follow. And honestly, he disliked having to jerk to attention every time the boy said, ¡°Here¡± or ¡°This way.¡±
He sighed.
This was probably the first time he truly wanted the company of a monster. Although, since he had claimed to have seen a monster with some food, he often made contradicting calls on where they had to go. This bothered the navigator boy very much.
And that was something Karl liked.
Announcement
Oh, heavens, imagine waiting days for a chapter only to see this shit. I sincerely apologize for this. ??
Now to the main reason: I haven¡¯t posted for some time because I discovered some inconsistencies between this work and my other projects (of which there are many). Anyway, I¡¯m currently reviewing the outline and world-building to correct them all.
However, Ulshur (which is the name of the world in By the Blood) still has various planned short stories, which I will be posting once a week on my Discord (which I also just created, so it might be a bit... dead). Anyway, the first short story will be out in two days, and I promise it¡¯s worth it.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I¡¯ll be posting such short stories every week, and due to the planned scope of my world, they might contain information relevant to the overall universe (one I¡¯m currently developing).
So expect books from different worlds, each with its own power system, culture, world-building, and characters.
I hope to see you all there. Also, the channel name for the weekly release is Weekly Standalones.
Oh, and as for By the Blood, in just a few days, I should have completed all the corrections. Once again, I apologize for the hiatus. ????
There¡¯s also a possibility that earlier chapter releases might be shared on the Discord.
See you there!
Also the link is down in the....I don''t really know, it should be down ???? there in something or a linktrr
94:
Dunn stared at the Knight Plate displayed on a mannequin. This was to be his armor for the duration of their expedition. And worse, it had once been Ren¡¯s armor. Warrior, help me. Ren was likely plotting to kill him now. In a way, that might even be reasonable¡ªso long as he didn¡¯t resort to poison: a coward¡¯s weapon. After all, he wouldn''t want to die such a menial death.
Standing beside the armor were two women¡ªscribed maidens. Their faces were hidden beneath golden hoods, and their bodies were inscribed with an array of weakening symbols. Dunn found himself stunned for several reasons, each layering atop the last.
He had anticipated this moment. The Golden Knight had alluded to it in their last meeting, but Dunn hadn¡¯t believed it a true possibility. Knight Plate was far more valuable than even the finest Shard Armor. Yet somehow, the radiant sir had managed to wrest it from Ren¡¯s grasp.
Not only that, but the armor was no longer bonded to Ren. This meant anyone could claim it, and it would become theirs. He was to be that someone.
Dunn stepped closer to the display, letting his eyes linger on the intricate design of the armor. Bulkier than his current equipment, it was composed of countless reddish plates interlocking with dark, gray-edged joints. It was a marvel¡ªa significant upgrade in every sense. He could summon the armor at will, and it came with a sword. It could even repair itself using his energy. Mana, I think it¡¯s called.
The potential it offered was staggering. He would be stronger and faster than any Shard-bearer. He would become a living desolation. Even Adolla, with all his power, would pale in comparison. But as that thought took root, a shiver rippled through Dunn¡¯s body. Adolla. What would that man do if he saw him wearing this? Wouldn¡¯t he drop everything to challenge him to a duel?
That was more than likely.
¡°Please bond with it,¡± one of the scribed maidens said softly. Her voice snapped Dunn from his thoughts, which was fortunate¡ªhe had been teetering on the edge of refusal, fearing that Adolla might ignite their entire encampment in a frenzy of battle.
Not that he had the luxury of refusing. This gift came directly from the radiant sir. To reject it would be tantamount to spitting on the generosity of the sovereign ruler. Dunn would be lucky to receive a trial after such an insult; imprisonment in the dungeons for life would be the best he could hope for.
Beyond all that, this armor was a tool of immense power. It elevated its wearer from a special class to a desolation. Not a true one, as he lacked the status of a sanguine and the perks that came with it, but his strength would still surpass that of any normal man. He might even be able to face one of those giants that ruled the domination. Perhaps he could stand against the black-armored stronghands that had attacked their camp not long ago.
And if he couldn¡¯t? Then he would die gloriously, clad in the finest armor humanity had ever forged.
Dunn thought of the radiant sir. Well, second finest, but still not bad.
He lingered for a few moments, his gaze drifting to a random shadow wisp dimming the eternal lamp on the far wall.
¡°The Chaplain awaits,¡± the maiden said again, her tone serene and devoid of pride. It was an emotionless voice, one that hinted at absolute devotion rather than apathy.
Dunn knew little about the scribed maidens. The ministries kept them hidden from the public eye, and the symbols etched on their bodies were exhausting to look at for too long. Aside from those details, there was little else he understood about them¡ªsave for one thing. They were the Warrior God¡¯s most devout servants.
Perhaps that explained the lifeless voice. Pride had no place among those who served a god.
Dunn stepped closer to the armor until he was mere inches from it. He felt a pang of nervousness, like the first time the legion master had presented him with Shard-Armor.
He would miss his old armor, but in the end, it was just a tool. It had been repaired so many times by the tireless artisans that its originality had long since been welded away.
Drawing a small dagger from his belt, Dunn slid the blade across his calloused finger. A sharp pain flared, followed by the warmth of blood welling to the surface. He pressed the injured finger to the red plates, watching the blood seep into the armor¡¯s interlocking cracks.
A familiar sensation coursed through him. It was as if an additional limb had been grafted onto his body. Though he couldn¡¯t summon the face of the soul like a sanguine, he could feel it¡ªa presence akin to the thrill, coursing through his veins and wrapping him in something both strange and familiar.
The sensation nearly buckled his knees. Ask any Shard-bearer, and they would tell you: nothing compared to the moment of bonding with one¡¯s armor. It was like gaining a silent, unerring companion. A tool that would never betray you.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
It was an otherworldly feeling. A glorious one.
The thrill lasted only a moment longer before Dunn remembered the scribed maidens watching him. He couldn¡¯t very well revel in ecstasy under their gaze. They¡¯ve probably seen this enough times anyway, he thought, refocusing on the new sensation: the extra limb.
It was instinctual. No commands, no words¡ªjust a thought. Instantly, the Knight Plate dissolved into black smoke, curling around him. The vapor coiled around his wrists, legs, arms, and face, carrying the acrid scent of sulfur, like a volcano on the brink of eruption.
As the smoke thickened, it solidified into reddish metal, wrapping him in a shell of impenetrable armor. In moments, Dunn stood fully clad, the weight of the armor negligible against his enhanced strength. Where he had once stood eye-to-eye with the maidens, he now loomed over them.
Amazing. I¡¯m like a true warlock...
He attempted to step forward but found his movements unsteady. His legs wobbled, and he nearly stumbled with the effort of a single stride. Despite knowing these were his limbs, the sudden height difference left him disoriented.
This will take time to master in combat. He acknowledged the challenge and couldn¡¯t help but marvel at Ren¡¯s exceptional skill. The man had supposedly mastered the Knight Plate in mere hours. Dunn continued experimenting with the armor, clenching his fists, twisting his torso, and even attempting a few jumps. Each leap left the ground beneath him cracked and fractured, the solid stone yielding to his immense weight.
Oddly enough, he didn¡¯t feel the weight at all. It reminded him of wearing Shard Armor¡ªa sensation of encumbrance reduced to insignificance. Yet this armor seemed even more advanced, almost ethereal.
Perhaps some new kind of shard armor that feels weightless, he mused. The thought wasn¡¯t far-fetched. The Sanctitarium reportedly produced dozens of unique designs annually.
After a few more motions, he managed to find a semblance of balance. Satisfied, he joined the Scribed Maidens, and together, they departed the chamber, heading toward the War Temple.
Dunn walked through the grand hall of the temple, the bulk of his armor belying its surprising lightness. His gaze wandered to the statues flanking both sides of the path, each one a towering tribute to fallen heroes. He wondered briefly if his own image would join their ranks should he meet his end in battle. Then again, it hardly mattered. In death, such honors were meaningless.
The temple, carved into the heart of an artificial mountain, opened up before him. His eyes were immediately drawn to the colossal statue of the Warrior God. He pumped a gauntleted fist in silent respect, his gaze shifting to the priest-adepts bustling about. Despite his newfound strength, being in this sacred place filled him with an odd, gnawing sense of vulnerability.
The Waygate had seen increased use since the arrival of the Golden Knight. Supplies for the expedition, and even new Scribed Maidens had all passed through its profane archway. Dunn despised the construct. If it were up to him, he would have destroyed it outright. But the Radiant Sir had sanctioned its use, and his orders were absolute.
