《Seraphist of Shattered Yokes》


 1. Pillars (I)

    On the day Manziholet Sylvektor and Gothlow Sylvektor were born, their mother¡¯s happiness was disrupted by sounds of screaming followed by a loud explosion.


    The tower rattled with all the subtlety of a drunken elephant, and Arin half-expected the chandelier over her head would fall down. It did not, but she wondered if it would have been a better death when a relentless stream of messages materialized in her vision.


    [Warning! Warning! This is Amishar Haline. A Body Walker has been detected.]


    [The palace has been compromised. Evacuate immediately and avoid everyone else.]


    [I repeated. A Body Walker has been detected. Evacuate immediately and avoid everyone else.]


    The messages were results of the Miracle <<Cinderlink Relay>> from the local Overwatch Seraphist, capable of being sent to and received by anyone within her candles¡¯ glow. It took a staggering fortune to employ the woman, one that Arin believed ought to be spent on pacifying the planet instead. Her husband, who was standing by her bed now, had insisted on it. He would have probably given her one of those I-told-you-so grins had fear not taken over his body. His grip on her hand tightened.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± their head physician said, waving at the air in front of him, ¡°are you seeing¨C?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Foidan said. ¡°They¡¯re real.¡±


    The man looked at Foidan as if he had just declared the world had ended (which was probably true, on this planet at least), then thrusted the newborn Manziholet into his lap and scrambled out of the chamber. The other servants and guards hastily followed, leaving behind only the pair of parents and their peacefully sleeping twins. The noise, now devolved into clashing metal and dying soldiers, raged outside.


    [The Body Walker¡¯s last known anchor is the Patriarch,] the Seraphist¡¯s message reached them again. [It¡¯s walking down the northern hallway from the servants¡¯ dining hall. Those in the way evacuate immediately. Help is¨C. No, the anchor is now a guard with green eyes. He is wearing armor.]


    There was only one way to kill a Body Walker: instantly and completely slaying its current anchor. So long as a silver of life remained in the anchor, the daemon could jump to another one almost instantly. Not to mention, it could freely claim the body of the poor sods who came to attack it, wielding their comrades as a weapon and a shield both. No one could be trusted, and no amount of hiding was sufficient since it was capable of turning incorporeal as well.


    Seraphists were spared from being claimed because their ArchSouls had been encased in the Circuit, and so were the Church¡¯s Redeemers cladded in luminalite. Yet, not all planets were protected by one and not all Seraphists possessed appropriate Miracles to deal with the nuisance.


    The planet of Brigium III had been known for its artists and sculptors before a Body Walker played hide-and-seek with its over four billion inhabitants for five days. To maximize emotional devastation on the angry Seraphists that eventually arrived, the daemon chose an orphanage as the final stand. Some twenty toddlers and twice as many children, the last inhabitants of Brigiums III, had to be burned alive. Even Foidan, the governor of Jano who had won wars, felt dread.


    ¡°Compose yourself,¡± Arin said and took the baby away from her husband. She cradled both Manziholet and Gothlow in her embrace, feeling their softness. Her last child had died young. The entire planet of Jano being sacrificed would constitute an acceptable loss to keep her twins alive. She trusted that her husband would see to it. ¡°What are our options, Foidan?¡±


    The chandelier¡¯s candles were still burning, and the Amishar¡¯s message continued to appear in their vision. The Body Walker had gone on a killing spree among the fleeing guards before assuming another anchor. This time, she had no idea who that was. Until it struck out again, everyone was a suspect.


    ¡°Our best choice is Amishar,¡± he suggested after closing the doors. ¡°Can you walk?¡±


    Arin shifted her body, which worked, though she could hardly feel her legs. Whatever the physician had given her for the pain had yet to dissipate. ¡°I can, but not run.¡± She realized a pattern. ¡°Its path. The daemon is moving closer towards us.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°The doors won¡¯t stop it.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He paused to think, then added, ¡°My final kill on Grissam. Only, we get Amishar to come here instead of me.¡±


    She remembered the planet, a horrid place that they had been exiled to due to an alliance with a wrong Republican. Everything that his grandmother, the Twicebornes¡¯ Mistress, had gained was stripped clean. Yet, incidentally, the victories Foidan achieved there set the foundation for his governorship over Jano today. ¡°It would work,¡± she said, ¡°if one of us can speak to it using the Forbidden Script, which is punishable by death under Imperial law.¡±


    Foidan looked at her, then turned to face the chandelier. His hands flicked and twisted into signs. Amishar might not be able to hear via her <<Cinderlink Relay>> but she could see anything in her candles¡¯ glow, and if the Seraphist was as good as she boasted during her interview, she would receive the message: We have a plan. Come here. Ambush the enemy from behind.


    [No way, governor,], she replied back promptly, [I am strictly employed for intelligence and communication only. I will not fight.]


    Yes, you will. We know where your uncle is hiding.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    There was a long pause, during which time a man¡¯s cry for mercy was abruptly cut short outside the doors. [Fine,] another message arrived. [Fine, I¡¯m coming.]


    ¡°Hope this will work,¡± Foidan said with a lot of hissing and guttural intonations. Grey smoke mixed with strings of red floated out of his mouth, a visual effect that took place whenever a human used a language not of this world. Its colors, in her opinion, did not go well with his blue eyes and wild chestnut curls, but still¡­


    ¡°Foidam,¨C¡± she smiled ¡°¨CI ought to report you.¡± The smoke came out of her mouth at each word as well, caressing her porcelain skin and deep black hair, although its red strings were more pronounced in color and number. The increase did not bring about any harm other than as evidence that she had had more practice of the Forbidden Script than him.


    Her husband walked to the doors and took hold of the handle. ¡°Ready?¡± he asked with a nervous smile.


    Arin nodded. ¡°As ready as I was when I said yes to you¡±.


    He pushed the doors open. A guard was standing right outside. A long dagger was sticking out from his left shoulder while his mouth stretched and curved impossibly high upward to reveal a bloody mouth. His arm had risen up, presumably to knock on the doors and toy with the food.


    ¡°Parley,¡± Foidan and Arin said at the same time.


    The guard tilted his head sharply to the right. ¡°Interesting,¡± the Body Walker replied in flawless Forbidden Script. ¡°They speak.¡± Sounds were emitted out yet its anchor¡¯s mouth did not even twitch a bit. Behind the daemon, along the corridor, many of Amishar¡¯s candles had been snuffed out during the fighting. Not all though, and coupled with the chandelier¡¯s, she would have a good view.


    ¡°We¡¯d like to talk,¡± Foidan said. ¡°We want safe passage.¡± Inside, fear screamed at him to run away or at least suicide to spare himself a fate worse than death. The daemon could wear his skin to kill his wife and his children. But that voice was irrational, so he ignored it.


    ¡°Do you deserve it?¡± The Body Walker ripped out the dagger and brought it up the anchor¡¯s left eye, then sliced it slowly along the wide open pupil. More blood drenched its face. It cackled, or something to that effect in the Forbidden Script. ¡°Do you? Do you? Do you?¡± It stepped closer to Foidan, who flinched.


    ¡°There is a story you must know,¡± Arin quickly raised her voice. ¡°It relates to one of your acquaintances.¡±


    The Body Walker turned Foidan around to face her then wrapped an arm around his shoulder like they were best friends. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°When I first set¨C¡±


    Before Foidan finished the sentence, the daemon¡¯s other arm pressed the dagger through his silk robe and bled his thigh. ¡°Go on!,¡± it roared this time.


    ¡°When he first set foot on Grissam,¡± Arin said, ¡°the whole planet was engaging in the subjugation of a Crying Destroyer. I imagine you know one.¡±


    ¡°Violence. Tear.¡± The daemon solemnly said a third word as well, one that was outside of Arin¡¯s vocabulary.


    ¡°It was practically toying with the planet¡¯s military. Two local Seraphists were killed easily. Most people had given up, even the planet¡¯s governor, until my husband arrived with reinforcement. His force was composed of only mortals, which obviously spelt certain doom.¡±


    ¡°Obviously.¡± Its head leaned against Foidan¡¯s and nuzzled him with the enthusiasm of a cat with boundary issues. He hissed in pain. So far, she could hardly make sense of the logic behind its actions, but for every second it was not wearing her family¡¯s skin like winter coats, their Seraphist was one step closer.


    [I¡¯m seeing you. Keep stalling.]


    ¡°But the Crying Destroyer had turned complacent,¡± Arin continued. ¡°It had won against mortals and Seraphists of Grissam in every contest of strength. Yet, it did not know that the governor is an honorable woman who favored glory over result while the Seraphists were novice Breakers who just received their Circuits. It did not know the art of non-traditional warfare.¡±


    She got off the bed, leaving the twins lying there. Standing up, her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. The act was necessary, however, because she needed to capture every ounce of attention from the daemon.


    She remembered watching one of her aunts perform on stage. The woman blinked, and somehow the audience felt compelled to give her a standing ovation. Each gesture must be a hook, line, and sinker in one, she had said while instructing Arin with a view to instilling in her young niece a way to make money in case their family business went bust. Now, Arin weaponized that lesson to the task of stalling a daemon.


    So she told the daemon of how her husband chipped away his enemy¡¯s strength, while making sure to slow down during suspense and raise voices for climactic moments, timed with each step that the Seraphist took as she sneaked in from behind.


    Like captain Holting who pinned down the Crying Destroyer with his traps while Foidan¡¯s engineers finished the living poison needle, she kept the attention of the Body Walker on her as Amishar¡¯s Miracle, <<Armament: Pyrolance Candlestick>>, swiftly and cleanly carved a blazing line diagonally from the daemon left ear to its right shoulder.


    It made no cries when the anchor¡¯s body fell down in pieces, saved for sizzling sounds as a magical fire slowly consumed the flesh. Amishar, a woman who had lived twice as long as Arin yet whose youth and beauty rival her own, stood solemnly while Foidan went over to support his wife. In the Seraphist¡¯s hand was a long silver candlestick, the purple flame of which burned intensively upward to form the shape of a lance¡¯s tip.


    Amishar had seen the gray smoke and red strings coming from her employers¡¯ mouth. The laws that governed the Ariun Imperium demanded her to kill any speakers of the Forbidden Script on sight. ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked.


    Foidan looked at Arin, who had burned out from the exhaustion. ¡°Yes, I think. Is the daemon really gone?¡±


    ¡°My Circuit is detecting no daemon in the vicinity, so we¡¯re probably safe. However, I¡¯d need to sweep through the entire palace and we will need to wait for more help from TerraSol¡¯s professional Seraphists. We can¡¯t be too sure. After all, it may escape after I, on my own, without your involvement, cornered it in another chamber faraway, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Foidan replied. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°As for the scoundrel that is my uncle, you will give me everything you know of him. Once the professionals finish vetting me, I will leave your service, and we will neither see nor message each other ever again. Do you understand, governor?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Also,¨C¡± Amishar sighed and dismissed her weapon, which dispersed away as a flash of fire ¡°¨Cbrace yourself. There is something you should know about your babies. My Circuit has been beeping me.¡±


    She sent them a message next, the same thing that the Circuit inside the Seraphist had told her.


    [ArchSoul detected: Porter.]


    [ArchSoul detected: Breaker.]


    Foidan and Arin were not exactly sure what that meant.


    ¡°It¡¯s simple¡±, Amishar explained, ¡°your family is going back to the home of humanity in glory, for your precious bundles of joy¨C¡± she pointed at Manziholet and Gothlow ¡°¨Care going to bend the rules of reality one day. They are going to be Seraphists.¡±

 2. Pillars (II)

    Upon receiving his post as a planetary governor, Foidan was granted three signal gems of different color, each synchronized to their counterparts on TerraSol. Breaking one would instantly break the other, alerting the central government of whatever drama unfolding even on the other side of the galaxy.


    They were beyond expensive and incredibly fragile, and the misuse of one would entail a death penalty, so he had them locked up inside the underground vault and guarded by trusted soldiers. When the Body Walker attacked, Amishar had informed them to break one, followed by another after meeting the babies.


    On news of the daemonic incursion and the discovery of Archetypical Souls, the central government on Terrasol promptly dispatched to Jano a host of three Purifiers, all of whom were Third Sphere Seraphists,¨C


    (which meant each of them was at least a hundred times as strong as Amishar, who was only a Second Sphere. As Manziholet¡¯s parents, who were brushing up on their knowledge of Seraphists, understood, that also did not take into consideration the Miracles capable by their legacy seraphs, selectively bred to output more power than a generic one such as hers. Their Circuit should have a better vaepor-to-draeg conversion rate as well, increasing the time before they had to release their Ruin Scars.)


    ¨Calong with some one million mortal soldiers and twice as many scribes from the Civil Service, who broke through the immeasurably large void in the span of half a day via a sa-serpent. They would cordon off Jano from the rest of the Imperium until it was sure that no daemon was lurking among the population and that the incursion was pure bad luck rather than a poor deliberate life choice made by half-witted cultists.


    ¡°But above all,¡± said captain Tamajiang, leader of the host, member of Order of Knight Purifiers, and Breaker Seraphist, ¡°we are here to ensure Manziholet and Gothlow¡¯s safety until and during the trip back to TerraSol. You and your wife will be under our protection as well, though don¡¯t be disappointed when we have to abandon you in exchange for their life. You know how valuable an ArchSoul is to humanity. The fact that they are twins should be a Miracle in itself.¡±


    Foidan nodded. They were sitting around a table on the great porch to the north of the palace. Neither Foidan, whose grandmother had attempted to overthrow the government before he could arrive there, nor Arin, whose merchant family was wealthy but ultimately limited to an insignificant planet, had much experience dealing with TerraSol¡¯s inhabitants. Their lives were as foreign to him as the salt thralls on the other hemisphere of Jano, though he had had the servants prepare an assortment of expensive food on the table.


    Even their appearance was beyond mortals as a result of their Form Miracles, available to only Third Sphere and above. Under <<Form: Emissary of Sun>>, Tamajiang and his knights manifested as glowing humanoids whose armor and clothes had been transmuted into brilliant white sunsteel, retaining their texture, weight, and flexibility and yet infused with unnatural hardness.


    In place of their skin was flowing molten bronze, from which bursted out loops of fire that distorted the surrounding air. The chairs of rare wood that Foidan provided them to sit in, as well as any mortals in their immediate vicinity, would have burned to fine artisanal ash had they not politely suppressed their power.


    A halo made of sunsteel spikes spreading outward hovered just above their helmets (or bald head, in case of the Purifier to the left of Tamajiang), the slit of which revealed eyes that were entirely white. They had not even blinked so far, and the only leftover features from their lesser mortal forms were their overall physical shape and visage, making it very difficult for Arin not to stare. ¡°When are we expected to depart for TerraSol?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Amenemopet?¡± Tamajiang addressed an old woman in an elaborate robe who was nibbling at a small cookie. She seemed mildly disappointed by the taste, only soldiering on so not to be rude.