Before long, Dunn spotted the white-hooded Chaplain waiting near the temple¡¯s inner sanctum. He greeted the man with a bow before following him deeper into the mountain. Curiosity gnawed at him. Why had he been summoned? The Maidens had offered no explanation.
It must be significant, Dunn speculated, focusing on the Chaplain¡¯s steady pace ahead of him.
They stopped before a door¡ªa massive slab of black iron etched with glowing, weakening symbols. The sight of it made Dunn frown. He turned to the Chaplain.
¡°What is this?¡±
The Chaplain remained silent, his hooded face unreadable. He gestured to the Maidens behind them. Oddly, Dunn had nearly forgotten they were there.
At the silent command, one of the Maidens stepped forward, pressing a delicate hand against the iron surface.
¡°You are about to learn why the Radiant Sir has come to this place,¡± the Chaplain said, his voice low and deliberate.
Dunn¡¯s brows knit together. What in the Warrior¡¯s name? He glanced at the Chaplain, then back to the Maiden, her hand still resting on the door.
¡°What do you mean?¡± he demanded.
Instead of answering, the Chaplain issued a single word. ¡°Open.¡±
Light flared from the Maiden¡¯s body¡ªor more precisely, from the strange symbols inscribed upon her skin. The sigils radiated a harsh white glow that spread to the inscriptions on the door. Dunn instinctively reached for his sword.
Red flames curled around his fingers, solidifying into an obsidian-black chain blade. He raised it high. Striking down a Maiden was forbidden, but what he witnessed felt heretical. He was a Legionnaire, sworn to protect humanity from such profanities.
Before his blade could descend, a golden sword of light intercepted his strike, halting it above the Maiden¡¯s head. Staggering backward, Dunn turned to the Chaplain, who now held the luminous weapon.
¡°What is this?¡± Dunn¡¯s voice grew sharp with suspicion.
The Chaplain remained calm, studying him with an unreadable expression. ¡°I expected a more tempered reaction,¡± he said. ¡°Instead, you behave like that one¡ªAdolla, I believe.¡±
The mention of Adolla sent a chill through Dunn. Could the Chaplain be involved in something profane?
His thoughts were interrupted as the Maiden screamed. Her entire body now glowed with a blinding intensity, like a miniature sun. But her usual composure was gone, replaced by raw, primal terror.
Dunn stepped forward, reaching out, but before he could intervene, the light vanished. Where the Maiden had stood, only ash and charred cloth remained.
Wide-eyed but steady, Dunn felt the familiar surge of the thrill coursing through him. He was a soldier, sworn to act in humanity¡¯s defense. Whatever was happening here, it was wrong. Raising his sword again, he prepared to strike down the Chaplain.
The door suddenly creaked open, and a thunderous voice echoed from within.
¡°Stop, Legionnaire Dunn!¡±
The command carried such overwhelming authority that Dunn collapsed to his knees. His Desolation Plate should have protected him, yet he was utterly subdued.
Gritting his teeth, he glanced through the doorway. His eyes widened at the sight of massive golden boots. Raising his gaze, he beheld the imposing figure of the Golden Knight, his spear held ready as always.
Why is he here?
The Golden Knight stepped forward, his voice calm yet commanding. ¡°This is why we¡¯ve been using the Waygate more frequently. This door is a Paragon Engine of immense power. Opening it required potent mana,¡± he explained, his gaze flickering to the ashes on the ground. ¡°All of it.¡±
The knight extended a hand, his massive gauntlet engulfing Dunn¡¯s. Even in his armor, Dunn felt dwarfed by the Golden Knight¡¯s presence. With a firm pull, he was brought to his feet.
95: Binding contract
"My apologies for the theatrics," the knight said, his tone likely deliberate. "However, I suspect you have begun to question the true nature of this mission."
You mean saving Death Runners? Dunn thought ruefully, his gaze lingering on the scorched remains of the maiden. Why had she been killed? He couldn¡¯t understand the reason. Was it something to do with the engine? Did it take all her energy? Is this what happens? he suddenly felt pity for sanguines.
The knight stepped into the room, pushing the door wider as he entered. In the center of the dimly lit chamber, Dunn noticed a man kneeling, bound in heavy rusted chains. The man¡¯s white robe was stained with dirt and blood, and his face bore a mash of scars. His slightly green, oily skin and locked black strands made him seem like a crossbreed¡ªa mixture of hornbreed and maw.
The man¡¯s body was marred with burns, evidence of deep torment. Yet, what truly unnerved Dunn was not the prisoner¡¯s condition but the others in the room. Familiar faces stared back at him. Rollo and Adolla were present, their expressions contrasting starkly. Adolla wore a sly grin, while Rollo¡¯s disdain was evident in the dismissive curve of his lips.
As Dunn¡¯s gaze wandered, he spotted a notary with dark gold hair standing in the far-right corner of the square, black-walled room. The space was also etched with the same symbols as the door. And as always, just looking at it, made him feel a growing weakness. Eternal lamps hung from the ceiling, casting flickering light that banished the shadows.
¡°What is all this?¡± Dunn asked, suspicion gnawing at him. His unease grew as his eyes fell once more on the chained man. Was he the prisoner requiring such elaborate precautions? And if so, why?
The chaplain, accompanied by the sole surviving maiden, approached the bound figure and declared, ¡°This is a mutant.¡±
A heavy silence followed, stretching uncomfortably.
¡°Damn, the prideful son!¡± Dunn roared, his voice echoing. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± His eyes widened, and his grip on his blade tightened. Adolla, Rollo, and the radiant knight all turned their attention to him, their expressions ranging from indifference to amusement. Am I the mad one? Dunn wondered, his thoughts racing. Surely not. This is a mutant. They should have summoned the invigilator by now. Why leave it here? Don¡¯t they know the presence of the profane removes the Warrior¡¯s gaze?
The Waygate incident was one thing, but now a mutant too? Is this campaign nothing but a congregation of blasphemy?
Rollo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.
What? He was surprised by that reaction. Am I wrong to react like this? Dunn thought. As he glanced around, he realized everyone, even the notary, was watching him with mild bemusement. They must have their reasons. The radiant knight wouldn¡¯t act without cause.
¡°Explain,¡± Dunn said, his voice terse.
Adolla scoffed loudly. ¡°Explain?¡± He mimicked Dunn¡¯s tone mockingly. ¡°And what will you do if we don¡¯t? Fight us?¡±
¡°I have Knight Plate,¡± Dunn retorted sharply.
¡°A pitiful shortcut,¡± Adolla sneered, folding his arms. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll show you its worthlessness. After this, you and I¡ªduel.¡±
Dunn stood stunned by the sheer absurdity of Adolla¡¯s words. All shard-armor are shortcuts! he wanted to yell, but he clenched his jaw, swallowing his anger. Taking a calming breath, he turned to the chaplain. ¡°What is happening?¡± This time, he spoke with some respect. Warrior help me, he thought, if there¡¯s a valid reason for this. I nearly damned myself.
The chaplain, seemingly satisfied with Dunn¡¯s change in demeanor, answered with grave sincerity. ¡°This mutant is the reason the golden knight is here. It has uttered heretical prophecies about a horror that might emerge in the distant future.¡±
¡°It spoke of a god,¡± the chaplain continued, his tone low but firm. ¡°The god of the giants is returning.¡±
Dunn froze. ¡°What does this mean?¡±
The chaplain pressed on. ¡°Do you recall the last attack? A suspiciously coordinated assault by giants, many arriving through a waygate. If you thought your clash with Adolla caused it, you were mistaken. It was him.¡± The chaplain gestured toward the chained man. ¡°The giants sensed his presence and sought to silence him.¡±
¡°To kill him?¡± Dunn asked, dubious.
¡°Yes,¡± the chaplain confirmed. ¡°They wanted to ensure his revelations about the so-called Duskbringer never reached us.¡±
Dunn¡¯s mind flashed back to the words of an armored giant he had slain during an intense skirmish.
The chaplain elaborated. ¡°During the Third Millennium, when the Eleven Gods saved humanity from the Mad King and the false heretic deities, the Duskbringer¡ªgod of the giants¡ªwas among those defeated. According to ancient texts, he was impaled on his throne by the Warrior God.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
At this, everyone except the golden knight and the chained man pumped their fists into the air, a gesture of reverence.
¡°But,¡± the chaplain added grimly, ¡°the giants have found a way to resurrect him, possibly with the fairies¡¯ help. We suspect they were behind the fall of Parin Hive City in the northern domination.¡±
Dunn reeled from the revelations. Relief washed over him that his clash with Adolla hadn¡¯t led to disaster, but the thought of facing a god? It felt insurmountable. I¡¯m barely at the Desolation Class, he thought bitterly. And now this?
The chaplain continued ominously. ¡°A terrible age is upon us. An informant in the SSO reports another unsealing¡ªpossibly in Canen, the Empire¡¯s capital. It suggests the return of heretic gods is imminent.¡± He locked eyes with Dunn. ¡°This man spoke your name.¡±
¡°What?¡± Dunn staggered, his heart pounding. The thought that a mutant¡ªa being tied to such an ominous prophecy¡ªhad uttered his name filled him with some level of dread. ¡°Why did it say my name?¡±
¡°That we do not know,¡± the chaplain admitted. ¡°But the fact that it survives under the weight of its knowledge suggests the god of the giants remains dead. However, we need answers, and for some reason, the mutant will only speak to you.¡±
The golden knight stepped forward, his voice like thunder. ¡°If your relevance to this prophecy proves harmful to the Empire, I will kill you. I apologize in advance.¡±
A cold shiver ran through Dunn. He could feel the weight of the knight¡¯s words pressing on him. Dying to a knight wouldn¡¯t be so bad, he thought passively.
The chaplain gestured for Dunn to approach the chained man. Taking a steadying breath, Dunn stepped closer, his heart pounding. He glanced at Adolla, who smirked mockingly, and Rollo, whose indifference remained unshaken. Would anything impress him? Dunn wondered.
Standing before the man, Dunn hesitated. Should I touch him? He refrained, choosing instead to observe the silent figure. Is he even alive?
Adolla burst into laughter. ¡°Look at you,¡± he mocked. ¡°You thought you were important, didn¡¯t you? It¡¯s probably a different Dunn. Your name isn¡¯t unique.¡±
¡°Perhaps we were wrong,¡± the golden knight murmured thoughtfully.
Suddenly, the chained man lifted his head, his eyes wide with extremity. ¡°Watch out! It¡¯s consuming you!¡± he cried hoarsely. He shook his head, muttering incoherently before locking eyes with Dunn again. ¡°No... not that Dunn... this Dunn. Yes, yes¡¡± He paused, his voice trembling. ¡°No matter what, don¡¯t pick up the armor.¡±
The man collapsed, his body limp.
Silence filled the room.
Does this mean I die now? Dunn¡¯s thoughts veered as he eyed the radiant knight, the imposing figure¡¯s spear glinting with a sharp edge. Perhaps, if he fought with all his might, he might manage an escape. But escape would brand him a traitor, and even if he succeeded in evading the knight, the encampment teemed with enough shard-bearers to capture or kill him without breaking a sweat. Resistance would be an act of sheer fruitlessness.
Still damped in silence, the chaplain moved with deliberate steps toward the limp body of the mutant. He crouched, placing two fingers on the man¡¯s neck to check for a life beat. After a moment, he straightened slightly and announced, ¡°He lives. He¡¯s merely unconscious.¡±
The golden knight remained unmoved, his armor radiant. He took several purposeful strides toward Dunn and, with a commanding tone, asked, ¡°Do you have any knowledge of this ¡®armor¡¯ he spoke of?¡±
Dunn¡¯s gaze flickered uneasily between the dismissive Rollo, the smirking Adolla, and the notary standing stoically in the shadows. Shaking his head, Dunn replied, ¡°I know of no such thing. Unless it refers to my former shard plate or this knight plate I currently wear. But even then, the warning was against donning it, and that I have already done.¡±
The knight regarded him for a long, tense moment before shifting his attention to the notary. ¡°Bring a contract,¡± he commanded.
As if awaiting this exact order, the notary¡ªa slender figure with dark gold hair and a single golden dot adorning his right cheek¡ªreached into his robes and withdrew a folded parchment. Moving with the practiced step of one accustomed to such things, he approached the knight, but despite that, the difference between their heights made one seem a child, the other a giant.
Reaching the knight, the notary bowed deeply and offered the parchment with both hands. ¡°Here it is, sir,¡± he said with deference.
The radiant knight didn¡¯t spare the notary a glance. Instead, his focus remained fixed ahead as he said, ¡°Draft it such that Legionnaire Dunn is rendered incapable of speaking about anything he has witnessed here without my explicit authorization. Should he attempt to break this bond, the penalty will be the ignition of his very soul.¡±
Dunn felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine. The words brought the image of the scorched maiden. He had heard tales of binding contracts and their severe repercussions, but this was a level of lethality he had never imagined. Of course, it was bound to exist, he thought.
The notary nodded, retrieving a quill from within his robes. After a few fluid, practiced movements, he began writing on the parchment. When he finished, he raised his eyes to meet Dunn¡¯s and spoke, ¡°I will need your blood to seal the bond.¡±
Dunn hesitated, apprehension flaring. But he knew resistance was futile. With a resigned exhale, he flexed his wrist, allowing the red gauntlet encasing his hand to dissolve into a plume of black smoke and fire. The armor vanished, leaving his hand bare.
Extending his hand toward the notary, he watched as the man pricked his finger with a small, sharp tool. A bead of crimson welled up, which the notary deftly collected. Using the blood as ink, he continued writing on the parchment, the quill scratching softly against the surface.
Once finished, the notary scrutinized his work, his eyes glowing faintly with an ethereal transparent light as if verifying its sanctity. With a sudden burst of fire, the parchment disintegrated into ash, vanishing completely.
¡°It is done,¡± the notary intoned solemnly. ¡°A copy will be sent to the Tome Vault for preservation.¡± He stepped back into the shadows, his role complete.
As the parchment burned away, Dunn felt an indescribable sensation ripple through his body. It was as if invisible chains coiled around his very heart, binding him in ways both physical and unknowable. He couldn¡¯t articulate the feeling, but if needed to, he might have described it as iron shackles tightening around his heart. Maybe that was what it was--chains around his heart.
The golden knight inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the completion of the binding. ¡°Prepare yourself,¡± he said, his voice as cold and commanding as ever. ¡°We depart soon¡ª¡±
¡°Not so fast,¡± came a voice from the corner of the room.
Adolla stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face. The audacity of interrupting a golden knight¡ªa direct servant of the sovereign ruler¡ªwas staggering. Yet Adolla seemed entirely unbothered, his steps measured and hard as he closed the distance between himself and Dunn.
¡°Don¡¯t forget,¡± Adolla said, his grin widening, ¡°we have a duel.¡±
What in the shattered heavens? Dunn¡¯s mind reeled, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.
96: Worthless
The red dust descended gently, painting the world in an eerie redness.
Dunn stood in silence, observing the soldiers as they trained. The field remained a rugged expanse of jagged stone and uneven slopes. Truly a dreadful place to train, but perhaps the best for cultivating resilience and strength. Here, men could acquire the skills essential for navigating this cruel desolate domination. That would be essential for the future of the campaign.
These were his thoughts, though his gaze remained fixed on the trainer.
Having long forgotten the man¡¯s name, Dunn referred to him as the others did: Worthless. A nickname derived from the word he often shouted.
"You''re worthless!" Worthless bellowed, "How are you going to fight a giant with arms like that? Even the bugs have bigger muscles than you!"
He was yelling at a clearly thin guardsman, though not as frail as Worthless made him seem. The soldier in question was likely small due to the rationing of food going around the encampment.
Worthless was a tall man with a muscular build, small eyes resembling those of a tudorson but lacking their characteristic blueness and earrings. He wore a black coat lined with gold, paired with trousers, and carried a sharp chain-sword on his back.
Dunn knew little about the man, but he did know that Worthless had once been a freeblade aspiring to return to the Swordsmen Tower. However, he had been punished and assigned to train soldiers here before he could do so. The Swordsmen Tower did not take kindly to deserters.
I think it was three years, Dunn mused, leaning against one of the wooden pillars. The structure was part of a long wooden building¡ªa stable for the horses. Naturally, high steeds were not kept with ordinary ones, as the latter would turn timid in the presence of their superior counterparts. Left that way for too long, they would become incapable of even moving.
Superiority often destroys motivation. Dunn frowned at the thought. Adolla was serious¡ He wants to fight me? Me, with my knight plate? Is he foolish? He believed the persistent shard-bearer likely was.