    ¡°According to the schedule, our sa-serpent will arrive in a week,¡± the High Scribe said. ¡°Oh, before that, I¡¯d like the governor to choose a successor for Jano as well, preferably from a list of suitable candidates vetted by me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my understanding that Jano will remain under my rule and a regency council will be formed. After all, we¡¯ve sacrificed a lot for it.¡±


    ¡°The Imperator is about to enforce a new policy.¡± Amenemopet finished eating and wiped her hands. ¡°Basically, there¡¯ll be much stricter guidelines for recipients of Imperial governorship. Who their grandmother is, for example.¡± She paused deliberately. ¡°It¡¯d make my job a whole lot easier if you cooperate now.¡±


    ¡°Frankly,¡± Tamajiang added, ¡°I don¡¯t see the worth in keeping it. The trip between TerraSol and here is fairly expensive, and your monthly benefits as guardians of two ArchSouls will put whatever the planet can produce to shame. Besides, with all the politics attached to the governorship, you¡¯ll have no time to enjoy what the center of humanity has to offer. Trust me.¡±


    The threats were clear. ¡°Alright then,¡± Arin replied. ¡°I see no problem in it. Foidan?¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± He nodded. ¡°But some of my retired soldiers have been guaranteed lands and tax exemption here. I want it upheld.¡±


    ¡°Sure, we can do that,¡± the High Scribe said to Tamajiang, who replied with a happy ¡°Splendid¡±, and the quarantine was officially in effect.


    The bald Seraphist was temporarily left in charge of the babies and their parents¡¯ protection as the rest of the host worked. The other knight, whose ArchSoul was Porter, same as Manziholet, switched on his Miracle while touching Tamajiang. Both turned into pure sunlight and [Luminous Dash] away, their trajectory circling around the planet and their Circuit scanning for any daemonic presence.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Their soldiers along with the scribes had been distributed throughout Jano on the back of sa-ravens, four-legged gigantic birds covered in sleek black purple armor, capable of flying far and fast despite their bulk. The former efficiently brought any enclaves that Foidan had yet to pacify under control and discouraged resistance as the latter investigated for signs of cults such as material of Forbidden Script (Manziholet¡¯s parents had their books destroyed long before) or summoning items being purchased.


    On the third day, after a quick but alone interview by the old High Scribe, Amishar was relieved of responsibility and free to leave. She was not allowed to join in Tamajiang¡¯s operation, however, despite being the only one capable of instantaneous communication on the planet. Independent Seraphists were not to be trusted, Amenemopet claimed.


    Arin stepped into Amishar¡¯s room and closed the door. ¡°How is it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing unexpected. It¡¯s not my first time dealing with the Civil Service,¡± she replied then continued via her Miracle, [I did not tell them about your crime, obviously, but don¡¯t be too careless. It looks like they are very interested to know if you have any secrets.]


    ¡°I would like to thank you again,¡± Arin said and slipped a piece of paper into Amishar¡¯s hand, which detailed what they had figured out about her uncle. ¡°Had you failed to kill the Body Walker before it could see us¡­,¡± she added, in case someone was listening in to their conversation.


    ¡°I was just doing my job.¡± Amish smiled. [Now that the deal is done, can you leave, please? I know you like to take risks, but I really don¡¯t need the attention.]


    On the sixth day, during a fine morning, a black dot materialized high above the governor¡¯s palace and quickly enlarged. If one owned a telescope, they would make out the black scales and fleshy slash wounds on its body, all while experiencing an intense headache witnessing Miracles belonging to the Fourth Sphere contested with reality.


    The space surrounding it distorted, cracked, and struggled to heal as the sa-serpent expanded to the point even bare eyes could see it for what it really was ¨C a massive serpent that had swallowed its own tail, so deep in that it appeared to be a singular mass of black. At its true size, reaching past the size of the peninsula in which the palace was located, its tail left its mouth while covered in cloudy white saliva.


    Then the Miracles died down and the creature drifted freely in the sky, returning peace to the atmosphere and whoever was stubborn enough to watch the process. There would be many of such people, since the Guild of Caelivagantes only allocated to the planet of Jano a stop every one or two years for trade and passengers. The latest non-regular visit had been the host¡¯s, and was now the sa-serpent that the twins and their parents would depart on, albeit a little ahead of schedule.


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t,¡± Tamajiang said, ¡°because it¡¯s not ours.¡± Arin sensed an annoyance in his tone.


    On its body, a wound opened out widely, revealing inside a blue sky full of floating structures. It was a demiplane anchored to the creature, used for storage of goods and passengers. During their trip to Jano, Foidan and Arin had lived in such a space, which was hundreds of times bigger than the sa-serpent¡¯s biological body and hosted an ecosystem and civilizations of its own.


    From the demiplane flew out a line of sa-ravens, though these were armored in bright silver with golden rim. The Guild of Caelivagantes considered the minorest modifications of their products an act of heinous vandalism. The people on those sa-ravens must therefore be either individuals of wealth, fellow guilders, or Invincible Light¡¯s clergy.


    They turned out to be the last group, as the cabins carried by the sa-ravens¡¯ four legs came into closer view, all decorated with golden carvings in the motif of their religion. The Icon of Invincible Light shone up on each side of the cabins¡¯ pyramid-shaped forward tip, designed to efficiently part the air as the line glided down in a spiral to the palace¡¯s main courtyard.


    ¡°Stay here. Let me talk with them first.¡± Tamajiang jumped out of the balcony, leaving the other knights with Foidan and Arin. The baby Manziholet was sleeping in her hold, while his brother was lying in the crib and playing with Foidan.


    The Seraphist landed with force onto the paved courtyard as the sa-raven gently laid the cabins down, from which the clergy marched out. Their sacred vestments and silver luminalite jewelry matched his sunsteel armor in both intricacy and sanctity.


    Leading them was a Viceroy of Invincible Light, who stood out with his gleaming scepter and tall crown. In the Church¡¯s rather complicated hierarchy, he would hold the same rank as the planetary Patriarch, who was sadly among the Body Walker¡¯s list of casualties.


    However, the Viceroy¡¯s glowing attire, coupled with the two Redeemers armored in holy luminalite who flanked him, made the Patriarch (known for his collection of rare wine and pastime of building churches) look like a beggar.


    While the Purifier and the Viceroy exchanged words, above them, the sa-serpent swallowed its tail again as space fractured. At the limit, when it tightened into a block, the creature rapidly shrank until its size was exactly zero. It left as it came, having a schedule as strict as any other sa-serpents of the Guild.


    ¡°The Viceroy. He came here for the Patriarch, yes?¡± Foidan asked. ¡°I remembered him telling me about a relative of his serving as one.¡±


    The two knights looked at each other. ¡°They will know about it eventually,¡± the helmetless one said with a shrug.


    ¡°Know what?¡± Arin frowned. It reminded her of a bad memory, when her parents were about to divorce and she was the last one to be informed.


    The other one turned to face her. ¡°There is going to be a war between the government and the Church,¡± he admitted. ¡°It may start next week or twenty years from now, but you can bet on your life that it will definitely happen. Minor skirmishes and assassinations have already happened. Important people are angry. Both sides are amassing Archetypical Souls, hence the Viceroy being here. He wants your twins.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the reason for the Imperator¡¯s new policy as well,¡± his fellow knight said. ¡°The last thing he needs is some zealot-in-disguise governors who will side with the Church because Invincible Light tells them to.¡±


    ¡°Why a war?¡± Foidan asked.


    ¡°Better minds than us have debated over that.¡± He shrugged again. ¡°Because the Imperator and the Holy Solongo can''t even sit in a room without a shouting match? Because the government is corrupted and Invincible Light is a daemon? Because we simply can¡¯t help ourselves? Noone¡¯s really sure, but I, for one, think it¡¯d be better if we draw the first blood rather than them.¡±

 3. Pillars (III)

    The Church of Invincible Light was founded in 1670 on TerraSol during the two decades known as the Ternary Strife, in which humanity, seraphs, and daemons (collectively referred to as Outsiders) were locked in a war of scale unimaginable. ¡°Feel free to pick any side, it¡¯s all bad¡±, the philosopher Satyavati had said.


    For humans alone, the death toll reached trillions, not just because laws of reality on many planets were broken and still rattling around in a state of unresolved dissonance even now, but also because they were forcefully mindmeld with seraphs to become proto seraphists or outright possessed by daemons. At that time, humans had developed their own Seraphists, yet these were very few in number and ordinary mortals were largely irrelevant to the war effort as a spoon in a swordfight.


    The Strife would have reduced the human population to zero had the Invincible Light not appeared to the Holy Solongo in a dream and taught him how to transmute and bless silver into luminalite. ¡°Let it shine as proof of my grace, and may all who see it know my dominion,¡± declared the self-proclaimed God.


    The Holy Solongo was also assigned with the noble task of passing down the holy tenets for the faithful, later compiled into the Scripture of Light. Among its holy passages held the sacred truth: that this world had been created solely for men, His true heir, and it was high time they took back their birthright from the Outsiders.


    Invincible Light, however, gave no explanation for His absence, during the centuries of which humanity had been dominated by seraphs and daemons  (presumably, that was His idea of tough love; after all, that much suffering built characters) or why he would not smite the Outsiders off reality by Himself and appear in everyone¡¯s dream (probably because of an allergy to accountability). Naturally, any jokes about such matters would invite the heaviest retaliation from the faithful in the future, as with homosexuality or allowing women to become ordained priests.


    Regardless, in that era, appetite for religions was small given that people had witnessed Miracles shatter reality daily. A mortal prophet like  the Holy Solongo would probably be jailed on suspicion of collaboration with the enemy. It was just as well that he was a wealthy citizen who owned a large smithy.


    It almost financially ruined him to produce the one ingot of luminalite, but God did not lie. So long as it basked in light, the luminalite was infused with indestructibility against physical assaults and immunization against most Miracles. No longer were mortal warriors reluctant sufferers before the Outsiders, for they would redeem themselves under the protection of Invincible Light.


    The first set of luminalite armor remained pristine until today, having survived countless battles against proto seraphists and daemonic anchors during the Ternary Strife. It was displayed inside the Sanctum of Victory, located on the holy Zaicaster, along with many artifacts to be venerated by the faithful, among whom was the late Patriarch.


    One of his first decisions upon arrival on Jano was to build a replica of the Sanctum. It was pale in comparison to the real thing, as lamented by the man in one dinner with Foidan and Arin, but it reminded him of home. It was also one of the biggest and ostentatiously decorated buildings on the planet, capable of holding one hundred thousand people seated, and where Foidan would have a talk with the Viceroy.


    As Foidan approached, Thirants was praying on his knees before the Icon of Invincible Light, formed by three vertical strokes of different lengths floated inside a ring. For an ordinary church, a carving or a painting would suffice, but the Patriarch had gone out his way to have a massive ring of silver forged and suspended the strokes inside using incredibly thin gold threads.


    ¡°Are you a believer, governor?¡± Thirants asked with eyes closed.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Foidan replied, ¡°though I never pray. I don¡¯t see much use in it. No offense.¡±


    The Viceroy stood up and fixed his vestments. One of the attendants waiting nearby handed him his luminalite scepter. Thirants turned to Foidan with a soft smile on his aged face. ¡°Worry not. Your way of thinking is in fashion these days. Viceroy Sasamon held a sermon over it. The Invincible Light has a design in place, and us lesser beings have no right to ask Him for changes. I pray only because it soothes me.¡± He gestured to one of the marble pews facing the Icon. ¡°Have a seat, please.¡±


    Foidan sat down, and the Viceroy followed suit. The attendants had quietly gone away, leaving only two of them in the massive hall. The candles that his Overwatch Seraphist put here had been snuffed out as well.


    ¡°I have a purpose here,¡± Thirants said. ¡°Did captain Tamajiang tell you?¡±


    ¡°You want my sons.¡±


    ¡°Among other things, yes. Answer me, as a believer, would you choose the Church over the government?¡±


    ¡°I would, as a believer, but I¡¯m keeping my options open. After all, the Imperator spared my life after my grandmother¡¯s coup. There is a debt to be paid, and you should also consider where my wife stands. It might be a ¡®No¡¯ from her, given that she was offended that you didn¡¯t invite her to this meeting.¡±


    (...though she could not come anyway, too busy negotiating with the government in another building. The clergy¡¯s arrival had turned what was simply an exchange of precious gems for scrap metal into a bidding war. It would be travesty if they could not make both sides pay dearly.)


    Thirants laughed lightly. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m used to talking directly with those who hold titles, not their spouse. Please, give her an apology on my behalf. Nevertheless, apart from the ArchSouls, it is also you who I care about, the military genius who managed to defeat a Crying Destroyer without Miracles.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°I got lucky,¡± Foidan deflected with a shrug. ¡°No one had a clue Grissam contained an ancient cache of living poison, and it was pure chance that my friend Holting stumbled on it while scouting for an ambush spot."


    Thirants was looking at the Icon. ¡°Luck is one disguise for a divine intervention by God,¡± Thirants turned back to face Foidan. ¡°Maybe the cache was placed there by His design to help a blessed believer one day, so that he could go one to thrive and help his Church fight for its very survival.¡±


    There were flaws in that argument and, if the Church was interested in him, they would have reached out long ago. It was all about his sons in the end, but he wanted to see where this would lead to. ¡°Your point being?¡±


    ¡°A blessed believer deserves a higher purpose than serving as a government¡¯s pawn. He deserves to be made a full instrument of divine will. Tell me, Foidan Sylvektor, will you come to Zaicaster with me and take the Oath to become a luminalite-cladded Redeemer?¡±


    ¡°So, how did your talk go?¡± Arin asked, hours later. She and Foidan were taking a walk in the botanical garden. Their twins were being taken care of by the servants while being watched over by the Purifiers.


    ¡°I came in expecting bronze and was offered gold,¡± he replied. ¡°The Church is ready to make me a Redeemer as long as I bring with me our sons. They¡¯ll also match whatever wealth TerraSol provides. How about yours?¡±


    ¡°A double of our benefits, and they¡¯ll accelerate both of us into being members of a Logic Committee. The governorship is still off the table; Amenemopet is very adamant about that. To make up for it, once our sons receive their Circuits, she¡¯ll help you get into the Assembly. All in all, both sides will give us the same, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Foidan did not fall for her trap. ¡°If we side with the Church, we won¡¯t be equal any longer. The Oath came with a celibacy vow. Our marriage will probably be annulled. And, as a woman, you won¡¯t have any real authority, unless you wanted to join a Sisterhood, which I know you never would. I did push the Viceroy for more but he only has so much to offer.¡± He hesitated. Still¡­¡±


    ¡°Finish your sentence,¡± Arin said, her face looking ahead.


    ¡°We are talking about me being cladded in luminalite here. Absolute protection against being possessed or mindmeld. Mortal made divine. For that power, Arin, I must admit I am prepared to betray you.¡±


    They stopped at their favorite sport. It had a full view of the lake and the dense foliage around brought them privacy. Arin bent down and picked up a rock. ¡°Best of three?¡± she said.


    ¡°Skipping or skimming?¡±


    ¡°Skipping.¡±


    It was the first game they played together, back when they were teenagers. Her father was trying to sell to his father a painting made by an artist that lived before humanity spread across the stars. The haggling bored her, until she found this blue-eyed boy silently placing himself next to her. He suggested it, and they slipped out of the great hall to the river outside.