Closing his eyes, he felt the presence of the armor¡ªdeep within his soul or perhaps his spirit. Whatever it was, it was there, and he could summon it at will. But despite knowing he was far stronger than Adolla, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there was a reason behind the challenge.
Adolla was no fool. Yes, he was impulsive, but a fool he was not. So why take such a risk? If this were an ordinary duel, it would end after a certain number of injuries. But this was a warlock¡¯s duel. They would fight until one of them lost, surrendered, or became incapacitated.
Dunn had no intention of taking an easy way out, nor would Adolla. Should he go easy on him? No. That would insult both his honor as a shard-bearer and the duel itself.
And without honor, what else did they have?
If the battle were to take place anywhere other than the arena, Dunn would have to hold back; his full might could cause catastrophic destruction enough to cause desolation. But the arena¡ Its walls were constructed from special materials, said to have been found in the Nightmare Plains. He had no idea what those materials were called, but he knew they could withstand damage from a desolation class. After all, the former archon once fought there and nothing happened.
Well, except for the trembling.
He extended his hand, catching a fleck of red dust as it fell like gentle rain. Some say the Eastern Dominion has white dust¡ he thought idly. That can¡¯t be true, right?
It was likely just a folktale. Who knew what was true? Perhaps if the domination reappeared, the truth would come to light. But for now, there was no way to know. Stretching his limbs, he yawned. Damn pride! I can¡¯t be tired before the duel, he thought with amusement. Not there was ever any chance of him losing.
"Hey, you!" an irritated voice called out. Dunn ignored it. There was no way someone would address him¡ªa knight plate bearer¡ªso casually. Unless it was the Golden Knight, whose voice alone would shake the entire training grounds.
"Hey, are you deaf?" the voice shouted again, louder and angrier. Seriously? Dunn groaned inwardly.
"Did you¡ Oh, my warrior!" The voice sounded confused and furious.
Frowning, Dunn raised his head abruptly, ready to confront whoever dared address him in such a manner. He froze. Standing before him was Worthless, his eyes wide, veins bulging on his face.
"What did you plan to do, boy?" Worthless demanded, gripping his sword. Was he planning to attack?
"Worth¡ Sir¡ Ah." Dunn faltered, almost lowering his head but stopping midway. For some reason, he felt unsure of what to do.
"What?" Worthless¡¯s eyes widened. "You can¡¯t greet?"Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Dunn grumbled internally. Though he wanted to greet the man, the words that came out of his mouth were, "I have knight plate."
Worthless seemed startled. "So you¡¯re the one fighting Adolla."
"Yes." Did I become famous or something?
"You have knight plate, huh?" Worthless said, eyeing him critically.
"Yes," Dunn replied with a slight smile. "It makes me a desolation."
Worthless said nothing and turned to walk away. Dunn was startled for some reason. "Hey, what are you doing?"
The trainer paused briefly and said without turning, "I was going to punish you for yawning in my class, but it seems Adolla will do that for me."
Dunn frowned. "What in the shattered heavens are you saying?"
Worthless clicked his tongue and resumed walking. However, he threw one last remark over his shoulder: "You¡¯re weak. That¡¯s just it. So Adolla¡¯s going to mop the floor with you."
Dunn watched the man leave, a smile curling on his lips. These people don¡¯t seem to understand what desolation means. He sighed. He had planned to learn a few techniques from Worthless, but it turned out the man lived up to his nickname.
In the end, he simply observed the soldiers¡¯ movements.
Dunn stood within the waiting hall, several soldiers adjusting and enhancing his armor. They meticulously worked on it, painting it a deeper shade of crimson and inscribing intricate symbols across its surface. He would have preferred the banner symbol of the legion¡ªas the warlocks did not possess a regiment banner¡ªbut given the dishonorable nature of the current battle, such a gesture would be deemed an insult to the clan.
The diminutive soldiers scurried around him, their stature making them appear almost like dwarves as they moved up and about. It felt strange seeing them this way... so small. So insignificant.
Dunn checked himself.
Warrior, cleanse my pride, he prayed silently, watching as another soldier approached from the oval stone corridor. The man carried a small cup filled with liquor and ice stones. Drinking it was required¡ªan odd tradition, yes, but an ingrained part of his regiment''s customs.
I bet this started because of the legion¡¯s master and his drinking habits, Dunn thought wryly, though he dared not utter such words aloud. The legion master was notoriously sensitive about such topics, and with so many soldiers nearby, any one of them might seize the opportunity to curry favor by reporting his remarks.
His gaze shifted to the iron-barred gate to his left. The gate¡¯s top arched slightly, and several worn rods bore marks of some great force. He knew what had caused it. Over the years, the arena had served myriad purposes. Sometimes it was a venue for punishing deserters, granting them one final bout to redeem themselves. Others, less fortunate, met their end here. The arena had housed giants, monstrous insects, and other abominations from the Western domination, used to execute or torture soldiers guilty of grievous crimes.
Seeing a shard-bearer in such a situation, however, was rare. For the most part, it was the mundane soldiers who met their fate here. Some, deep in despair, tried to escape the arena by any means¡ªall in vain. In the end, the scratches on the iron bares were of his humans.
Dunn turned to a soldier beside him. ¡°Is there an execution after my duel?¡±
The soldier started, his head slowly lifting to meet Dunn¡¯s gaze. Impressive, Dunn thought. Few dared to meet his eyes, intimidated by the imposing presence of knight plate.
The soldier took a moment to gather himself before responding hastily, ¡°Uh, yes. Yes. During the last battle, two soldiers tried to desert but were caught by shard-bearer Auro.¡±
Ah, I hadn¡¯t even noticed, Dunn mused. He didn¡¯t bother learning the names of every shard-bearer¡ªit wasn¡¯t his concern. Or perhaps this one simply lacked distinction. But does such a thing even exist¡ªan unimpressive shard-bearer? he wondered idly.
Not that there was anything he could do for the soldiers. They were to be executed for their crime, and that was plain and simple.
The bustling guardsman finally reached him, bowing and offering the cup of liquor. They treated him as though he were royalty. What was he, the sovereign ruler? Dunn smirked to himself.
He suddenly slapped his gauntleted hand against his mouth, the iron clanging loudly. The sound echoed through the corridor like a muted cannon, startling the guardsmen. Many staggered back with wide eyes, a few even leveling their spears. What good would that do?
The liquor-bearer fumbled, his hands now damp with spilled liquid. If it were anyone else, they¡¯d punish him for this, Dunn thought, forcing a reassuring smile he hoped would ease the man¡¯s nerves. Taking the cup in his armored hand, Dunn examined the drink. Ice stones floated within, their surfaces gleaming against the translucent white and faint brown liquor. The drink¡¯s name escaped him¡ªit had been so long.
He stared at the ice for several silent moments, his gaze fixed on its stillness. It rested there, sunken and inert. Hmm.
¡°Sir,¡± a guardsman¡¯s voice broke his trance. Dunn glanced down at the speaker¡ªa soldier with maw-like features stood nervously before him.
¡°What?¡± Dunn¡¯s voice carried an unintentional weight.
The guardsman flinched, his grip tightening on his spear. Dunn half-expected it to shatter under the strain. Like the storm, he thought, recalling something a maw had once said to him.
His mind wandered. The Strongman festival is approaching. I wonder who will win this year. Maybe if this mission ends in time, I can watch. Not that I can participate¡ªLegionnaires are forbidden.
However, I doubt this mission will end easily. We¡¯re dealing with a god. Dunn tensed, his eyes darting around. He exhaled slowly. Thinking it isn¡¯t revealing it, right?
He would much prefer not to suddenly have his soul burned.
He tried to recapture his earlier thoughts but they slipped away. Hmm.
¡°Sir!¡± The voice came again, sharper this time. Who dared raise their voice at him? He looked down to see the same maw-faced soldier. Ah.
¡°What?¡± he asked.
¡°The battle starts in three minutes¡ well, now it¡¯s one minute.¡±
¡°Taa!¡± Dunn blurted, ¡°Why didn¡¯t you speak up?¡± He quickly brought the cup to his lips and drained the liquor. A jolt coursed through him as he accidentally bit into an ice stone, the chill sending a shiver down his spine. The liquor itself was underwhelming, barely warming his throat.
Taking a steadying breath, Dunn turned his focus to the barred door. At some point, the soldiers had departed, leaving him alone with the maw-faced guard. Not that Dunn cared.
He allowed his thoughts to settle, considering which stance, style, and form he would employ in the upcoming duel. Though he didn¡¯t know all their names, years of observing training soldiers and swordsmen had enriched his knowledge.
Gradually, the roar of the crowd beyond the gate grew louder. Cheers and cries of excitement surged like a trumpet blast. Cold sweat beaded on his back, his forehead damp. Yet, he felt calm. This was battle¡ªno place for hesitation.
He closed his eyes.
The duel was soon to begin. A duel he had every intention of winning.
97: Shard vs Plate
The first heartbeat.
¡°We welcome the Knight Plate bearer: Dunn!¡±
The barred gate began to rise, sending an odd chill down his spine. The screams reverberated through his body, pushing away the oppressive heat of the dominion.
The second beat!
He stepped forward, passing beneath the rising gate, his boots crunching against the vast expanse of white sand.
The round coliseum loomed before him. The spectators sat in pews arranged on ascending platforms. The walls surrounding him were darkened with a hint of gold, deliberately inlaid.
The red dust halted here, stopped by the transparent glass dome overhead. But, around him were countless people, screaming and cheering. Some were soldiers, shard-bearers, others were lucky death-runners, and various others who had accompanied the campaign. After all, it took more than fighters to win a domination.
He moved closer to the center of the ring, his mind shutting out the cacophony.
Third beat.
¡°And here comes Shard-bearer, Adolla!¡±
Now! The thrill rose within him.
As the gate on the opposite end lifted, a blur shot out, wielding a blade wreathed in fiery flames. Dunn summoned his weapon, feeling the slight heat as the obsidian-dark blade materialized in his grasp.
He countered.
Boom!
The two weapons collided, sending a heated shockwave rippling across the coliseum. Even the white sand scattered, pushed away by the sheer force of the strike.
And soon, more blows followed.
Dunn smirked inwardly. He was going to win. The sheer difference in their strength made the battle feel almost trivial. He could easily predict Adolla¡¯s attacks, and even the man¡¯s physical strikes felt like mere taps against him.
He slammed his foot into the ground, sending a shockwave that forced Adolla backward. Yet, the persistent opponent somersaulted, landing feet-first on the sand-covered ground. Without hesitation, Adolla lunged forward, hurling a swirling ball of flame in his direction.
Through the red helm covering his face, Dunn couldn¡¯t see Adolla¡¯s expression, but he could guess. The fiery orb struck his shoulder, erupting in a cascade of explosions.
Dunn frowned, shuddering from the impact. That isn¡¯t an ability the shard-armor should possess. He opened his left palm, summoning a fireball the size of a giant¡¯s head. However, before he could hurl it, Adolla sidestepped in a peculiar manner, weaving through the chaos and appearing mere inches from his face, sword poised to strike.
Dunn¡¯s heart sank. The flame ball vanished. Groaning, he roared like a cornered beast, unleashing a vortex of flames around him. Adolla staggered back, seemingly caught off guard. Dunn himself was surprised by the earlier attack. He raised his sword, cutting through the fiery whirlwind. But as the flames dissipated, he found no sign of Adolla.
Where had he gone?
Suddenly, the crowd gasped.
Up! Dunn turned swiftly, gripping his sword with both hands. Another blade descended, colliding with his. Adolla, attacking from above, seemed to grin. At least, Dunn believed he did.
In an instant, Adolla recoiled from contact, then lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into Dunn. Dunn staggered slightly but quickly retaliated, shoving the shard-bearer back. The disparity in strength was unmistakable as Adolla was sent hurtling into the air.
Adolla managed to regain his footing and launched a swift attack. Dunn responded by shifting to a more aggressive stance, twisting and spinning fluidly. His leaner shard armor granted him an edge in agility.
Was the size of his plate an issue? Surely not. Dunn glanced down at Adolla, then leaped high, descending with a powerful swing. However, Adolla rolled deftly to the side, evading the blow that shattered the ground beneath.
Taaa! Dunn cursed inwardly. He still couldn¡¯t fathom why he hadn¡¯t won yet. Well, not yet. He surged forward, closing the gap between them in a heartbeat. Adolla¡¯s quivered in surprise as he scrambled back, narrowly avoiding a strike that would have severed his hand.
I need to be cautious. Despite his confidence in victory, Dunn didn¡¯t want to secure it by gravely injuring the shard-bearer. Adolla could still prove invaluable in the mission ahead.
As the clash intensified, Adolla¡¯s feet suddenly ignited with flame. Before Dunn could react, a fiery kick connected with his helm, snapping his head backward. The shockwave left him disoriented, the world spinning.
Why is this taking so long? He was growing baffled. He wasn¡¯t weak. With the destructive power of a desolation at his command, Adolla should have been an easy victory. Yet, the man was holding his own. Was he truly stronger, even in Knight Plate?This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
That couldn¡¯t be.
Despite his frustration, a burning thrill ignited within him. He wanted to win. He had to.
Funny how a man who craves death fights so fiercely to survive. The thought flickered and faded.
Gritting his teeth, Dunn steadied himself. Roaring, his blade erupted in flames, crackling like a thousand snapping branches. Adolla charged, his fists and legs ablaze. Dunn watched as his opponent closed in, sword ready to strike.
This ends now. Taking the stonestance, he raised his blazing sword over his head.
Time seemed to slow. He saw every detail¡ªAdolla¡¯s fiery limbs, the determined gleam in his eyes. None of it mattered. All that mattered was winning.
Adolla took another step.
Dunn felt the warm breath inside his helm. He willed it. The flames on his sword extended, blazing into a spear of fire. Adolla faltered, but it was too late. The attack was mere inches away.
I win.
Adolla suddenly sidestepped again, the flames on his legs exploding in the opposite direction, propelling him away from the strike.
What?
But Adolla wasn¡¯t finished. In an instant, he spun, slamming his sword against Dunn¡¯s gauntlet.
The blow connected, sending a jolt of pain through Dunn¡¯s arm. His grip on the flaming spear-sword faltered. Before the weapon could hit the ground, Adolla snatched it.
No! A dreadful premonition gripped him, but it was too late.
Adolla wielded the flaming spear-sword, slashing wide.
Boom!
Dunn hurtled backward, smashing into the base of the spectator¡¯s platform.
His stomach churned, the liquor within igniting a searing pain. It wasn¡¯t the exhilarating fire of battle, but the agonizing burn of swallowed embers.
Through blurred vision, he saw Adolla approaching, wielding the elongated flame sword.
That¡¯s not yours. Dunn groaned, willing it. The sword of fire held by Adolla suddenly vanished in an instant, phasing into reality within his own grasp. It still burned. And though he could extinguish the flames to reveal just the steel or knight blade beneath, he knew doing so would activate a cooldown period.
That was something he didn''t want.
Yes, it was consuming his energy at a rapid rate; in a few more minutes, he would likely pass out. But until then, he intended to win. And win he must.
Standing upright, he dismissed his helm. The helmet dissolved in a fume of dark red smoke, allowing the even hotter and muskier air of the dome to brush against his face. He scanned the coliseum, wondering why no cold tails had been placed.
Maybe there wasn¡¯t eno¡ª
¡°Hey!¡± Adolla interjected with a roar. ¡°Don¡¯t go getting distracted¡ You¡¯ve always wanted to die, right?¡±
This again? Dunn regretted ever telling him that. However, he was right. This was no time for distractions. He parted his legs, adopting windstance, but before he could act, Adolla charged toward him. This time, none of his body parts were ignited in flames.
Cooldown!
Dunn welcomed this outcome. He could have employed any of the myriad abilities the plate granted him, but somehow, he saw no honor in that. Why exaggerate his prowess against an opponent he could defeat with raw skill? Yes, he could overpower Adolla with the destructive force of the plate, but what would that prove? Better to show Adolla he was superior as he was.
That was valor. That was honorable. This would prove something.
Dunn attacked. He surged forward, unleashing a barrage of strikes at Adolla. He was not without skill, and though Adolla had previously bested him with some ingenuity, his luck had run out. Here and now, Dunn would demonstrate the terrifying strength of knight plate: the apex armor of the knight houses.
He was the greater of the two, and he would prove it now.
Dunn shouted, his strikes hammering against Adolla, landing searing blows on his arms and cracking his armor. And before Adolla could recover, Dunn spun, drilling a powerful punch into the dazed shard-bearer. Adolla was flung backward but managed to land feet-first with a stagger.
A mad, bloody, toothy grin spread across Adolla¡¯s face, and somehow Dunn found it oddly fitting. Who knew? As it turned out, he didn¡¯t particularly like the man. Was it the countless unprovoked duels or their first meeting, where Adolla had beaten him senseless? Whatever the reason, Dunn was enacting his revenge now.