    Just like that time, Arin went first. She flicked her wrist, sending the rock skimming across the lake, the ripples on which faded after six perfect bounces. ¡°It¡¯s not merely about the benefits,¡± she said, looking for the next rock. ¡°It¡¯s about what side will emerge intact in the end. Our family needs to survive.¡±


    Foidan threw his next, also scoring a six, though it traveled farther. ¡°I don¡¯t know. The government has more experience fighting with Miracles, but the Church has been building up their military without the distractions of sporadic conflicts. The fact that both sides are ready to sit down and talk with people like us probably means they¡¯re also not sure themselves.¡±


    ¡°Then we cannot place our bet on merely one side. It is a Miracle that we have two sons.¡± She scored a seven next. ¡°Your turn.¡±


    It was another six for Foidan. He believed he could have given it more bounces, had he not realized what his wife just suggested midway. ¡°A divorce. That¡¯s ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°Whether TerraSol or Zaicaster wins the war, Foidan, there will always be a person remaining to protect the other. And, no, a divorce is not convincing enough.¡± At the last throw, her rock bounced off the lake eight times. ¡°A fight.¡±


    ¡°Arin, that is still ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°Then refuse the Oath.¡±


    Foidan was torn and Arin saw it clearly on his face. Deep down, they both hated being ordinary. Foidan could no longer settle down as a mortal knowing a suit of luminalite armor had been offered to him, while Arin could not bear living without influence and burying her ambition in a grave to honor trivial stuff like love or family. It would be a betrayal to their potential, and therefore the greatest failure of all.


    ¡°Let''s make it easier for you,¡± she said. ¡°Throw your rock.¡±


    He followed. His rock traveled a longer distance but only achieved a five. If they had been keeping score by skimming instead of skipping, he would have won. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°Please be gentle.¡±


    ¡°I will, my love. But first, this is a nice day. Let''s enjoy our last time together in what would be a very long time.¡±


    That night, Foidan moved his belongings to a different bedchamber and invited Thirants over.


    ¡°Light above, governor.¡± The Viceroy frowned. ¡°What happened to your face?¡±


    A new head physician (the previous one had been sacked for cowardice) was tending to the bloody nose and scratches on his cheeks. Arin was nothing but thorough.


    ¡°Unfortunately,¨C¡± Foidan took a sip from a glass of wine ¡°¨Cmy wife has a very strong opinion about serving Invincible Light. She won¡¯t be joining us on the trip to Zaicaster, and neither will my son Manziholet. Drink?¡±


    ¡°Are you saying that you only have one ArchSoul, your other son? And no, thanks. I only drink on special occasions.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± He nodded.


    ¡°That will change my offer very significantly.¡±


    ¡°No, it won¡¯t. The only thing stopping me from making up with Arin is the final offer that you and I discussed on, unmodified. Unless you want to come back empty-handed, we should seal the deal right now.¡±


    Arin rarely cried, but she had been taught to do so at will. She was wiping away her tears when Tamajiang and his High Scribe arrived in her chamber.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, my lady?¡± the captain asked. Despite his glowing Form and face hidden behind the sunsteel helmet, he seemed uncomfortable at the scene. ¡°The servant said you wanted to see us immediately.¡±


    ¡°My husband has made his choice. He will become a Redeemer.¡± Arin pretended to compose herself. ¡°Foidan will take Gothlow with him to Zaicaster, and I¡¯ll take Manziholet to TerraSol. We are no longer husband and wife.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, that¨C¡± Tamajiang caught eyes with Amenemopet, who reluctantly nodded ¡°¨Cis acceptable. We would need to go over the deal again, though. The government expected two ArchSouls.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Arin shook her head. ¡°No more tweaks or back-and-forth, please. The only thing stopping me from making up with Foidan is the final offer that you and I discussed on, unmodified. I want us to seal the deal right now.¡±

 4. Bifurcate

    As scheduled, a sa-serpent arrived the next day. On account of their counterfeit argument, Foidan could only observe through the window as Arin and his son departed.


    She was no longer legally his wife, since the High Scribe, as a member of the Civil Service, had efficiently granted them a divorce. The Viceroy, not wanting to be left out, had also declared the marriage annulled under Invincible Light. The marriage was not religious in the first place, but at this point it hardly mattered.


    He had entrusted her with a letter for Manziholet and she also left behind one for Gothlow during their last meeting. She did not hug him that time, and neither did she look back to the palace when she stepped into her sa-raven¡¯s cabin. A voice in his head told him that she was leaving him for real instead of acting. Like fear, it was irrational, so he gave it the same treatment.


    Arin felt a slight jolt as the sa-raven ascended. The baby Manziholet was woken up but he did not cry. His black eyes gazed at her curiously before his tiny hand reached out and twirled a strand of her smooth black hair.


    ¡°He will make a fine Seraphist,¡± Tamajiang, who had joined her, said. ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll even be admitted into the Studium one day.¡±


    ¡°I expect no less,¡± she replied. Being ordinary was, after all, failure by association, which she would not tolerate in her flesh and blood.


    Soon, the flock of sa-ravens carrying the host along with their mortal soldiers and scribes passed through the sa-serpent¡¯s wounds and arrived inside its demiplane. The air abruptly smelled of mint as the laws of the demiplane took over the cabin. Messages, not unlike that of Amishar, emerged on her vision.


    [Greetings, travelers. Welcome to Sa-serpent 2901 of the Third Line.]


    [During the journey, please honor the regulations set forth by the Guild of Caelivagantes and follow the command issued by the Dentifer.]


    [Failure to comply will result in immediate ejection and a ban from all service of the Guild of Caelivagantes based on severity.]


    The sa-ravens, guided by their riders, carried the cabins through the artificial blue sky, filled with puffy clouds and floating structures made of stone and crystal. Beneath them was a seemingly infinite expanse of ocean, holding sporadic islands that were occupied by lush forest and human settlements. There lived the Guilders and family thereof, who dedicated their life as organs and crews of the sa-serpent both.


    The High Scribe had already handled the passage purchase and filled all required forms. Instead of having to deal with the Guild¡¯s enforcers, the flock was free to spread out to the floating inns, each massive enough to serve tens of thousands of travelers. More messages also arrived to confirm the schedule and destinations. They would have three more planets to stop by, or roughly half a day, before reaching TerraSol.


    Arin and the Seraphists stayed at the Honor & Charity. At the top, it had a tall tower with long cross-shaped windows. At the bottom, separated by a round landing yard with fences, was another symmetrical tower where the sa-ravens went to rest after depositing their passengers at the appropriate floors. They, of course, were given the highest living quarter, with a clear view of the scenery and dedicated servants.


    [Departing for Klais II in 100.]


    [Departing for Klais II in 99.]


    Arin settled in her room along with Manziholet as the sa-serpent¡¯s wounds closed. She sat down on the bed and calmed down her quickening heartbeats. The appropriate thing to do, she thought, was to cry. Foidan, after all, was the love of her life and it pained her deeply to end their marriage, but she could not bring herself to do so. Regret was not worth her time.


    [Departing for Klais II in 3.]


    [Departing for Klais II in 2.]


    [Departing for Klais II in 1.]


    Nothing changed inside the demiplane as the sa-serpent swallowed its own tail and broke through thousands of light years worth of distance. The wounds opened once again to the sight of a sprawling city on a desert. Klais II was obviously more wealthy than Jano, seeing that a huge number of sa-ravens were flying back and forth to trade cargo and people.


    During the journey, Amenemopet gave her some administrative papers to sign. The Purifiers also told her some advice so that Arin would not embarrass herself as well as entertained her with tales about the marvel of TerraSol.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Tamajiang said, ¡°our words are pale in comparison to the real sight. Trust me. Nothing can compare to what humanity has achieved after taking over the system from seraphs and daemons.¡±


    There was pride in his voice, as if he was talking about a god. When the sa-serpent reached the destination and Arin stepped out into the ground of the Promethean Ring, she realized the tales were understatements. Her body froze at the sight.


    Since 1560, the ancient Solar System with all its planets had been restructured and fortified into a single giga-architecture, held together not only by physical material shaped through human ingenuity but also countless invisible Miracles.


    It was composed of three ringworlds encircling ancient Sol, with the reality inside the star having been hollowed out to house Terra. During night time such as now, the Sol layer would retreat away to reveal the planet, though her mortal eyes could hardly capture it. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Reaching over twenty-two million miles in diameter and twenty-five thousand miles in width, Promethean was the largest and outermost component. From where she stood, Arin saw the strip of land curved upward in two directions until it turned too thin for her mortal eyes, sort of like a hammock hanging from the starry sky.


    The inner surface of Promethean was packed with forges, workshops, fortresses, and dense housing for the lower strata of TerraSol, most of which were as tall as the governor¡¯s palace on Jano, along with rare patches of greenery.


    The factories were lighting up and working even during nighttime. Distant bangs of hammer against metal resonated in the air and mixed with noises of packed streets, while countless sa-ravens and other flying beasts or vehicles criss-crossed overheads.


    These were merely what was observable, the Purifiers had told her. Hidden beneath material reality were more people traveling via communal Porter Miracles (such as those embedded into the tall wall of liquid gold along the Ring¡¯s rims) or dwelling inside the demiplanes anchored here.


    And, extending from its bottom outward to the endless void were Sentinel Spires, each capable of outputting the heat of stars against whatever threats approaching TerraSol.


    Arin felt a warmth on her shoulder. Tamajiang was tapping it with his sunsteel gauntlet. ¡°I would love to give you more time to sightsee, but you and Manzihlet should be registered first. The Chainbreakers are being stricter about that stuff, given the recent violence.¡±


    The Promethean Ring was also where every sa-serpent stopped. To set foot on the other ringworlds and get closer to Terra, travelers must stand in long lines at the Checkpoint to be inspected and registered. The policing was handled by the Chainbreakers ¨C Seraphists and mortals in blue armor that stood out with a cracked bronze pauldron on their left shoulder, whereas the paperwork was handled by the Civil Service, of which Amenemopet was a senior member.


    Arin and Manziholet, with her help, could skip the queue. They were brought into a private room with beds, where Amenemopet handed in the signed papers before another group of people arrived with a cart of strange instruments.


    Arin laid down on the bed. ¡°Stay very still, please,¡± one of them said to her as his attendant handed him a needle. To her right, Manziholet was also being operated on. ¡°It won¡¯t hurt.¡±


    He wrote invisible lines on both of her wrists using the needle before doing the same to the part of the skin under her right eye, while occasionally glancing at a piece of paper presented by an attendant. It itched and streaks of black flashed on her vision, which he assured her was fine. ¡°And,¡± he said after a few minutes, ¡°it is done. Try blinking, then read what you see to me.¡±


    [Name: Arin Claisara


    Sigil: 25-22-Lei-13174399


    Haven: Valorborne District, Sui-Jen Ring]


    The streaks had organized themselves into coherent words. Arin repeated the information, to which the man nodded. ¡°Your Oculon is working properly, then. Unlike normal messages from Overwatch Miracles, you can dismiss or summon these at will. Once you sign up for other services, more information will be displayed and you can even interact with them.¡± He put the needle away and gave her a manual. ¡°For example, if you open an account at a bank¨C¡±


    After the registration process was done and Arin had familiarized herself with the Oculon System¡¯s basic gestures, they went to one of the Porter platforms inside the Checkpoint and spatially shifted deeper into the next component of TerraSol.


    The Sui-Jen Ring¡¯s diameter was exactly half of the last ringworld although still built with the same width. It was tilted at forty-five degrees compared to Promethean so that the light and heat of Sol could reach the latter during the day. The sheer amount of life-supporting Miracles already at work made such a design redundant, but waste not want not, the same reason why the builders chose gravity by rotation.


    The Purifiers did not step out of the Porter platform. ¡°It¡¯s time we parted ways,¡± Tamajiang said. ¡°My knights and I need to return to our Order and release our Ruin Scars. You are safe here. No one will try to harm you on Sui-Jen unless they are very stupid. If you need any help from me, feel free to send a letter. I¡¯ll do my utmost to assist.¡±


    Tamajiang extended his right arm to her. The Oculon System that governed TerraSol¡¯s reality registered his gesture and intent. A notification was sent to her.


    [Tamajiang Cyrian (56-21-Xerces-90717115) would like to exchange sigils with you.]


    ¡°Thank you, captain. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± She accepted his hand and in doing so agreed to the request as well. Their sigil would be saved into their respective Oculon and could be used to send letters via public Overwatch Miracles. To think that if Foidan¡¯s grandmother had opted for the ''nope'' route instead of the ''why not'' detour to the coup, all this luxury could be hers long ago.


    [You have exchanged sigil with Tamajiang Cyrian (56-21-Xerces-90717115).]


    Tamajiang nodded, and the platform¡¯s operator switched it on one more, presumably to bring the Purifiers to the Ausaessig Ring, the final line of defense before Terra. It was much smaller than Promethean (only five and a half million miles in diameter) and spinning perpendicular to it. Yet, Ausaessig was home to all three Imperial Military Orders and their Seraphists, making the act of extinguishing all stars in the galaxy far easier than breaking through its defense.


    ¡°He is unmarried,¡± Amenemopet said, ¡°and, after all these years working with him, I know when Tamajiang likes a girl.¡±


    ¡°A marriage is the last thing I need at the moment, High Scribe. Also, I¡¯m too old to be considered a girl.¡±


    ¡°Age is deceptive on TerraSol, especially for people like us.¡± She flicked at the wrinkles on her forehead. ¡°These are not compulsory. They only exist because I allow them to, like men grooming their beard. Let¡¯s get you and your son settled down first, then I will instruct you more.¡±


    So began Arin¡¯s new life on TerraSol. It was overwhelming, she must admit, even years later. Yet, like Tabbat in the Tragedy of the Well who managed to lead a nation while being illiterate, she had learned to take advantage of the Miracles and studied the people here. Most of them, as she pleasantly found out, were no superior than her (naive, even, having been cradled like children since forever).


    As for Foidan, she received no direct contact except rare gossip and second-handed news from Zaicaster. From what she gathered, he was doing just fine as a member of the Saint Masser¡¯s Brotherhood. Their son Gothlow, of course, was safe and sound and had acquired a taste for collecting rare birds. She made sure to send him one on each of his birthdays.


    His brother Manziholet grew up under her careful watch, though he had this stubborn rebellious streak, presumably inherited from his paternal line. The more mature the boy was, the more his face reminded her of Foidan, with the well-defined cheekbones and the straight nose. And soon, when Manziholet reached the age of fifteen, it was time for him to die.

 5. Vixtrix (I)

    The boy ran through the forest, his palm pressed firmly against the gaping wound on the bottom left of his stomach. Blood seeped between his fingers.


    The wound had come from a spear wielded by a mortal, which was quite ridiculous. After years of studying under the finest blade masters money could buy, here he was, bleeding out because of a semi-literate nobody.


    He felt a little bit drunk and his vision was being blurred. His body felt like taking a nap but he fought back the urge ¨C if he went to sleep now, he would never wake up. That made his head ache more. At some point, he stopped and leaned back against a tree. There was nowhere to run because he had reached the demiplane¡¯s border, a wall that mimicked a cloudy sky.


    Both of his swords had been lost in some far-off corner of the battlefield, no doubt holding a heated discussion about how they could find a more competent owner. He could hear his opponents coming closer to finish the job.


    Death, the boy decided, would not be so bad. For one, he was destined to encase his ArchSoul in a Circuit, and in doing so he must die first. This served as nothing but a valuable experience (which was a gross simplification but a dead man was allowed to be optimistic).


    It would also save him the embarrassment of having to explain to his mother the basis behind the decision that led him to this situation: His friends told him about an underground tournament taking place at Old Bell District, Promethean Ring. The participants were desperate people ¨C strays and menials who wanted quick money ¨C though it was their patrons who would receive the tournament¡¯s rewards, among which was a lyre once played by the legendary Rokous.


    So, on his graduation day, the boy joined the tournament himself, mostly because he only trusted himself to get it done. On the whole, he did very well, having killed half of the opponents before an alliance was formed against him.  It was during an ambush by ten that he received the spear in his gut, which led to his present pathetic state. If he ever met his mother again, she would never let him live it down.