His assault forced Adolla to hold his sword back and block with his forearm, lest Dunn¡¯s burning chain sword cleaved his blade, leaving him unarmed.
How does worthless see this now? Does he still think I¡¯ll lose? Doesn¡¯t anyone understand the might of the plate? This was the armor I now wielded. This was the might of desolation¡ I am desolation.
Suddenly, the world tilted. What? Dunn crashed to the ground, confusion gnawing at his mind. How had he fallen? But before he could make sense of it, Adolla loomed over him, brandishing his nearly broken sword.
Clang! Bang! Clang!
Blocking with his arm, Dunn remained stupefied as his back half-pressed into the white, sand-covered ground.
Adolla¡¯s grin widened. ¡°You should focus more on your legs,¡± he roared. ¡°That thing you¡¯re wearing is too bulky. Did you will it like that? What, did you want to feel big? That¡¯s some red in you.¡±
How¡? Dunn barely registered Adolla¡¯s words. How could he? He was literally seated on his backside, being attacked like a child. Was he¡ losing?
Dunn screamed, forming a lance of pure red flame in his grasp.
Boom!
He drilled the spear into Adolla¡¯s chest, sending the shard-bearer flying and crashing into the far wall.
The ground shook as an explosion as tall as four men rose into the air. Dunn panted, staring at the fiery plume and smoke. Why had he done that? That was an incredibly dangerous amount of power to use. Did he want to kill Adolla?
As the smoke cleared, leaving only patches of flame, Adolla¡ªpinned to the sturdy wall¡ªhad half his face scorched. The center of his armor looked as if a hole had nearly been carved into it. It was now a shattered core of red metal and smoke.
But his face¡ Despite the burns, Adolla still wore a grin¡ªthough it now resembled more of a smile. Why was he smiling? Who cares? I win, right?
Dunn searched for the judge but was interrupted by booming laughter. Adolla shouted, ¡°What a hypocrite. You want to die but are afraid of losing. What a load of ash dung!¡±
¡°What?¡± Dunn whispered, though somehow Adolla heard it.
Adolla pulled himself off the wall, landing unsteadily. ¡°I see it on your face, always lamenting not dying in battle, yet fighting feverishly not to lose. If you want to die, just let it happen. And now, with that armor¡¡±
Armor? What¡¯s he talking about? Dunn was confused. Is this the rambling of a defeated man?
Adolla staggered forward with effort. He¡¯s already weakened. This battle is mine. A warm sensation spread through Dunn¡¯s chest, and before he realized it, a smile curled across his face.
¡°Oh, now you smile?¡± Adolla advanced with heavier steps. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be sadder that you didn¡¯t lose? Maybe if you did, I would¡¯ve killed you.¡±
Dunn froze. That was usually what he would think¡ So why was he happy?
¡°The red lives within you!¡± Adolla shouted, suddenly dashing forward with unprecedented speed.
What? He can still move like this? Was he faking those staggered steps? Dunn raised his sword to defend, but he noticed his weapon was now obsidian black. No flames. Did I dismiss the flames without realizing it? I wasn¡¯t paying attention.
He glanced at Adolla.
Too late.
In an instant, Adolla¡¯s blade connected with his head.
The world went black.
98: Hypocrite
It was blurry. He didn¡¯t know where he was or what was happening. However, something seemed familiar within the hazy darkness. A woman¡¯s laughter echoed through. Then, there was something red, swaying like the leaves of a tree. It was hair. Red hair.
Whose hair was it?
There was a woman, dressed in white, but he couldn¡¯t see much of her, nor make out anything useful. She was moving, running away. No. He was the one moving.
Now, he floated atop a river, drifting down its currents. He was weak, exhausted, and something burned within his body. What was it, Fire? A man loomed over him. He knew this man; he had saved him¡ Or was saving him?
Dunn gasped awake to an unfamiliar room, looking around in confusion. He quickly recalled the battle, groaning with frustration. Was that really how he lost? A sword to the head? And he had been wearing knight plate? His heart sank, his eyes lowering.
He slumped his head. Why didn¡¯t he just kill me? That would have been the right thing to do¡ How was he supposed to live now? He had lost, and worse, he had done so despite having an overwhelming advantage. He had knight plate, for warrior¡¯s sake. And yet, he was the one lying in this bed¡ Not Adolla.
Did Worthless know I would lose, or did he simply guess? Dunn thought. If it was a guess, it had been a damn well-accurate one. He wondered if those who had bet on his victory were fuming over his foolish defeat¡It was a thing in the encampment. Due to the bleakness of the domination, betting was one of the very few fun things they had. Of course, there were also the duels.
Likely the Golden Knight was reconsidering taking back the armor.
Maybe he will give it to Adolla. He stared at his rough fingers. He seemed the better choice.
Dunn was trying to maintain a composed heart after his loss, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. He had might, power, plate, and yet he had lost. Yes, he had held back to avoid seriously injuring Adolla, but was that truly a mistake? He had knight plate; using his full power would have been dishonorable¡
And if he had won using underhanded methods, it would have sullied his name¡ Hmm, since when did I care about that? he thought idly, heaving a defeated sigh. Maybe he always had¡ After all, why would a man who wants death fight so desperately to win?
Maybe because I want something? He shook his head. No, that was wrong. He didn¡¯t want anything¡ªonly the honor of dying to a worthy opponent. Yes, that was it.
And¡ despite losing to him, Adolla didn¡¯t seem like a worthy opponent. So what qualified a worthy opponent?
Still, why? He gritted his teeth in frustration. His mind churned, considering and pondering, yet he found no answers. Even if Adolla had relied on tricks and movement to win, the sheer power of the plate should have compensated for that¡ He shouldn¡¯t have lost.
Why was my head even exposed in the first place? he wondered, yet the memory remained elusive. Maybe his mind hadn¡¯t fully recovered from the blow¡
He touched his temples, feeling the swollen edge Adolla had created. If that had been a real battle, he would have simply gutted me like an animal. Would that have been better? Though Adolla was far from the man Dunn wanted to take his life, his victory would have at least spared him from his current state. This shameful state.
It was odd to have such a thought. Maybe he truly was weak.
Dunn¡¯s heart sank deeper. Maybe I¡¯m not worthy of this armor. Perhaps the better outcome would be it being given to Adolla.
¡°Seriously!¡± a loud voice suddenly rang out. He knew that voice¡ That was¡
Dunn raised his head, eyes meeting the winner¡ªthe one who had defeated him¡ Adolla.
However, the man was oddly closing in on him, his fists clenched.
What is he doing?
Bang!
Dunn¡¯s head flung backward, nearly hitting the edge of the bed¡¯s headboard. Thankfully, Adolla grabbed him by the neck¡ªAdolla grabbed him by the neck?
His eyes widened, his mind still nursing the pain of the sudden blow. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t one enhanced by shard power, or else his skull would have likely cracked against the wall behind him. That would have been messy. Especially for those who were to clean it.
¡°Why, by the Warrior, is your face like that?¡± Adolla shouted, spews of saliva spraying warmly against Dunn¡¯s face. ¡°You fought like a woman¡ªcapable of causing damage but holding back. This isn¡¯t what I wanted.¡±
How had he even entered? Dunn was occupied with the idle thought as his mind slowly calmed. Perhaps it was the abrupt blow to his face, but now, he remembered. He had been the one to drop his helm. Why? Because of the heat?Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
¡°Listen to me!¡± Adolla shook him violently, the world shifting back and forth as his stomach churned with bile. ¡°Why did you hold back?¡±
¡°Didn¡¯t you say you wanted to beat me?¡± Dunn said, suppressing the nausea. ¡°Looks like you accomplished that.¡±
Adolla frowned and spat on him. That was insulting. A crime, even, but Dunn cared little for it. He was sinking back into that depressive calm that always came when he failed to die in battle. Why did that even happen?
The warm saliva trailed down his cheek, dripping onto the bed. Adolla seemed annoyed by his lack of response. ¡°You really have a lot of red in you.¡±
Again with that. Dunn blurred Adolla from his vision, his mind entering a blank state. Nothing mattered now.
The world began to shake again¡ªno, Adolla had begun shaking him again, his face practically red with fury. ¡°You want to die, right?¡±
Dunn did not respond.
However, at that moment, from somewhere within his clothes, Adolla pulled out a small knife¡ªtoothless, without an edge, smooth like glass. He raised it with a deep frown. ¡°Here, I grant your request.¡±
The dagger came down.
And yet, in an instant, the thrill returned. Instinctively, Dunn summoned his blade, swiping it against the incoming dagger. Adolla stopped, faint wisps of black smoke from the sword kissing against his face. He stared at him in disgust.
The dagger chipped at the center, half of it dropping onto the bed. Why had he reacted? Dunn turned left, staring at the black obsidian blade still emanating faint plumes of dark red smoke.
I resisted?
¡°Now tell me this.¡± Adolla¡¯s voice turned calm¡ªsomething more surprising than losing the battle. ¡°If you wanted to die so badly, why fight back?¡±
Dunn remained silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice, "Because you¡¯re not worthy." That was it, wasn¡¯t it?
Adolla suddenly burst into laughter, dropping the half-dagger onto the bed. He leaned back, releasing his grip on Dunn¡¯s neck. That was good¡ªDunn hadn¡¯t even noticed how his breathing had grown labored under those hands.
The shard-bearer shook his head and said, "You¡¯re a fraud. I¡¯m not worthy? How many times have I beaten you? Even before you had the plate, and I¡¯m the unworthy one?" He laughed even harder. "You know something? You always say ¡®Shattered Heavens this, Shattered Heavens that,¡¯ or something about the prideful son. Yet, you are so steeped in his redness."
Dunn froze. That¡¯s what he meant? Pride? He was full of pride? How did that make any sense? How was that even possible?
Adolla¡¯s smile slowly faded, his voice turning into something deeper, something almost beastly. A calm beast. Would he attack again?
"It seems you¡¯re like an ash-hound that needs to be taught basic things," he said, his gaze calm but simmering with something beneath the surface. "You are too prideful. Deep down, you don¡¯t truly believe you can die. Or maybe it¡¯s fear¡ªsome other nonsense. You tell yourself that only the worthy can take your life, and often you assess this worthiness. But when someone worthy does come, you fight feverishly to stay alive. And when you win, you sulk about it."
"Of course, some scholar might think this is just mental nonsense, but guess what happened the moment you got knight plate?" He paused. "See, knight plate can adjust to whatever height the bonded wants, but instead, you kept it big and strong¡ªbecause that¡¯s how you want to be seen. And when you finally got it, you saw everyone as beneath you. So when you fought me, instead of fighting like a true warlock¡ªdamn the rules¡ªyou held back. You even went as far as giving me an edge by removing your mask. So what¡¯s that, huh? You¡¯re so full of it. A hypocrite."
Dunn was stunned into silence. Every one of Adolla¡¯s words slammed against him like an unrelenting tide¡ªthreatening to break down something. No. It shouldn¡¯t be broken down. What shouldn¡¯t?
He frowned, rubbing his temples. Dismissing the premonition, he focused on what Adolla had said. Was it true? It didn¡¯t seem like it. It didn¡¯t seem like him. And yet, it sounded like it. Was he truly prideful? Was that why he acted that way with Worthless? Why he held back? Was it not honor but pride?
No, it was not, his mind insisted. He massaged his head, then looked up at the roof. Things are confusing.
Whatever it was that this man was saying¡ªit could be true, or it could be false. For now, he needed to calm down and process it later.
"Was this your way of beating out my desire to die? My pride?" Dunn asked, looking up at Adolla.
Adolla suddenly wore an awkward expression.
Shattered Heavens! Dunn nearly started.
A new expression¡ªone Dunn had never seen before on the man¡ªwas now before him. He hadn¡¯t even thought Adolla capable of such a face.
After a moment, it faded, replaced by a mad grin. The man¡¯s emotions were like a storm: unpredictable and ever-changing.
"Taaa!" Dunn exclaimed, instantly regretting it as his stomach flared with a painful heat. He endured the sensation and said, "So you did want to beat the pride out of me, huh?"
Adolla still said nothing. This was the first time such a thing had happened.
"By the Warrior, you care?" That was a genuine question¡ªDunn was rather surprised by this turn of events.
Adolla remained silent for a moment, then sighed. "I got it." He turned around to walk away.
But before he could, Dunn called to him. "How exactly do you know the things you know?" He could be wrong, right?.
If he had guessed, then surely it could be wrong.
Adolla looked away and said passively, "Reveal yourself."
"Yes, sir," a voice suddenly said before Dunn, nearly startling him.
It was a man¡ªbrown-haired with dark eyes that seemed to hold unfathomable depths.
What?
"This is a high-class mind-worm," Adolla said. "He searched your memories and relayed them to me. He¡¯s been following you for some time now."
Dunn stared silently at the serene-faced man. He considered beheading the fellow, but¡ why even bother? He sighed, waving Adolla away. So was this prove? Prove of some truth in Adolla''s words?
The two soon left the room, leaving him in silence.
"Finally, he¡¯s gone." He had been trying to get him to leave. That was the only reason he had changed the topic so suddenly and made little fuss about a mind-worm poking around in his mind. He seems to have noticed it¡
Staring at the ceiling, Dunn suddenly frowned as the contents of his dreams returned to him.
Who was that person with the red hair? he wondered.
Jean wrapped herself in the silk robe, taking a sip of the chilled liquor resting on the table. She exhaled deeply, listening to the exhausted gasp of her guest. She turned to him; a boy¡ªwell, he had been one a few hours ago¡ªlay sprawled on her bed, utterly spent. His short blond hair was tousled, and his bare chest glistened with sweat.
She smiled as he met her gaze. For someone who had just experienced his first time of passion, he had been remarkably vigorous. Who could have predicted such stamina? She had plucked him from the streets on a whim, and now it seemed she had made quite the choice¡ Many of the others would be eager to turn him into a lost.
99: Gathering
Would she allow that? Why not? He has known pleasure, so it no longer holds appeal for me. She looked away, seating herself on the edge of the bed. It was soft against her below. Exactly what she needed.
Holding a piece of parchment she had taken from the table, she glanced through it, picking out details. Having been tasked with aiding the ''boy'' by the Mother, Jean found herself forced to learn and understand countless things. From the wars of the third millennium to secrets about gods and, most of all¡ black.
Needless to say, it was quite a tiring endeavor.
It''s as Madam Solace said, black was likely present during the second millennium. She had acquired this information by charming her way into an exotic priest who had access to the Canen¡¯s tome vaults. She had planned on using Florus, but as it turned out, if she had tried, she would have found herself dead beyond reason.
And even then, Jean had not actually been given access to the tome vaults; instead, she received these parchment copies from the priest. However, given what he had done and the fact he knew who she was, Jean would likely have to kill him to keep the secret.
Might as well get on with it. She stood up and moved to the table. Among other things, there was a small finger-sized vial. Inside it was a sticky white substance. Thank the Mother that the priest was exotic, or I would never have gotten this. Of course, she had not bedded him¡ he was disgusting and repulsive to her. Yet, even the small she managed still made her skin crawl.
Bringing the white substance to her eyes, Jean smiled slightly, then pointed her finger at the tube. She first said a few words in High Astra, which left her panting before she spoke the last: ¡°Maladiro!¡± a word in Draconis.
She dropped the vial on the table, her shoulders quivering with frantic breaths. It took a few minutes to recover, and after she did, she exhaled a relieved breath. That should take care of him.
She hoped. After all, if killing a feathered angel was so easy, then everyone would be doing it.
Turning, her eyes met the blond-haired boy sitting on the bed, a seductive smile curling on his lips. Not this again. Jean sighed in annoyance. What is it with men and thinking one night means something more?
Well, you once had that with Dunn. Jean shrugged off the thought, stepping toward the boy. She leaned down, picking up the clothes scattered on the floor¡ªrags covered in dirt and dust. Tossing them onto the boy, she said, ¡°Off you go.¡± You should be grateful you get to keep your sanity instead of becoming one of the lost.
The boy caught the clothes with a bewildered expression. ¡°What? Ah¡ What the last hours?¡± he asked. ¡°Was that nothing?¡±
Jean wanted to facepalm. ¡°It was what it was,¡± she shrugged. ¡°I was tired of studying history and needed an escape. You fulfilled that, and I fulfilled yours. That¡¯s all. The deal¡¯s done, I suppose.¡±
¡°Deal?¡± The boy¡¯s eyes flared with a certain rage.
Oh Mother.