    They said those about to die would see their loved ones. That did not apply to him. As his opponents, clad in rags and probably had not had a hot meal in days, emerged from the trees and closed in on him, the boy saw two flaming figures descending down from the demiplane¡¯s fake sky.


    They landed behind his opponents. One of the Seraphist, whom he was too familiar with, appeared under the effects of <<Form: Emissary of Sun>>. White sunsteel covered him from head to toes and a halo hovered over his helmet.


    Meanwhile, the other had summoned her <<Armament: Solfire Scarf>>, a Miracle of First Sphere that manifested as a long band of fiery cloth floating around her head and past her shoulders down to her waist.


    He had never met the red-haired knight, though he could guess that she was a training Bastion, because her captain must know the boy desperately needed something stronger than a cup of tea in about five minutes. His vision was getting darker.


    Briefly, the Seraphists cranked up their Miracles and emulated the heat of a sun, promptly burning the boy¡¯s opponents along with the surrounding vegetation to crisp. A wave of hot air crashed into the boy before the Miracles quieted down and the Seraphists walked over.


    ¡°Manziholet,¡± Tamajiang said, ¡°you are an idiot.¡±


    What the Purifiers had done, in the boy¡¯s opinion, was just pure wasteful. The strays and menials had been winning against him fair and square. They deserved the chance to finish the tournament and determine the rightful winner among themselves.


    ¡°Nice to see you, uncle,¡± the boy replied and lifted his hand to reveal the wound. ¡°If you don''t mind.¡±


    Tamajiang grunted behind his sunsteel helmet. ¡°Kylla, fix the idiot.¡±


    ¡°Yes, captain.¡± The other Seraphist dismissed her Armament and hovered her palms over his body before activating a Bastion Miracle. Sunlight bursted out from them, bathing him in resiliency made real. The wound stopped bleeding and closed, returning that patch of skin to its normal paleness. His headache disappeared and so did the fatigue.


    Manziholet stood up and wiped off the dirt. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said to the recruit, who had silently returned to Tamajiang¡¯s side. ¡°How did you know to find me, uncle?¡±


    ¡°One of the patrons recognized you.¡± Tamajiang stepped past Manziholet to the demiplane¡¯s border. His gauntlet knocked three times on the wall and sent ripples throughout it. ¡°She alerted the District Admin, who alerted the local Chainbreaker Captain, who searched your file and called me, a very busy person by the way, over to check. You are lucky that they want to keep this off the books or else Arin will be personally notified.¡±


    Which meant, he thought, that the organizers could have yanked him out of the tournament at any point or even right after he was ambushed. They had let him suffer, perhaps to teach him a lesson following the wish of a certain Purifier. Tamajiang¡¯s curriculum often came with a side of pain.


    ¡°You won¡¯t tell mother, will you?¡± Manziholet said.


    ¡°I ought to. What are you dying for anyway?¡±


    ¡°A lyre, one that was used by Rokous.¡±


    ¡°Since when are you his fan?¡±


    The border parted, revealing a tunnel which led them out of the demiplane. They emerged into an oval hall with a fountain in the middle. Lanterns that shone unnaturally strong were hung from the ceiling, flooding light into the windowless space. A faint smell of smoke, signature of Old Bell District, lingered in the air.


    Waiting before them was a group of expensively dressed people. They were the organizers and they felt very sorry that an ArchSoul was put into mortal danger under their watch. It would never happen again, they promised Tamajiang. However, legally speaking, they felt that¨C


    ¡°I want my reward,¡± Manziholet interupted. ¡°I am the only participant alive, am I not?¡±


    Their leader blinked. ¡°Pardon, but your victory is highly unusual. I¡¯m not sure if the intervention from Seraphists adheres to the rules set by us.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± Tamajiang replied and flicked Manziholet¡¯s ear, the intense pain of which momentarily stunned his mind. ¡°He¡¯s just being greedy. We¡¯ll leave now. Remember to scratch his name from your record.¡±


    ¡°It''ll be a surprise gift for my mother,¡± Manziholet said as they walked out to the street. The Purifier¡¯s glowing Form drew a few stares from the passersby. This place was rarely visited by a high Sphere Seraphist. ¡°I heard she mentioned wanting it to a friend.¡±  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Even then, it¡¯s a rather extreme way to earn a lyre. You are fifteen, for crying out loud.¡± Tamajiang was staring down at him. ¡°Alright, I won¡¯t tell her, but remember this moment. You owe me a favor. And, Kylla, make sure the idiot gets back to Victrix in time for the graduation ceremony. He has an important speech to make.¡±


    ¡°I will, captain,¡± the Bastion Seraphist replied solemnly. Her hair was a messy high bun of rusted iron¡¯s color with soft tendrils that framed her sharp face, one that was brought to a level of perfection possible only through the Circuit.


    Before he left, Tamajiang looked at Manziholet again. ¡°You are sure that your mother wants the lyre.¡±


    ¡°She does.¡± Arin did not. The truth was that there was this classmate he wanted to impress and the girl happened to be Rokous¡¯s fan. His mother, however, did say something to that effect. If the lie was discovered, he could just pretend it was a genuine misunderstanding on his part.


    Using the enhanced strength given by his Miracle, Tamajiang did not need to walk on the street like mortals. With a leap, the man rose above the building and disappeared into the smoke-filled sky, leaving Manziholet behind with Kylla. ¡°We should go now,¡± she said.


    The boy consulted the time on his Oculon. [Furder 13, 1920, 11:03]


    ¡°You can relax. I have more than three hours to spare. Why don¡¯t we have lunch first? I¡¯m starving.¡± During those three hours, he must also prepare a speech to deliver before his peers, one that marked the culmination of ten years of them learning together and one that he had neglected to prepare, but she did not need to know that.


    ¡°My <<Daybreak Renewal>> removed your hunger already. Please, don¡¯t be annoying. Whatever order my captain gives, it is absolute.¡± Kylla summoned her scarf of flame again. Its heat distorted the air. ¡°I will burn you, heal you, and then repeat as necessary. Do we have an understanding?¡±


    Old Bell District was designed to assist and amplify a Porter Miracle of Smoke Domain. Most of the District, therefore, was shaded from the sun by a trail of dark smoke that threaded between the tall buildings. Massive braziers were constructed along its path to sustain the trail, which was further fueled by the fumes from roaring factories.


    Raw material and products were conveyed via the smoke trail at eight times the speed of sound (it had been confirmed) to their destination. People in need could also pay to have themselves transported along the trail. As of now, the fee per person was set at twenty hundred forisma, or around six months of back-breaking hard work for a bricklayer.


    Manziholet and Kylla arrived before a toll booth. They gave the destination to the worker manning it, who then inquired who would like to pay.


    ¡°Allow me,¡± Manziholet said and presented his right wrist to the menial. She laid her on his. When they touched, a Fourth Sphere Miracle that covered the entire TerraSol pinpointed the act before calling upon a cascade of many more Miracles running in the background of reality.


    [Payment request received.


    Sender: Hila Maysei (75-89-Old-Bell-94507115)


    Requested amount: 40,000 forisma]


    It would fry a mortal brain to take in the Oculon System¡¯s complexity, which employed thousands of Seraphist. Anything less would have been a complete and utter catastrophe, because on the Promethean alone there were over two quadrillion people working and living. Maintaining order would be akin to keeping a bonfire lit under a typhoon without the Oculons and the complex economy would have to rely on unreliable stacks of paper and clinking coins.


    Manziholet blinked twice with his left eye while thinking ¡®Accept¡¯ in his head.


    [Transaction complete.


    Recipient: Hila Maysei (75-89-Old-Bell-94507115)


    Amount transferred: 40,000 forisma


    Your account balance: 18,437,800 forisma]


    That being done, another worker led them down a hallway lined with doors. Manziholet and Kylla were told to wait in front of one before it opened and smoke flooded out to engulf them. It was a near instant as the Miracle bought them through space and deposited them at the destination, though the smoke made him cough.


    Standing before them was a wall of liquid gold, built to contain the atmosphere as well as separate the land from the void. It also acted as a public Porter Miracle, <<Aureate Nexus>>, for mass transport along the ringworld¡¯s circumference.


    Countless humans and animals along with their cargo were waiting in line at the base of a colossal building rising as high as the wall and submerging a part of itself in the liquid gold. Utilizing the Miracle, they could go up or down to each floor of the building, which in turn served as a stop for Ring Runners, incredibly long carriages capable of holding tens of thousands. The higher the floor, the longer the trip of its Ring Runner would be.


    Kylla¡¯s status as a Seraphist allowed them to skip the lines of civilians and get a private compartment, windowless and still had to be paid for but otherwise spacious enough. Messages regarding the next stops had shown up on his Oculon. They would get off the Ring Runner after around twenty minutes, where there would be a Checkpoint to bring them to the Sui-Jen Ring.


    No acceleration was felt as it departed. Manziholet had settled down on his seat and so did the Seraphist across the table. She was folding her arms while keeping her gaze straight ahead to the wooden panel behind the boy¡¯s head. Neither of them chose to talk, which was fine since he had a speech to make anyway.


    He could, of course, recycle some past speech. They had trained him enough in Rhetoric to scrap together a decent one, but it would be by all means ordinary. And, as his mother had so helpfully drilled in him, ordinary was the first cousin of failure. He was not so fond of marrying that particular relative. The problem was that words were refusing to come out from the depths of his mind.


    Time, he decided after five unproductive minutes had passed, to seek inspiration. ¡°I am curious. Why the Knight Purifiers?¡± he said. ¡°Isn¡¯t it that the Imperial Hammers are sparing no expense for new Bastions? You¡¯d be better off working for them.¡±


    Kylla glanced at him. ¡°It¡¯s personal.¡±


    ¡°I could talk with Tamajiang. He must have asked you the same question.¡±


    She frowned, as if she just tasted something bitter. ¡°If you must know, I was born on a very poor planet,¡± she said. ¡°When I was five, a cult infiltrated its population. Before we knew it, they had already summoned a daemonic incursion. Two Brute Lords and three Blood Churls¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss.¡± The boy had already seen where this was leading to. He should not have pried her. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to continue¡­¡±


    ¡°I might as well finish it, but yes, you can guess how bad it went. Most of the people I knew were either long dead, enslaved by the cult, or in hiding, before TerraSol even got the news. Just when I was about to die of starvation, or a flu, I don¡¯t remember, the knights arrived and saved me.¡±


    ¡°You want to repay them.¡±


    ¡°Partly. When the knights arrived, those cultists had been teaching everyone the Forbidden Script. Most could barely say a word, but even then the damage had already been done. The Purifier captain had a difficult choice to make, one that can haunt a person for life.¡±


    ¡°Sterilizing the planet.¡±


    Kylla nodded. ¡°He made it. Everything and everyone on the planet was scorched clean, until what¡¯s left of it was just me. It¡¯s cruel, I know, and certainly unfair to the innocents, but it is effective. That¡¯s the main reason why I joined the Order of Knight Purifiers, Manziholet ¨C to be effective.¡±


    They arrived at Messet District and took a sa-raven to the Checkpoint. Most of the District was covered in orange sand that was imported from a dissonant world where the laws of reality had been scrambled during the Ternary Strife. When the sand was exposed to open air, massive columns of random metal would erupt from the ground from time to time, infinitely renewable and frequently enough to fuel the two neighboring Districts'' industries.


    One of its previous Admin had chosen to design the Checkpoint in the image of a spider, with eight boxy segmented legs arched high and anchored deep into the ground, each plated with slabs of black marble. One could either enter by walking up the stairs inside the legs or landed through the openings that lined its main body as their sa-raven did.


    Here, the boy paid for another Porter Miracle, and unlike the last two which were ultimately limited by their inherent speed, this one was a pure manipulation over space. Having stepped inside the platform, Manziholet and Kylla were directly shifted to Erziehung District, Sui-Jen Ring, where his Victrix Academy was located.

 6. Vixtrix (II)

    If Promethean was the workbench, then Sui-Jen was the playground.


    In the place of densely-packed forges and smithies were huge expanses of raw wilderness and massive estates. Exotic flora from distant star systems adorned the ringworld¡¯s avenues, gardens, and palace grounds. Demiplanes that should be reserved for farming or housing were casually utilized as basements where people might toss in their forgotten childhood toys or secluded spaces where they enjoyed forbidden pleasures.


    On Sui-Jen, all registered residents were either someone of wealth, power, or both (they only made up a fifth of the local population, but the rest were just hired help and thus beneath consideration). Culturally, they avoided walking as much as possible, seeing that it was a somewhat embarrassing activity reserved only for the lower strata who had neither the means nor the imagination to ride in something that did not involve their own feet.


    Being the crown jewels of society they were, the residents soared on customized sa-ravens, rode white-scaled horses with draconic heads, or relaxed within luxurious cabins drawn by such creatures. There were also the Porter Miracles not unlike the one Manziholet and Kylla were traveling inside of.


    A bubble shimmering with iridescent hues broke the sound barrier and carried them through the cloudless sky of Erziehung District. The ancient Sol shone above them, casting its light over sprawling, perfectly designed circular lakes of pale blue water, each bordered by ribbons of lush forest and precise roadways.


    Exactly one hundred of those lakes were distributed at random to three population centers of the Districts, which was corresponded to three institutions: Victrix Academy (where children of preordained greatness rubbed shoulders and received education as a by-product), Quillmaster Academy (eternal enemy of Victrix), and Ivory Collegium (religious and therefore being silently taken over by the other two with government¡¯s blessing).


    Their bubble joined in the flying beasts and other Miracles that were heading to Vixtrix Academy. The traffic was busier than usual given that the graduation ceremony was about to happen, although it could hardly explain why more Chainbreakers in their blue armor and cracked bronze pauldron were also patrolling around the area. This was Sui-Jen Ring, where violent crime was a novelty. Manziholet asked Kylla, who had no idea as well.


    The traffic converged on Vixtrix¡¯s center ¨C a silvery tower with ten rectangles tiers that was stacked like a spiraling staircase towards the sky, culminating in a sharp golden tip. The Miracle bursted when it landed on the porch of the seventh tier. There, one of the vice principals was waiting for the boy, who had finally come up with a concept of a speech.


    ¡°You''re late, Manziholet,¡± he said with a frown. ¡°And your clothes.¡±


    Kylla¡¯s <<Daybreak Renewal>> only applied to living beings. Understandably, all the dirt and blood during the tournament remained. He did not need a mirror to know he looked like a stray who was adopted by a pack of street dogs.


    ¡°I had a minor accident. Don¡¯t worry, my body is fine.¡± He looked at Kylla. ¡°Now that your task is done, are you returning to Ausaessig or are you staying? We can arrange a seat.¡±


    The Seraphist decided to stay. After all, as a Vixtrian who graduated at the third of her Class, she could spare some time to see how the new generation turned out. The vice principal had his assistant lead Kylla down to the fifth tier, where students and their family were gathering, and another fetch an uniform for Manziholet while they went over the plan.


    ¡°¨Cthen after the Principal finishes the bestowal, I will come out and introduce you. Can you give me a copy of your speech?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Manziholet tapped his forehead with a finger. ¡°Every single word is in here,¡± he said.


    ¡°But is it good then? Actually,¡± he added with a dismissive wave, ¡°no need to tell me. We don¡¯t have much time. You scored the highest in Rhetoric. I trust you.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t disappoint. Also,¨C¡± Manziholet pointed out of the window ¡°¨Cwhat¡¯s with the Chainbreakers?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the vice principal groaned, ¡°they claim there¡¯ll be an attack. A group of disgruntled Ivory Collegium¡¯s teachers or something, which was ludicrous. Not even their Church dare to openly cause trouble on Sui-Jen. I bet those Chainbreakers are just trying to justify their monthly necessary expenses.¡±


    Manziholet was inclined to believe him. The Order of Chainbreakers was not what it used to be. Their masters had shifted from the weak and the poor to whoever with the most forisma in their pockets, and they also kept the crime rings on Promethean organized.


    After he had changed into a new set of uniform, topped with the golden regalia of the Vixtrian Paragon, Manziholet waited backstage as the opening performance (the usual choral music, a ode recital from a visiting governor, a surprisingly entertaining reenactment of the Academy¡¯s founding, followed by a vice principal¡¯s reading of a letter from the Imperator) took place one by one.


    The fifth tier¡¯s main hall had been redecorated in Western Thessa architecture, with mosaics depicting humanity¡¯s victories against proto seraphists and daemonic anchors on the walls, framed by marble pillars with intricate relief. The victories did not include the religious military, because the government insisted that thousands of battles had not been narrowly won by Redeemers at all.


    Round tables had been set along the hall, occupied by important mortals and Seraphists. Vixtrian students of Class of 1920 stood out with their dark red robes and a custom-made yet empty scabbard on their belt. Menials, dressed in white toga and wearing glass wings on their back, were running around to serve food and drinks. A dozen Chainbreakers, a new addition compared to last year, were watching from the far end of the hall.


    ¡°Here you are, Manziholet,¡± Someone sneaked up from behind him and loosely wrapped her left hand around his right arm. ¡°Everyone was looking for you. We thought you would come sooner.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    He had sensed Aezixia¡¯s arrival long before they touched, her presence announced by a halo of fragrance radiating subtly outward within a meter of her, equal parts fresh and sweet like mint and honey. He recognized it everywhere.


    ¡°I had to run an errand,¡± Manziholet said while concentrating very hard on the performance. If he looked at her, he was afraid his heart would jump out of his chest.


    Aezixia was, by acclamation and common sense, the most irresistible girl in the Academy. If commanded to describe Aezixia¡¯s beauty under the threat of death, most poets would stutter and resign to merely gesturing helplessly at her.


    To earn her love, many boys had gladly groveled on the floor or received a spear in the gut. ¡°Did I miss anything?¡± the boy asked.


    ¡°The usual nonsense,¡± she replied with a laugh. ¡°Jarith and his friends released a bunch of Vem nomads from the Preserve, then pretended to be their gods and herded them towards the Proctors¡¯ Office. Needless to say, chaos.¡±


    The Preserve was where they went to learn about ancient civilizations. Its demiplanes were populated solely by mortals unaware of the broader society, carefully isolated to simulate history as authentically as possible. Each had been put there since they were just babies before being subjected to time acceleration to create generations. The Guild of Demiurgic Sciences sold those demiplanes at a fortune.


    ¡°The proctors must be pissed.¡±


    ¡°They are. They¡¯d probably skinned Jarith alive, but you know how loaded his family is. Anyway,¨C¡± her left hand tapped his right arm twice before disengaging, allowing him to lean back on the wall and look at her ¡°¨CI¡¯m coming back to the table. Looking forward to your speech. Will you mention my name, by any chance?¡±


    ¡°If you want to. I¡¯m still in the process of writing one, so all suggestions are welcomed.¡±


    ¡°Very funny, Vixtrian Paragon.¡± She gave him a smile and lightly punched the medal on his chest. It was a part of the official regalia worn by all students who had managed to outperform their classmates to reach the top.


    Aezixia turned around to leave, but halted at forty-five degrees. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯ll be a great honor if you mention my name. I¡¯ll appreciate it.¡±


    He got as many choices as a fly in a spider¡¯s web, and they both knew it. ¡°You have my word.¡±


    After the opening performance came the Principal¡¯s address to Class of 1920. By all accounts, she decided to play it safe, with neither a mention of the imminent war nor a call for the students to join the military. Most of the speech was devoted to stroking the students¡¯ ego (and, by extension, their family) as well as the usual excellency and honor. An Overwatch Miracle amplified her voice across the hall.


    She then summoned each student to the stage and ceremoniously bestowed upon them rapiers with slender azure blades. Their design was visually impressive, though the offensive capability was no greater than standard steel, worth more as an ornament displayed on a wall rather than a weapon in a duel. Scabbards were also available, but for the last four years many students had also decided to bring their own to suit their fashion.


    Manziholet was not granted one. Those weapons were, after all, cheap replicas to the real Vixtrian Rapier, one that was forged on a dissonant world and thereby imbued with a broken reality. It would be granted to the Vixtrian Paragon, preferably after he finished his speech without disappointing his mother.


    He calmed himself down as the vice principal began his introduction. He had the boy¡¯s last name wrong, Sylvektor Claisara instead of the other way round. It could be a genuine mistake or the man was attempting to curry favor with his mother. Either way, if his speech turned out to be substandard, he would have a joke to divert attention to.


    Before long, Manziholet was standing in his place, looking down on thousands of people. He could feel the gaze of his mother, who was sitting at one of the frontmost tables, the sixth most important mortals in the hall. Failure was not an option. He began to speak.


    ¡°That was beautiful,¡± the vice principal said later, when Manziholet returned backstage. The man was clapping with vigor, and so had the audience. ¡°The bit about being effective, it was pure genius.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± The boy sat down on a bench. The Vixtrian Rapier, which had come with its own ornate scabbard (thick black leather with gold inlays and velvet-lined interior) laid on his lap. ¡°Although I think it might be too pretentious, given that I¡¯m just fifteen.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re joking. I think you could have led them right into battle with that speech.¡± The vice principal looked at a hand mirror and fixed his hair. The ceremony still needed him. ¡°Regardless, congratulations, Manziholet.¡±


    After he left for the stage, the boy slipped in an empty dressing room and locked the door behind him. He made himself a glass of iced tea and chugged it down, before coming to stand in the middle of the room.


    The fingers of his right hand wrapped around the Rapier¡¯s black ivory grip and settled comfortably inside its swept hilt, which was made up of multiple golden rings and bars that ended in bulbs of sapphire, before unsheathing the weapon.


    Its blade smoothly left the scabbard, and in doing so introduced a piece of dissonant world into this reality. A caustic pattern of white radiance flashed and rippled across its azure surface like sunlight dancing on water. Across the blade, within three millimeters of it, the air imperceptibly hummed and shifted into a blue hue.


    The boy brought it closer to his face for inspection. Like most rapiers¡¯, the blade featured a quadrangular design, with four precisely beveled facets tapering toward the point, so masterfully polished that they reflected his face with clarity.


    Per the specifications requested by him, the blade also reached one point one meters in length and three centimeters in width at the base. Its edges were as sharp as the tip, optimized to output the maximum devastation in both thrusting and cutting.


    He pinched the tip and bent it to the side but failed to overcome the rigidness. Not that he could touch the warm surface for too long. His skin felt very funny as if being bitten like tiny insects.


    That was understandable. The blade was thinly coated in what was known as ¡°time god¡¯s tear¡± by its crafters or aeon by laypeople. The nigh indestructible material, along with everything inside its blue field, was advancing through time much faster than the usual rate. Flesh would be aged and steel would be rusted at its touch. For the aeon blade¡¯s targets, time was not on their side.


    When extending the Vixtrian Rapier fully outward, the boy¡¯s arm felt strained under the weight, and its balance was a little off to the wheel-shaped pommel, but the flaws could easily be compensated through practice. He jabbed and parried imaginary opponents a few times, before pointing the aeon blade deep into a wooden mannequin.


    With his left hand holding its head to keep the target still, he applied a bit of pressure through the other. The Vixtrian Rapier slided forward as if the mannequin was not there, warping the wood and turning it into fine dust. That was, the boy must admit, quite awesome.


    And with the damage already being done, he had an excuse to wreak further havoc on the poor mannequin before sweeping broken pieces of wood and piles of dust into the trash. His new toy gone back to its scabbard, the boy fixed his uniform and returned to the ceremony.


    Just as he was about to reach the table where his friends and Aezixia were sitting, fate decided to make sure this day would be remembered for centuries to come. The Chainbreakers, incompetent as they might be, were right to be ready. Quite unfortunately, however, they were wrong about everything else.

 7. Declaration

    During the Ternary Strife, loyalty to one¡¯s species was not exactly unanimous. Many humans collaborated with the Outsiders under the illusion that they would be rewarded in the afterlife. No one knew who the cabbage-for-brain moron coming up with that idea was, but it had persisted until today and inspired countless cultists.


    After losing the Strife, seraphs rarely answered summonings. Daemons, however, always gleefully did so. The process had been perfected over time. An willing anchor, with sufficient how-to knowledge and mastery in the Forbidden Script, could easily find summoning material like feathers and iron after a walk in the market and called up a daemon.


    In an instant, the daemon would seize control of the anchor¡¯s soul and assume control over their body. An afterlife, presumably, would require an intact soul, though by then the anchor was well past the point of complaint. The human body was then mutated to suit the daemon¡¯s Domains and the rest was everyone else¡¯s trouble.


    The woman before Manziholet, therefore, looked very weird. For starters, she seemed quite healthy, with wavy long black hair and a small nose. Even while dressed in the servant outfit with the funny-looking glass wings on her back, her beauty could pass for one of Sui-Jen¡¯s residents.


    The only thing that gave away her status as an daemonic anchor was the fact that every Seraphists inside the hall was giving her a wide berth and yelling at everyone else to do the same.


    Their Circuits had detected the presence of a Fourth Circle daemon, which was impossible ¨C the Oculon System should have notified them of one long ago, and an anchor should be greatly mutated under the influence of four whole Domains.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± she said. With her feet as the epicenter, blood spreaded out the floor, swept past people, and ran up the walls. It covered up doors and exits to the backstage, holding hostage the panicked guests and students. Some pounded hard on the liquid, but it seemed as hard as metal. ¡°If I can have a moment of your time. I¡¯m sure you will leave here alive, but you need¨C¡±


    A Breaker Seraphist manifested her Miracle, conjuring up five humanoid skeletons around her. They had four arms with a long spear in each. They assumed formation and charged. Before they could make it far, the floor of blood under them liquified into a pool. The Seraphist and her Miracle fell down, splashing up blood as they struggled. When it returned to solid, only half of her head was sticking out of the floor along with a twitching left hand that was reaching up for the air.


    ¡°¨Cto be very quiet,¡± the anchor raised her voice. Other Seraphists barked at everyone to follow the request. The hall silenced down, saved for the laborious breaths from the drowned Breaker as life left her.


    It occurred to Manziholet that they were dealing with a Sanguine Alchemist, a daemon that occupied the same Circle with Brute Lords and specialized in blood transmutation. They had been taught about the daemon, with a heavy emphasis on one key strategy: run, as fast as possible. Under its influence, any matter except gasses could be turned into blood, including human bodies.


    He scanned the room. The few Seraphists present were hardly enough to protect themselves let alone the mortals, especially when they were all already standing on transmuted blood.


    ¡°Your Miracles cannot hurt me,¡± she said, casting a sidelong glance at a gathering host of Seraphists, among whom were Kylla with her Solfire Scarf, ¡°but feel free to waste your vaepor if it calms your nerves.¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡± one of them asked back.


    ¡°I am a human just like you, except without an Archetypical Soul, and I am neither mindmeld with a seraph nor possessed by a daemon.¡± She raised her right hand up. It was burning in blue flame, another Miracle linked to a Sanguine Alchemist. ¡°Yet, here I am with both power and your lives in my grasp, Seraphists. Heed my words.¡±


    Her servant outfit melted down as blood, while the flame surged to envelope her entire body. Manziholet squinted his eyes to shield from the blazing display of power.


    The flame receded gradually. Left in its path were pieces of plate armor made from obsidian-like metal with red veins running on their surface. Jagged edges and twisted spires protruded from the pauldrons and gauntlets. A helmet coiled up around her head, its visor shaped like the gaping maw.


    When the flame extinguished, the woman had been fully covered in a set of monstrous armor, revealing only her dark blue eyes. Layered underneath it was also a chainmail of the same color, presumably for both protection and ease of movement. Someone whimpered at the sight.


    ¡°My name is Amat Ninlil,¡± she declared. ¡°I was once a mortal, battered at the whim of a coin-counting scribe and abused by a priest who hid behind his false God. No more, for I had broken the will of a Sanguine Alchemist and claimed its Domains as my own. Now, as a Fourth Circle Daemoneer, I came to deliver a message from my people, the Defiant Path.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Amat paused to let the name sink in. ¡°Impossible,¡± muttered a student behind Manziholet, a sentiment that many others agreed with.


    The Defiant Path had been the most critical contributors to humanity¡¯s victory through their invention of the Circuits and the sa-serpents, but they had splintered into Guilds decades ago. For most mortals, the name had long been forgotten.


    ¡°The three planets Red Sparrow, Chirhus, and Kallan along with their star systems will fall under the Defiant Path¡¯s jurisdiction from today,¡± she continued. ¡°Do not entertain the idea of reclaiming them back. Our Daemoneers, elevated from mortals and not limited by ArchSoul, will obliterate your Seraphists who, let¡¯s be honest, are too valuable in your bickering with the Church.¡±


    Amat looked in his mother¡¯s general direction, who had calmly remained in her seat since the beginning. ¡°I see many sound minds here. Let them explain to you why it is a very stupid idea to ignore my threat. Should your military choose to deny both us and themselves of those systems by detonating their stars, remember how I served you food and drinks a moment ago. We are among you. Your Circuits only saw me, because I allowed it.¡±


    The Daemoneer walked over to the drowned Seraphists and firmly pressed one armored boot against her head. With a sickening crunch, the skull gave way. Blood and brain matter seeped out as her boot sinked in, squashing any hope of revival for the Seraphist. ¡°Be wise, unlike her. Relay that message to your Imperator.¡±


    Her audience lost balance as the entire floor turned into liquid blood. For a moment, Manziholet thought he would drown as his body submerged, but it was only two inches deep. He wiped it off his face and stood up. Amat had disappeared.


    By tradition, the Vixtrian Paragon would spin a wheel to pick out a District at random on Promethean, where the students would get drunk and trash the streets of their lesser (who would be compensated for; they were not barbarians) but in view of the recent event, no one was in the mood.


    They were, as it turned out, not the only ones who got honored with a visit from the self-declared Defiant Path. Inside private functions attended by Republicans, Admins, or other members of the Assembly as well as government buildings, private institutions, or even a strictly guarded pleasure demiplane, Daemoneers made themselves known.


    Simultaneously, they also addressed crowds across Promethean, targeting those who should not listen to what was said ¨C tenants laboring within farming demiplanes, menials bound to domestic servitude, thralls chained to relentless factories, or strays scraping by on the streets. Here, the Defiant Path¡¯s speeches were a tad different, spiced up with scary words like ¡®liberation¡¯ and ¡®your true potential¡¯.


    Many witnesses (later detained by the Chainbreakers) claimed they had been their past acquaintances or worked in various menial roles for months, and they all left via spatial shift or means of similar visual effect. They were still stunned ¨C an ordinary person they shared a dormitory with or ordered around had suddenly commanded Miracles.


    Conservative estimates put their number at forty-eight Fourth Circles, two thousand Third Circles, and twice as many Second Circles, all displaying the Miracles that their daemonic counterparts were capable of. Casualty was set at thirty Seraphists, eleven of whom were non-revivable, compared to zero Daemoneer. Despite their overwhelming power, they had also been remarkably lenient with even the most hot-headed mortals.