¡°Deal?¡± he shouted. ¡°Did we write a contract or something? Did a notary sign it? So what do you mean by deal?¡± The boy slowly looked down, tears streaming from his eyes. ¡°Please, no¡ I love you.¡±
Jean cocked her head. Did I use too much charm last night? She wasn¡¯t sure. And even if she had, it was likely the boy¡¯s fault for being so eager. She remained silent, watching him cry, his golden hair seeming to sway in rhythm with his whimpering¡
Klaus!
What? Jean started, her brows furrowing. Am I mad? She lowered her gaze, then looked up at the boy¡ at his golden, tousled hair. Is that why I picked him? Because he looks like Klaus? No way, right?
¡°Please¡¡± the boy suddenly pleaded, drawing Jean¡¯s attention. ¡°I¡¯ll be good. Very good. Just don¡¯t leave me.¡±
Jean remained silent for some time, then snapped her fingers. A figure quickly entered her chambers¡ªslouched, dwarf-like, and covered in a red robe. The taut-skinned man rasped in a hoarse voice, ¡°Yes, mistress.¡±
I am no mistress. Jean thought idly, then said, ¡°Take him to one of my sisters¡¯ orgies.¡±
The man suddenly quivered, a smile creeping onto his slimy lips. ¡°Ah,¡± he looked at the boy. ¡°So young. So vigorous. He will enjoy much of the mistresses¡¯ company. I¡¯m so envious.¡±
The boy glanced between them, confused. Jean remained silent, turmoil raging in her mind. She needed him out of here before she did something¡ dangerous. Endure it. She smiled, looking at the boy. ¡°I accept your love,¡± she said. ¡°Go with him, and I will come to see you.¡±
The boy¡¯s eyes beamed with renewed hope. He stood, the bedsheet and clothes slipping down his body, revealing him to all. Mostly to the lost, who quivered ecstatically. Why? Does seeing male bodies also entice him?
Climbing off the bed, the boy curled around her legs, kissing them. ¡°Thank you. Thank you,¡± he murmured, his lips wet against her skin.
Jean cared little for it and simply endured until the lost took him away. Soon, maybe in a month¡¯s time, the boy would become like that man¡ªa lost. His mind shattered beyond reason, leaving only pleasure as the recurring thought.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
She sighed, sitting tiredly on the bed¡¯s edge. Why am I still thinking of Klaus? She glanced at the table, at her pouch, which held her book.
She reached for it, unfastening the pouch and retrieving the book. And as she opened it, her eyes fell upon the numerous scribbles scattered throughout¡ªnotes about Black and various other matters. Her desires were also inscribed within: the wanting to become a lady of bliss, to seize power, and to exact vengeance upon the Venture House. And then, of course, there was Walter¡ªthe pleasure master who had sold her.
Though, she could afford him some leniency.
Her gaze drifted over the assorted writings. The Second Millennium, she thought, seeking distraction from the turmoil within.
The Second Millennium, which some call the Solitude Epoch, was an era of strife, yet it eventually came to an end. She scanned through her notes. Supposedly, the epoch concluded due to the demise of two gods. Well, they don¡¯t matter. She shrugged.
Although there¡¯s a high likelihood that Black existed during the Solitude Epoch, there is very little evidence of his actions. Did he remain idle during that time? He was supposedly sealed at some point and later resurrected by the Mad King. That, according to Madam Solace.
Did Black pledge his allegiance to the Mad King because of that? Jean had attempted to uncover information about the Mad King¡ªeven his name¡ªbut aside from scornful writings and vilification, there was nothing. Even the priests found no trace of him in the tome vaults.
It¡¯s as if he never existed, Jean thought grimly. Or perhaps he was simply buried and forgotten. She knew that the Mad King was linked to Black, just as the boy was. And following the logic of the Vortex, all these elements would inevitably converge. It was better to understand what was to come, lest she be torn to shreds by the currents of its events.
Not that she wasn¡¯t already being battered by its waves. The Mother had ensured she sank deep within them¡ So all Jean could do now was move forward.
Forget Klaus. Forget everything. Focus on the Mother, and all will be well, she reassured herself. Oddly, as she did, a sweet ecstasy washed over her body. Perhaps the Mother had heard her. Jean steadied her heart with deep breaths¡ªnot the techniques taught by the Swordsmen Tower. No, she was no swordsman, so why should she adopt their breathing methods?
Rising from the bed, she placed the book upon it and moved to the side of the room. A mannequin stood there, clad in her garments. Her attire was rather plain: a red dress with black-edged hems. It cinched tightly at the waist, and the sleeves were styled in the fashion of the Knight Cities¡ªone long, the other short.
She regarded the dress for some time. There was no particular reason to dress this way. But this was the Pavilion; she needed to look presentable. Jean sighed before quickly freshening up and donning the dress.
Walking down the gray-red corridor, passing various vixens like herself, Jean paid them little mind. Instead, she pondered her next steps. She was now tasked with organizing a group to aid the boy, which had resulted in her attaining something of a prominent position within the Pavilion. Well, prominent was an exaggeration¡ªshe was more of a rookie commander, chosen solely because the revelation had come to her.
And Jean simply felt burdened by it all. She sighed.
She moved through the pavilion, frequently glancing at the nobles as they laughed and reveled with Vixens like herself. She still found them repugnant, which in some way made her feel sane. What would she do if her disdain for nobles vanished due to some strange emotions?
Maybe Klaus did something to me? she wondered idly, hesitating as she lost her sense of direction. Odd. Ever since she had been stationed at the Black Desert Regiment keep, she had begun losing track of familiar places within the pavilion. Hopefully, she wouldn¡¯t be sent on a mission that required her to be away from it for long.
Of course, there were other pavilions. It was just that this one had saved her. Indeed, many existed, but this was hers. Her sanctuary. Yet now¡ she wanted to be elsewhere.
I doubt these feelings are real, she told herself. Perhaps it was a lie, or perhaps it wasn¡¯t. I need to see him again.
She knew it wasn¡¯t a wise choice. After all, the last time they had met, she had practically poisoned him. And though she knew he had survived, chances were that a deep-seated hatred had taken root between them.
That would be better, right? It would be better for her. But still, I need to see him. I¡¯m strong... and with Susan.
The sweet spider crawled within her clothes, soothing the turbulence in her mind. It was comforting.
With Susan, I should be able to secure a private meeting. It won¡¯t be a long one, but it will be something. She glanced at the hunched lost leading her toward the gathering. As long as there isn¡¯t warding, I should be able to escape with my life.
Her mind resisted the plan.
¡°Mistress,¡± the slouched man said slowly, his voice cracking as though he were on the verge of death. Perhaps that would be the true outcome.
Snapping from her thoughts, Jean looked up, realizing she had arrived at her destination. A plain red door stood before her, set within a vast, silent corridor of smooth, dark obsidian stone. This was the pavilion¡¯s secret chamber, built using the expansive High Astra¡ªused by the ministries in creating their tome vaults.
Taking a breath, she dismissed the guide, her eyes focusing on the door. There was no time to waver. Stand strong. She placed her hand upon it. It absorbed her mana with an unnatural force, like a sudden inhalation. Jean grimaced as a sharp, pinching pain flooded her mind.
She endured regardless. The door groaned open, releasing a deep, intoxicating aroma. It was the scent of pleasure, but not one born of physical acts. Jean pressed forward, stepping inside. The brilliance of the room¡¯s illumination momentarily blinded her.
Shielding her eyes with a hand, she waited until they adjusted. Then she smiled and bowed.
Seated upon a large circular bed, a slender figure with silken blue hair gazed at her. The woman was an embodiment of purity¡ªher very presence enough to shatter wills and invoke a singular, immortal yearning. A yearning to possess her. Jean tried to resist, but in the end, her body began to tremble, drool pooling at the corner of her lips.
She distracted herself by studying the chamber. It was vast¡ªunnaturally so, given that the pavilion¡¯s exterior was far smaller. Yet, somehow, this place existed within it.
It was like a golden palace. Walls gilded in gold, furniture glistening, and even the paintings deliberately depicted men and women adorned with golden hair. A mockery of the Empire¡¯s Golden Court.
Regardless, it was breathtaking to behold.
Apart from the Mistress, other vixens lounged around her, some at her feet, kissing them. Of course, this was meant to be a discussion regarding the boy and the Mother¡¯s orders. However, Jean couldn¡¯t fault the others for losing themselves.
Mistress Cornelia was simply that mesmerizing. Perhaps because she saw her more frequently than the others, Jean had developed some measure of resistance. At least enough to speak.
¡°Mistress, the plan,¡± she said.
Cornelia smiled.
Black! Jean grimaced as she cursed.