    In an official announcement, the government claimed that the despicable Daemoneers (the name ¡°Defiant Path¡± was not used) had chosen their location well, where their Seraphists were decisively outmatched. The fact that they had not set foot on the Ausaessig Ring and Terra itself spoke volumes of who scared whom. The Oculon System was being recalibrated to detect the Daemoneers. Next time, their Seraphist would be ready to avenge their fallen comrades.


    It was in every citizen¡¯s interest, the government went on, to not be deceived by the Daemoneers¡¯ rhetoric. The Guilds had combed through their archive and found no such individuals existed or worked for their predecessor organization. Therefore, these Daemoneers were not only dishonoring an illustrious name but deserving of the death sentence. The Order of Knight Purifiers and the Order of Imperial Hammers were being readied to descend on the three claimed systems. The Daemoneers would soon face the overwhelming force of justice and order. Any individuals found to spread their words would be considered traitors of TerraSol.


    As the Vicechair of the Logic Committee of Vigil, with many contacts in the government, Manziholet¡¯s mother knew the announcement was just for show. The workers must return to their routine so that farms and factories could keep churning out products (¡°... and busy bees don¡¯t have time to question the hive¡±, her friend Amenemopet had joked), while most residents of Sui-Jen quietly withdrew behind their estate walls.


    The fact was many important people were really scared out of their wits. A war with the Church would be tolerable since they already had spies and saboteurs ready on Zaicaster and vice versa. Both sides¡¯ upper strata were aware of mutual destruction, hence an unspoken agreement to limit open battle on the capitals. The Daemoneers would have no such reservation.


    They talked between each other then whispered to their relatives and friends on Ausaessig and Terra, who, being of a highly sensible and entirely self-interested nature, advised the Imperator that any retaliation would invite a riot on Sui-Jen. They had helped him overthrow the previous Republic, and it would be wise, they suggested, for the Imperator to keep that little detail at the forefront of his mind.


    He could not anyway, since no signal gems had been crushed on Red Sparrow, Chirhus, or Kallan. The Guild of Caelivagantes attempted to reroute some of their sa-serpents there but encountered a spatial lock by unknown Miracles. Until the Guild figured out a way to break past them, neither intelligence gathering nor troop deployment was possible. The general consensus, therefore, was to adopt a tried-and-true strategy: wait, watch, and pretend to look busy.


    Most of his Vixtrian classmates, for their part, seemed unbothered. After all, their next biggest decision was whether to pursue higher education for their dream job or skipping that step and getting hired by their family regardless.


    For those with an ArchSoul like Manziholet or Aezixia (who, by the way, had not thanked the boy for not only mentioning but also somehow elevating her name to that of an ancient goddess in his speech), it might mean their encasement would be postponed and their seraphs would have to wait.

 8. After-Death (I)

    ¡°Who gave you that idea?¡± Manziholet¡¯s mother said. They were eating dinner alone in their private theater, while a troupe of dozens of actors and actresses were performing Deeds of Yori Mamoto on the stage. ¡°Of course you will get your ArchSoul encased tomorrow. I¡¯ve waited fifteen years for it.¡±


    She had chosen to appear very young, with her bold red lips standing out against her fair skin. Her long black hair was dressed up with intricate golden accessories resembling wings and flames, matching the shades of gold and amber of her grand silk robe. ¡°What? Are you scared or something?¡± She glanced at him.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m completely petrified, mother,¡± the boy replied. ¡°No, obviously not. I am ready.¡±


    ¡°Good. With your status as a Seraphist, I can finally get that insufferable Kalo off his position and become the Chair. Don¡¯t disappoint me.¡±


    Arin lifted a piece of starfish roll with her chopstick, tilted it slightly to dip just a corner into the soy sauce, then brought it in her mouth. Even while eating, his mother could not help but look like one of those regal queens in ancient paintings, the type with zero tolerance for incompetence and who authorized public execution as an after-thought.


    Meanwhile, the performance reached its first twist, when Yori Mamoto found out the tyrant she sought to overthrow was her father all along. His mother was very fond of the scene, so Manziholet kept his mouth shut for her enjoyment. He needed her to be in a good mood when he broached the next subject.


    After Yori Mamoto decided to spare his father and accept her birthright, the boy counted to three in his head, then said, ¡°About my marriage, mother.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s about it?¡±


    His mother knew exactly what they were talking about. She was toying with him, which she always did whenever he asked for help. He would rather do it on his own but, for every forisma in his account, she had hundreds more. On Sui-Jen, marriage was very expensive.


    ¡°We agreed that if I graduated at the first of my Class, you would support me regardless of whomever I choose.¡±


    ¡°We did.¡±


    ¡°Well?¡± He gestured to the Vixtrian Rapier, which was deliberately leaned on the table in her line of sight.


    ¡°My son, I know you like the Reya girl. You practically asked for her hand in your speech.¡± She sighed then looked at him. ¡°But no matter how much money or political favor I throw at her family, they¡¯ll say no and so will she, because she has already agreed to a proposal from a Greatling.¡±


    During his first year at the Academy, the boy challenged the chief military instructor, a strict and foul-mouthed veteran, to a war game. It took place on an open desert, with each having three thousand veteran mercenaries at their disposal. The boy had devised a dozen contingencies and arrayed his troops well. He reckoned he would emerge victorious and earn his peers¡¯ respect for he had defeated evil. Thirteen minutes in, his left wing routed after the instructor¡¯s troops punched a hole in his center.


    His mother¡¯s news reminded him of that memory, disorienting and humiliating. He could hardly think. ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± the boy found himself saying. ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°Why would I?¡±


    ¡°Then we will change her mind.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t make a fool of yourself, Manziholet.¡± She shook her head in disappointment. ¡°Unless you can give her a legacy seraph and a ticket to Terra like the Greatling do, she¡¯ll certainly reject you. Worse, she¡¯ll hold it over you for as long as you live.¡±


    If luck was capable of playing favorites, then it would choose members of the Great Lineages with their guaranteed chance of being born with ArchSouls. Reality would have fractured under their population had each Lineage managed to go beyond the hard cap of ten offspring per year, set for unknown reasons.


    Even then, the Greatlings were to Sui-Jen¡¯s residents what Sui-Jen¡¯s residents were to those living on Promethean ¨C distant, dangerously influential, and richer than myths. Manziholet fingers tightened around his chopsticks before he placed them down. ¡°It¡¯s unfair.¡±


    ¡°Life is unfair. Haven¡¯t you learned about it by now, after all your little adventures to Promethean?¡± His mother gestured to the stage ¨C dozens of people were performing their hearts out for only two audiences, who merely wanted to make their dinner less boring. ¡°Ask the quadrillions who live there. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll give a reply similar to yours.¡±


    Manziholet gathered his thoughts, the same way he had managed to rally his broken army for a counterattack. ¡°How long have you known?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My spy informed me two weeks ago, who reckoned she said yes five days before that. Frankly, with that much time, I¡¯m surprised and disappointed that you didn¡¯t figure it out on your own.¡±


    He went over his past interaction with Aezixia during that time, the words she said, her body language, how she asked him for things knowing he had no choice but to accept, or the way she smiled at him. He must have been a pet in her eyes, one that she had extracted the maximum amount of loyalty out of. He stood up.


    ¡°Leaving so soon, my son? There¡¯s a good plot point coming up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather spend time alone, if that¡¯s alright.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t keep you, though do remember to stop by my office later. We should go over your choice of seraph and Circuit, as well as your preparation for the Studium¡¯s Proving.¡±


    ¡°I will, mother.¡± He turned around to leave, as the Deeds of Yori Mamoto was approaching its next major twist, when the female lead found out her beloved cook had been feeding her poison because he had once been a victim of her father. She should have killed the tyrant, the cook cried out in rage. She let him go in the end, however, just as she did with her father, even though both had left permanent wounds on her body.


    Despite its brilliant dialogue, like all works written by Kyshimura, its main theme was to end the cycle of hate, which Manziholet always found rather dull and impractical. In his opinion, like the stars, grudges should be eternal. And forgiveness, above all, was merely a failure to finish what your heart set out to destroy.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The next morning, Manziholet took a Ring Runner to get to another Sui-Jen¡¯s District, where the Guild of After-Death had established a branch office. In contrast to the opulent high-rises that surrounded it, the building was a bland blackstone pyramid over five hundred feet tall, with its square base''s side length precisely designed to be twice as long as that.


    The boy walked into the pyramid alone. His mother could not be there with him, too busy gathering votes in her Committee to get its Chair, although she did transfer him fifteen millions forisma as a token of love.


    He could not care less. The encasement was supposed to be a quiet, private ritual between the After-Deather and their ArchSoul anyway. There was no need for a whole audience to watch the latter bare their soul out and go metaphysically nude. Death was an intimate affair.


    A handful of receptionists were waiting at the first chamber, where Manziholet¡¯s eligibility to receive a seraph was confirmed, which mostly meant he had been educated and civilized enough to not abuse his reality-reshaping power. Encasements of younger ArchSouls had been tried before, with memorable and disastrous results.


    Then came deciding his After-Deather, who would hold total control over his ArchSoul during the process. They would also work together until the end of time, even when the Seraphist rose into the highest Sphere. Therefore, that person had to be as dispassionate of the wider affairs as a rock in the middle of the desert and held to the highest standards of ethics.


    Every After-Deather, understandably, must therefore be carefully chosen through the hands of fate: The Guild¡¯s receptionists went outside the building and had a random mortal roll three 20-sided dice. The tally told them which wheel of names to pick out of the available fifty-eight. Having mounted the wheel on a metal frame, one of them solemnly spun it up. When it stopped, fate revealed who would be his eternal mechanic of the soul.


    When Manziholet walked into his workshop, the After-Deather was hunching over his desk and carving into a plank of wood with long slender needles. Vines that produced shining flowers crept up the blackstone walls to provide light. Strange pieces of machinery, presumably running on Miracles or dissonant material, scattered around the room.


    The man, dressed in a thick leather coat, turned around and lifted up his protective glasses as the boy got near. His eyes were entirely black, as if light around them had been sucked away, while his head was devoid of any facial hair. His skin was gray, like the upper side of a shark, and looked quite smooth.


    ¡°Greetings, my name is Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor. You will work with me from now on.¡± The boy extended his hand out with a request for the Oculon System in his mind. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to our collaboration.¡±


    ¡°Of course you are,¡± the man said with a grunt, before receiving his hand with a dirty leather glove.


    Manziholet, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him bend, gripped it firmly without caring about the oil and sawdust.


    [You have exchanged sigil with Nat¡¯Seax (21-30-Mortavia-88674249).]


    ¡°Let me see it.¡± Nat¡¯Seax disengaged and snatched away a paper that the receptionists had given the boy. He either skimmed through the information or read it carefully (pretty hard to tell due to the black eyes), crumpled it into a ball, then tossed it into the corner of the workshop, where it joined the growing collection of scrap metal and half-eaten meals. ¡°What I want you to do,¡± the After-Deather said, ¡°is to sit down still at that seat over there and be quiet for fifteen minutes. I¡¯ll serve you after I''m done with my work.¡±


    ¡°You can take all the time you need. I¡¯ll be right here.¡±


    Nat¡¯Seax muttered a curse in reply and returned to his plank of wood while Manziholet settled down on a tiny stool next to the wall, between a shelf of glass jars storing fetuses and a scaled model of TerraSol with its three ringworlds, which was placed high on top of a tower made from all seven volumes of Mechanisms of Valor written by Orin Draymir.


    The After-Deather was being rather polite compared to his fellow guilders, who all had a reputation for being impossibly insufferable. Some claimed it was because they were holed up in their pyramid all day, or that uncovering the secrets of the soul had somehow fried the part of their brain responsible for politeness, or perhaps they just had no regard for the living. In Manziholet¡¯s opinion, they did it because they knew they were indispensable. He respected them for that.


    The clock provided by his Oculon System told him exactly fifteen minutes had passed before Nat¡¯Seax rose from his desk and approached a wall. The blackstone on it shifted to the sides, revealing an entrance to a demiplane filled with different chests, which promptly sealed shut once he stepped inside.


    Moments later, Nat¡¯Seax returned with two chests in his arms. He carefully placed them on the floor, then gestured for the boy to come over to a reclining chair at the center of the workshop. A series of bronze rings engraved with cryptic glyphs encircled the chair, making it look like a cage.


    Nat¡¯Seax rummaged through a nearby drawer and took out a dark purple berry as well as a rusty knife. He presented it to Manziholet. ¡°So, boy, how do you want to off yourself? Poisoned or bleeding out? Personally, I¡¯d go with the knife, although the berry is much more painless, if that matters to you.¡±


    Manziholet unsheathed his Vixtrian Rapier, revealing its aeon blade. ¡°I want to go with this.¡±


    ¡°Fancy.¡± Nat¡¯Seax brought his face dangerously close to its temporal field. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Are those exactly what I requested?¡± Manziholet gestured to the chests.


    The man nodded. ¡°A seraph of Mist Domain and a Ribbas-pattern Circuit. I can open them for you to check, but it won¡¯t be good for your mind.¡±


    Manziholet relaxed himself and took a deep breath, before pointing the Rapier¡¯s tip towards his stomach. ¡°So,¡± he said, ¡°do I go now or¡­?¡±


    ¡°You can take all the time you need.¡± Nat¡¯Seax leaned back against the drawer with his arms folded. ¡°I¡¯ll be right here,¡± he repeated what Manziholet said before.


    That made the boy laugh quietly, before focusing back on the task. It would be alright, Manziholet told himself as he re-gripped the weapon with both his hands and hovered its tip over his shirt. After he died, Nat¡¯Seax would gain access to his Archetypical Soul, install the Circuit and the seraph, and then begin the revival process.


    He would come back to life as good as new along with Miracles of his own. His first Miracle would put any mortal weapon to shame, whereas those of higher Spheres would give him the authority to bend the fabric of space and mastery over flow of velocity. Despite that, his hands trembled and disobeyed his order to proceed.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, boy,¡± Nat¡¯Seax said. ¡°You can come back tomorrow or whenever you¡¯re ready, like most do. There is no shame in that.¡±


    Why ArchSouls must take their own lives, the boy reminded himself. The Academy had taught him that during Philosophy. The archaic tradition began with the Defiant Path and was preserved by one of its successors, the Guild of After-Death. The reasoning was pretty straightforward.


    Mortals were forever bound within the narrow bracket between life and death. Their experience was capped by the limits of human biology. To transcend past those lowly confines and prove themselves worthy of Miracles, ArchSouls must first demonstrate their readiness to proceed beyond mortality itself.


    The After-Deathers would simply refuse to move forward with the encasement otherwise. Some ArchSouls could never do it, too afraid of biological death, hence denying themselves of great power. Many could only tame the nerve after more than one attempt. They were ordinary, and therefore failures.


    Manziholet plunged the Vixtrian Rapier deep into his stomach, feeling the time acceleration ravaged his organs and the blade erupting out of his back. It hurted much more than when the spear had pierced him. His vision dimmed as his body collapsed.


    On [Furder 14, 1920, 9:17], a boy named Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor officially died, and in his place¨C

 9. After-Death (II)

    And in his place, hours later, a man was reborn into physical existence and claimed his new mantle as a Porter Seraphist of Mist Domain.


    Even before his mind fully cleared, Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor could already feel the immense metaphysical presence of the Circuit inside him, a device that formed a two-way connection between a seraph with authority over Mist and his own Porter ArchSoul.


    When his eyes opened, Manziholet found himself lying inside the cage chair. Its bronze circles were spinning and projecting their glyphs into the air, while Nat¡¯Seax scurried around to tap and adjust those golden glowing symbols with precision.


    ¡°Lie still,¡± Nat¡¯Seax said. ¡°I¡¯m linking your Oculon to the Circuit.¡±


    At any other time, Manziholet might have focused on deciphering what arcane art his After-Deather was practicing, but the world around him right now felt so weightless and small, as if a single breath from him could rearrange its entire structure.


    By instinct, he immediately pulled vaepor through the Circuit to manifest his Miracle, but it was in vain. His seraph, after all, was merely a Zero Sphere with neither vaepor nor a Miracle. The Guild could not have their customers wreck the pyramid as soon as they woke up, especially when the self-imposed murder might do strange things to one¡¯s head.


    [Name: Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor


    Sigil: 78-86-Jano-23462100


    Circuit: Ribbas-pattern (made in Mortavia)


    Seraph: Mist, Zero Sphere (0¦Ô of vaepor)


    ArchSoul: Porter (0¦Ô of draeg)


    Miracles: None


    Ruin Scars: <<Harvester''s Shield>>


    Haven: Valorborne District, Sui-Jen Ring]


    Once the technical information on his Oculon had been updated and Nat¡¯Seax gave him the all-clear on not being crazy, the circles retracted away, allowing him to stand up. Glancing at a nearby mirror, Manziholet found his appearance remain largely the same, except for the tiny edits by his Circuit during the revival.


    He had inherited his mother¡¯s black eyes and pale skin, paired with the sharp cheekbones and straight nose that every Sylvektor seemed to have, all of which had been further elevated to perfect symmetry and radiance. His broadened shoulders and chiseled torso, along with meticulously enhanced musculature, had become the ultimate union of aesthetics and function. This was the idealized form of humanity, developed by the Defiant Path to draw a bold line between the exceptional specimen and the common rabble.


    Supposedly, society had considered him handsome before the encasement, and now they would readily accept their role as background characters, but Manziholet could hardly bear the sight of it. The engineered changes were too eye-catching and the thought that another person on Zaicaster, Gothlow Sylvektor, was sharing the exact same face disturbed him. His brother had probably received his seraph by now and assumed the role of a Breaker Seraphist.


    [Furder 14, 1920, 17:22]


    ¡°Nat¡¯Seax,¡± he said after checking the time, ¡°it¡¯s late afternoon. I thought it would only take one or two hours at most.¡±


    ¡°There was a complication.¡±


    ¡°What complication?¡±


    The After-Deather grunted. ¡°You don¡¯t watch an artist paint and ask about every brushstroke, do you? The only thing you need to know is that it all turned out fine in the end because I¡¯ve spent my life doing this. Now, let''s raise you to the First Sphere.¡±


    Sphere referred to the vaepor capacity of one¡¯s seraph, conventionally measured in neat, escalating benchmarks. A First Sphere had a minimum capacity of 100 units of vaepor, while a Second Sphere could hold at least 10,000 units, with subsequent Spheres increasing exponentially as such (in other words, a candle, a bonfire, then beyond that were wildfires and volcanic eruptions).


    To increase vaepor capacity, the seraph must absorb Genesis Shards, a rare material that were supposedly created when the universe was still figuring out how to universe.


    In this galaxy, after centuries of being harvested by the Outsiders and humanity both, they only existed in laughably small quantities. The latest one, a 109¦Ô Shard, was auctioned at the starting price of ten billion forisma and ended up being sold for sixteen times as much to an independent Seraphist, who walked away very much poorer but a lot more smug.


    As someone who had a contract with the government, Manziholet was entitled to a free encasement along with a seraph and Circuit of his choosing, all taken care of by the invisible hand of public funding. The package came with a Genesis Shard as well, just enough to bring him to the next Sphere, which was stored in a metal case that Nat¡¯Seax took out from one of his leather coat¡¯s many pockets.


    Manziholet received the case and opened it. Resting within the plush velvet interior was a piece of diamond-like material with rough and jagged edges. He held the Shard in his bare palm, feeling a sort of pulsing warmth tapping on his skin as well as a metaphysical gravitational pull towards his Circuit. Inside its crystalline depths, motes of iridescent light flickered and bounced like fireflies.


    [Genesis Shard registered.


    Vaepor capacity: 102 units.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Initiate absorption?]


    On his acceptance, the Shard crumbled into fine dust and dissolved into the fabric of reality, the correct terms of which, as he had been taught, should be ¡°eaten by his seraph¡±. It was a process that he had little control or awareness over, the same way one breathed during sleep, but the end result was very apparent.


    Manziholet sensed the seraph stir up within the confines of his Circuit. Like a hatchling growing too vast for the confines of its egg, the Outsider shattered the shell, only to discover another, grander barrier forming over it.


    It was alright because, during that brief moment, the seraph had managed to establish a nascent authority over its Domain and unlock a Miracle. Its metaphysical mass was now filled with new vaepor.


    And, as if to announce the seraph¡¯s breakthrough, reality was momentarily infected with its influence. The air around Manziholet thickened with clinging droplets that made his clothes wet and cold, as soft wisps of white mist manifested and curled in spirals before fading away.


    [Seraph: Mist, First Sphere (102¦Ô of vaepor)


    ArchSoul: Porter (0¦Ô of draeg)


    Miracles: <<Armament: Wispstrike Cutter>>


    Ruin Scars: <<Harvester''s Shield>>]


    He immediately channeled the vaepor from the seraph to the ArchSoul. In the process, vaepor was depleted into draeg, releasing the energy potential that the Circuit¡¯s mechanism organized into a coherent Miracle.


    On his right palm, to the direction of his thumb, from a point of nothingness, a jet of mist bursted out. When it dissipated, what had materialized was a gleaming white longsword. The design was nothing special (a straight and double-edged blade about one meter long, a simple horizontal bar crossguard that slightly curved downward, a hilt comfortable enough for two-handed hold, along with a generic rounded pommel), but the Wispstrike Cutter¡¯s elemental material was anything but.


    Manziholet¡¯s fingers closed firmly around the cold mist-forged Armament, paradoxically solid and virtually weightless both. It was as if a dense expanse of mist had been frozen solid in time, from which an artist carved out a chunk and sculpted into a sword. A chill ran up his spine, mostly out of exhilaration. This was the power promised.


    [Seraph: Mist, First Sphere (94¦Ô of vaepor)


    ArchSoul: Porter (8¦Ô of draeg)]


    Manifesting the Miracle costed eight units of vaepor each time, followed by one for every six minutes of existence, which was quite cheap compared to its true capability. At his will, the Circuit took more vaepor from his seraph and switched on the Arnament¡¯s second state.


    Every part from the hilt up evaporated into its gas form, a curling mass of mist lingering in reality as less a weather phenomenon and more a determined presence that refused to dissolve like its average counterpart.


    Manziholet swung the sword in the air, leaving behind faint white trails, before crashing it into his After-Deather. The Wispstrike Cutter passed through the man harmlessly, though he was not amused. ¡°By all means, use me as a test subject,¡± Nat¡¯Seax said. ¡°I¡¯m sure it will end wonderfully for you.¡±


    Under another mental command, the blade reverted back to its normal sharp-edged state, one that was indestructible so long as the Seraphist had enough vaepor. He could slip this through the toughest defenses and solidify it at the precise moment to exploit weaknesses. Most ordinary opponents stood no chance of blocking or parrying the Armament, unless they happened to be seasoned experts in cloud wrestling.


    Like with most Armament, the esoteric concept of Sharpness and Force was also etched into its very being, allowing it to chop through mortal armors with ease. The Wispstrike Cutter could make iron and steel reconsider their career as metal, although it did have flaws ¨C A contest with an opposite Miracle from a higher Sphere might break the indestructibility and, if reverted back inside a matter with more mass, it would incur heavy backlash capable of damaging his Circuit.


    [Seraph: Mist, First Sphere (81¦Ô of vaepor)


    ArchSoul: Porter (21¦Ô of draeg)]


    13¦Ô were also consumed for each activation of the second state, a huge drain pit even when his Ribbas-pattern Circuit had been designed to minimize the conversion of priceless vaepor into junk draeg. He could re-energized the vaepor back by releasing his Ruin Scar, but that was a messy ordeal. As much as he would like to try out <<Harvester''s Shield>> right now, it would seem rude to turn Nat¡¯Seax¡¯s workshop into a post-apocalyptic landscape.


    ¡°I think I''ve had enough,¡± Manziholet said and dispersed his Miracle. ¡°Is there anything else?¡±


    There was, as the After-Deather went on to explain, obvious and basic facts that every Seraphist should know, including that revival required an intact Circuit and brain, that the Guild would not guarantee a perfect one, how frequent the Circuit should be maintained,¨C


    ¡°I¡¯m acquainted with all of that information,¡± Manziholet interrupted.


    Nat¡¯Seax crossed his arms, with his deep black eyes staring into the Seraphist. ¡°You all are, but somehow we always have a novice paradoxing themselves the next day or delusional enough to declare themselves God over everything that is. And every damn time, guess who gets the blame?¡± He jabbed his thumb into his chest. ¡°Us, the Guild, so shut up and listen.¡±


    ¨Chow to properly avoid paradoxes and dilemmas, a set of unwritten rules for manifesting Miracles or unleashing Ruin Scars, documented symptoms of Miracle-induced psychosis, how to report them and to whom, emergency protocols when personal After-Deather was unavailable,... all of which Manziholet was expected to remember by heart. It was a waste of half an hour, really, since he had already done so before the encasement.


    ¡°By the way,¡± Nat¡¯Seax asked before Manziholet stepped out of the room, ¡°are you by any chance still affiliated with the Twicebornes¡¯ Mistress?¡±


    ¡°Nothing except for the name and the blood, and I couldn¡¯t care less about her political views. Why?¡±


    Nat¡¯Seax had returned to the desk and continued his work. On one of its corners, Manziholet noticed only now, was a globe made of swirling golden glyphs, the same type that the cage chair had produced. ¡°Some families still feel bitter about Ashia¡¯s coup and two of their descendants will be joining the next Studium¡¯s Proving. I imagine they can afford a little extra enthusiasm for a Sylvektor.¡±


    Manziholet knew them, both of whom were Breakers. They probably had finished the encasement by now. One had studied at Quillmaster Academy, and her public record was not terribly impressive. The other belonged to Manziholet¡¯s Vixtrian Class of 1920, and there was only one Paragon.


    ¡°Thank you for the concern, but¨C¡± Manziholet pat the Rapier on his hip ¡°¨Cgrudges make pretty poor weapons, though I¡¯ll gladly sharpen mine on theirs.¡±


    Nat¡¯Seax paused before glancing back behind at him. ¡°Did you seriously just quote Orin Draymir?¡±


    ¡°I believe that¡¯s one of your favorite authors, and my mother¡¯s, as it happens. She once made me write five thousand words on his works because I sneaked into the Langer¡¯s bathhouse.¡± The punishment was pale in comparison to the impressiveness of the feat. ¡°I remember his best lines.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got two things wrong here,¡± Nat¡¯Seax replied with a frown. ¡°First, I don¡¯t have time to waste on romance novels. Second, and more importantly, I¡¯m not worried about you. I¡¯m worried about the Circuit. Do you spoiled brats have any clue how much work it takes to repair one of those?¡±


    ¡°Oh well,¨C¡± Manziholet strolled out of the room ¡°¨Cyou should get some rest then. It¡¯s going to get a lot busier from now on.¡±


    Time, after all, for the real work to begin.

 10. Obfuscatory

    Officially, to the people of Ariun Imperium, the Logic Committee of Vigil stood as a testament to the unwavering commitment to balance and responsibility, founded on the enduring principles of ethics and pragmatism. It represented the dedication of civilian oversight to fostering accountability among men and women of violence, ensuring that even in a world shaped by profound Miracles, power must be exercised with the utmost care and respect.


    To those with a front-row seat to the ongoing spectacle that was politics, wasting time was the full-time job of the Logic Committee of Vigil, led by a Chair who had the precision of a foggy mirror and the urgency of a sleeping cat.


    Vigil also shared the same exact responsibility with three more Logic Committees ¨C Sentinel, Transparency, and Ward, so effectively diluted across overlapping roles that, if screw-ups happened, which they inevitably did, the members could all point fingers at each other in resentment.


    It was by design really, since the countless Logic Committees were where the Imperator shoved the ambitious and prideful in without them doing much damage to the government. Sure, the members had messed up the livelihood of the downtrodden from time to time through surprise inspections or nonsensical fines, but mostly they could spend an entire week harmlessly deliberating on whether or not to actually discuss a matter, while the Civil Service quietly handled the real work.


    Yet, somehow every month, at least two Committees claimed victory, issued a public announcement, and then threw a lavish celebration. Victory in achieving what objectives, no one really knew, but they sure looked happy doing it.


    Manziholet¡¯s mother did not mind. Nothing served as a better cover of darkness than sheer incompetence. For fifteen years, as everyone else was busy patting themselves on the back, she amassed her troops.


    On that afternoon, Arin mobilized them for the long-planned hostile takeover. She moved fast. Allies were rallied, neutrals were coerced, and dissidents were silenced under the fact that her son, the Vixtrian Paragon and a top runner for a position at the Studium, was now officially a Seraphist.


    Also, as one delightful side effect of the Daemooneers¡¯ declaration, some members had suddenly developed bad cases of sore throat or food poisoning. As much as they wanted to leave the safety of their estates and maximize their contribution to society, their health forbad them. More than half were the incumbent Chair¡¯s most valuable supporters.


    Arin could not choose a better battlefield, and, as the Vicechair, the rules of engagement were twisted to her favor. The vote of no confidence was her weapon of choice.


    A formal motion was put forward by one of her allies, citing general grievances and failures in leadership, seconded by three more members. The Vicechair acknowledged it and allowed Kalo an opportunity to respond and explain his actions before the Committee.


    The Chair¡¯s defense, of course, consisted only of silence. He was being late as usual and probably would not even come, which did nothing to support his case. For a minute, whoever had not been aware of Arin¡¯s plan looked around in surprise while what was left of his supporters fell in disarray. Then she called for a vote by show of hands.


    Even those struggling to count past their fingers and toes could see the motion was cleanly passed with a supermajority, thereby immediately stripping the Chair of his position. Following the procedure, the Committee then moved to appointing a new replacement. The name of Arin Claisara just happened to come up right after.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have your head for this,¡± Kalo yelled and slammed on the desk. His left hand slipped off the edge, sending him stumbling forward and nearly face-planting onto the very piece of furniture he was trying to dominate. Meanwhile, Arin was still focusing on her documents, with the faint sound of paper rustling and the occasional tap of her pen against the desk in response to the tantrum.


    It was a good thing that they were in the privacy of her home office late at night, or else Kalo would receive heavy applause for his accidental impersonation of a flailing marionette. In Manziholet¡¯s opinion, the man simply had never experienced a knife caressing between his shoulder blades, because¡­


    ¡°I have friends on Terra,¡± Kalo said as he got up. ¡°Important friends. They¡¯ll have you begging for a desk job in the middle of nowhere! And don¡¯t think you will get accepted by the Assembly. They¡¯ll ignore you.¡±


    Manziholet remembered someone threatening her as such before. It had never stopped her from keeping on brutally mauling her way up the ladder, leaving behind bruised egos and faint traces of shredded ambition. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    It was Kalo¡¯s fault, really, for turning a blind eye to the blood on her claws. Even her son had to periodically vet his friends and contacts in case they had been converted into her spies. Over his entire life, only six got revealed. It was  a disturbingly low number and almost too easy, presumably because she wanted to lull him into a false sense of security.


    ¡°You know,¡± Manziholet said, ¡°if you leave now, there¡¯s a slim chance you can salvage some dignity. It¡¯s getting hard to watch, as much as I enjoy comedy.¡±


    Kalo scowled at him. ¡°You think you can disrespect me because you¡¯re a Seraphist, Sylvektor boy? Let me remind you, I have connections, people that will gladly make your Proving miserable. You won¡¯t make it past the first day.¡±


    ¡°I wonder,¡± he replied. ¡°If I manifested my Miracle right now and chopped your head off, would your friends avenge you? Or would they give me a fine and sign an accident report? I¡¯m a novice. It happens.¡±


    Kalo left while muttering ¡°You¡¯ll see¡± under his breath, in the kind of tone only reserved for people who were under the illusion they had something left to prove.


    ¡°I need you to do a job.¡± Arin finally looked up from the documents and took a sip from the cup of tea beside her. ¡°It¡¯s a favor for a Grand Archivist.¡±


    ¡°Who is one of Kalo¡¯s aforementioned friends, I assume.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Power flows in circles, Manziholet, and we do what¡¯s necessary to stay in the loop.¡±


    ¡°I understand, mother. Nevertheless, I won''t have time for that. I have only one month to familiarize myself with my Miracle before the Studium¡¯s Proving.¡±


    ¡°Welcome to the wonders of adulthood. We¡¯re all busy.¡± As if to make a point, Arin moved on to the next batch of papers.


    Just as with Kalo or any other mortals, if Manziholet divided his mother into randomized chunks of flesh and bones and spread them all over the room, the worst case scenario was a year in prison before being paroled for the greater good.


    Compared to the weight of the Circuit inside him, Arin looked so trivial and inconsequential, vulnerable even, like a leaf in the wind. Bold of her to assume that he loved her enough to agree to the request. Only ordinary people loved their mothers.


    ¡°Alright, you have me,¡± Manziholet said as an unmitigated failure. ¡°What is the job?¡±


    Grand Archivist Osiri Weng¡¯s family tree could be qualified as a forest, with roughly two millions living members and counting. From this pool, she had comfortably groomed and installed a handful of governors to Imperial planets with the help of her Civil Service¡¯s colleagues. This family-first strategy was tolerated because, first, everyone else was doing it and, second, the chosen Wengs actually managed to rule without turning their planets into a dump.


    They had also displayed undying loyalty to the government, and technically it would not constitute domestic sabotage to funnel valuable intel only to the Grand Archivist ¨C for example, in one report by the governor of Marwind, delivered by personal messengers via the earliest sa-serpent:


    Inhabitants on the island of Vonna had decided to expand their pig-farming operation by securing a substantial loan from the bank under the assumption that the anticipated demand for hides and pork in the coming winter would yield a robust profit. The new population of livestock would drive up the demand for freshwater needed in drinking, bathing, and the eventual slaughter. Since the old wells were either coughing dust or reserved for humans only, someone had to grab the shovels and make new ones. So, on a good morning, while digging downward to reach the water table, the labourers stumbled upon an entrance to an underground tunnel with strange plants and shiny bronze items.


    Later that night, there was fierce debate in the village elder¡¯s house. One side wanted to inform the authority and let them handle whatever dangers down there, while the others insisted it was an ancient tomb full of treasures and the authority would only rob them blind. The latter won, because no one wanted to  slosh in the pigsties forever, and they prepared to explore deeper.


    If they had chosen the first option, the arriving authority would have informed them that the entrance belonged to a dormant Quorathene ruin, and that they should all bolt off the island before they ended up as part of the landscape.


    They did not though, and the automatic defense system, of course, slaughtered anything that moved on the island the next day. At least the inhabitants got what they wished for. Being dead meant they and their descendants were out of the pig farming business for good.


    Survivors (a pair of mother and son who went out fishing at the time) managed to sail away, the story of whom quickly reached the governor. He sent in the navy to quarantine the island and reported to Osiri, who was very eager to hoard all the ancient artifacts inside to herself.


    An expedition, consisting of her trusted Seraphists along with some hired mortal mercenaries and servants, was being prepared.


    ¡°¨Cwhich is where you come in,¡± Arin said. ¡°They¡¯re set to depart for Marwind tomorrow night. You¡¯ll join them, lend a hand, maybe pick up a few useful lessons along the way. Obviously, you cannot talk about it to anybody. If asked, you¡¯re just training for the Proving. Nothing too intense, I imagine. Probably taking a week or two at most.¡±


    His mother¡¯s tone made it look like a blissful holiday in the land of leisure with cool drinks and warmth of the sun, instead of delving into the underground ruin of an ancient civilization haunted with mysteries of a long dead species and filled with predatory bronze-flora hybrids seeking to murder all living creatures that were not their creators.


    Sometimes Manziholet wondered if she was actively plotting his death. Even then, a Quorathene ruin; she should have led with that. He was tempted.

 11. Vonna (I)

    On the whole, the trip to Marwind was rather uneventful. The most thrilling discovery was a slightly suspicious cloud inside the sa-serpent¡¯s demiplane, which one of the host¡¯s Seraphists ¨C an independent First Sphere of Ocean  who went by the name of Mirish ¨C insisted to be an Overwatch Miracle from his competitor.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s that menace Fliker.¡± Mirish kept his eyes locked on the innocent puff of water vapor, which stood out because it moved a little slower than its carefree friends. The burly man wore a bulky set of steel armor with only a lattice of narrow slits for visor. ¡°Fliker always shows up and messes up my plans. He¡¯s probably spying for Osiri¡¯s enemies right now.¡±


    ¡°And you can tell that from what?¡± asked the woman with blonde hair sitting opposite from him inside the cabin, who wore a gilded steel cuirass over an elaborate blue robe. Like all Seraphists, the encasement had elevated her beauty to perfection. ¡°It''s a cloud, genius. It doesn¡¯t even have a face, and I¡¯m fairly certain a <<Skyborne Lens>> would have a seven-color rim.¡±


    ¡°Exactly, Chiorou, exactly. That¡¯s how good Fliker is. He has figured out a way to disguise his Miracle.¡±


    Chiorou groaned and resumed reading a small book titled Alugold, supposedly the last work by a prodigal alchemist before the illiterate villagers burned her alive for knowing how to treat stomach cramps.


    Manziholet had only viewed the first few pages, on account that it was written in a pre-Justinian language that, upon cost-benefit analysis, was not worth his effort to learn. The First Sphere Seraphist of Bone must have reached a different conclusion, however, given her job as an Archivist of the Civil Service.


    As the host¡¯s sa-raven left the demiplane and made way to the island, the cloud, of course, did not follow them. ¡°Don¡¯t fool yourself,¡± Mirish deduced. ¡°Fliker plays the long game.¡±


    ¡°Unbelievable,¡± Chiorou muttered, then nudged Manziholet, who was sitting beside her, with her elbow. ¡°You don¡¯t happen to have brain damage like him, do you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly fine,¡± he replied. ¡°Thanks for the concern.¡±


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t be shy. I¡¯d rather not lose my head because a new member insists on keeping their deep, dark personality flaws under wraps. Illusion of grandeur? One-man moral code? Hypersexuality? Or you are one of those men who like¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop harassing the novice, Chiorou,¡± the leader of the host said. As another Archivist, Raka Weng also dressed in the same model of cuirass and robe, except he also had a buckler strapped on his right hand and his Second Sphere seraph possessed so much vaepor that Manziholet felt a slight tug between their Circuits.


    [Seraphist detected: Bastion, Second Sphere, Candle Domain.]


    In fact, Manziholet held the smallest metaphysical mass among the four Seraphists. Even when Mirish and Chiorou had just unlocked one Miracle like Manziholet, they could easily outlast him in a war of attrition.


    [Seraphist detected: Breaker, First Sphere, Bone Domain.]


    [Seraphist detected: Breaker, First Sphere, Ocean Domain.]


    ¡°As we have discussed, he only joins us in this job as a complementary Armament. I assume he¡¯ll keep to himself and step in only when I ask him to, yes?¡± Raka said, his dark brown eyes fixing on Manziholet.


    He nodded. ¡°A learn-and-support role. I won¡¯t disappoint you.¡± On the spectrum of truth, the promise fell somewhere between the confession he gave his uncle Tamajiang and the pleasant compliment he made when his friend showed up with this ridiculous haircut.


    While the sa-raven streaked across the blue sky beneath the morning sun, not a person keeled over or clutched their chest in pain due to poisonous air. Marwind, after all, was a stable world with conditions modeled after Terra and seeded with the same life. Its laws of reality had also been left relatively unscarred during the past wars, hence no sentiment winds that attempted to strangle its inhabitants like those on some dissonant planet.


    The bird then landed next to a military camp, set on a hill that overlooked a beach and, over the distance to the north, the small and thin island of Vonna, which was closely encircled by a perimeter of warships.


    As the host stepped out of the cabin, more sa-ravens landed as well, depositing a contingent of two hundred Fireguard mercenaries, who quickly formed into ranks and marched behind their employers toward the camp. The rest, consisting of ordinary menials and thralls, would stay to unload the supplies and equipment for the expedition.


    The governor (Raka Weng¡¯s great-grandfather¡¯s niece¡¯s grandson) welcomed them and led the host to the main tent. Between the walls that were lined with elaborate tapestries depicting historic battles woven in gold and silver threads, they gathered around the map table showing the island and the surrounding region. The governor and his staff briefed them on the situation, including the estimated number of hostiles on the surface and the location of the ruin¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°I want to talk to the survivors,¡± Raka said.


    The last two Vonna islanders in question were quickly escorted into the tent. They looked around in confusion before their eyes widened in stunned silence at the four Seraphists. It was understandable. The closest thing to divine radiance in fishers and farmers¡¯ lives was the occasional shiny fish scale or a particularly symmetrical potato.


    ¡°You.¡± Raka arrived in front of the older one. Her son took a step back to hide behind his mother¡¯s old brown clothes. The Seraphist took out a piece of paper and held it in front of her face. ¡°Tell me about the entrance you people found. Did you see these symbols anywhere near it?¡±


    It took a moment for the mother¡¯ brain to resume its functions. ¡°No, lord. I don¡¯t think I did. I only looked at it from afar.¡±


    Raka pointed the paper to the other survivor. ¡°And how about you?¡±


    The son remained mute, peeking at Raka like he was going to eat him.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t as well, lord,¡± the mother said. ¡°I forbade him to go anywhere near it.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid.¡± Raka ignored her and kept his eyes on the boy. ¡°Look at these symbols carefully. I just need to know if you saw them.¡±


    The boy hesitated, then gave a meek nod. ¡°I remember them, lord.¡±


    ¡°You are certain?¡±


    ¡°Yes, especially the middle one. It looks like¡­two mothers leaning back-to-back.¡±


    The Archivist¡¯s gaze shifted to the mother, who had a sizable biological asset, then returned to the symbol. ¡°Yes, I suppose it could look that way. Thank you for your cooperation. Governor, you can escort them away now.¡±


    ¡°You learn something new everyday,¡± Chiorou commented on the side.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s all that about?¡± Manziholet asked. ¡°If I¡¯m not wrong, those are written in Quorathene hieroglyphic language.¡±


    ¡°It means we¡¯ll have a lot of fun down there, novice,¡± she replied. ¡°I¡¯ll explain when we get there.¡±


    Outside the operational range of the Oculon System, luxuries such as transferring money through skin contact or knowing the local time with a thought were sadly unavailable. Hence, in addition to various survival items in Manziholet¡¯s current possession, he had also brought some forisma in the form of coins (cumbersome but made of dissonant material and therefore counterfeit-proof) as well as a beautiful silver wristwatch. It told him that, at exactly nine o¡¯clock on local time, the bombardment on Vonna commenced.


    Sa-ravens, carrying specialized cabins, flew in a line and swept across the full length of the island. Upon reaching their designated drop zones, the bottom hatches of the cabins opened, each releasing hundreds of heavy steel-tipped javelin rods. Simultaneously, the encircling warships aimed their siege artillery and let loose volleys of great stone balls. Even separated by a swath of water, Manziholet could hear, and feel as well, the thundering roars of Vonna¡¯s crust being pulverized.


    At quarter past ten, the warships had run out of ammos and the sa-ravens had executed five passes over the island, saturating Vonna with enough foreign material to alter its geological composition and ensuring that, be it the innocent ground or the bronze-flora hybrids, no hostile could have the strength to effectively deny the subsequent advance by the host and their mercenaries.


    Chiorou and Manziholet landed on the western end of the island. The Archivist had manifested her <<Armament: Deathspine Lash>>, a weapon consisting of a solid bone handle connecting to a whip made from a series of vertebrae that progressively became smaller toward the tip, forming a long and flexible spine-like structure. Projected outward from each vertebra were sharp jagged spurs, all attached together by an invisible force sustained by precious vaepor.


    The sight alone could render bravery a very short-lived virtue, which was why the Fireguard mercenaries around the Seraphist, hardened veterans who had mastered a supposedly unique type of weapon, were giving her a wide berth. ¡°Alright, kittens,¡± she ordered, ¡°march on.¡±


    The two Seraphists walked in front of the mortal soldiers, who were dressed in black leather coats covered in steel plates and equipped with their signature flamethrowers. Spreading out in a thin but wide line, they would move inward and meet the others at the ruin¡¯s entrance.


    Along the way, the Fireguards spewed hot incendiary liquid onto every bit of surviving plant matter, which quickly burned away. Although it slowed the march down considerably, the last thing they needed was any remnant of the Quorathene automatic defense system recovering behind their back when they descended down the Ruin.


    Still, the bombardment had done a good job. Both the survivors and scouts had described spider-shaped hybrids infesting the surface, but the leftover bits of bronze and greenery buried in the churned and cratered soil reminded Manziholet of a junkyard. Fortunately, his curiosity was sated when one soon erupted up and charged straight at him.


    He considered the Quorathene arachnid with interest as it closed distance. Standing at the height of a walking bear, it traversed the terrain with the fluidity of a shark slicing through water. The main body resembled a bulbous mass of vegetation encased in bronze plating with a gaping maw bristling with jagged bronze fangs and a long green tongue. Its screeches tore through the air like jagged metal on stone.


    Beneath its armored core, eight elongated, segmented limbs of bronze strode across the ground with precise steps, the front pair of which were disproportionately larger and ended in gleaming sharp blades. Tendrils of thorny vines sprouted from fractures in the metallic casing and coiled chaotically around the whole botanical nightmare.


    The mercenaries at Manziholet¡¯s rear shot their crossbow bolts, the tips of which each contained a vial of incendiary liquid that shattered upon impact into a tiny fireball, but the Quorathene arachnid harmlessly scurried through the heat. The bolts had not even pierced through its thick plating, and whatever plant matter burning away quickly regrown. In the Quorathene¡¯s dictionary, ingenuity and cruelty seemed to be antonyms.


    ¡°Don¡¯t waste your ammunition,¡± Manziholet said, walking forward. ¡°It is mine.¡±


    [Seraph: 73¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 29¦Ô of draeg]


    The Seraphist¡¯s Wispstrike Cutter materialized in his left hand, while his right unsheathed the Vixtrian Rapier. He adjusted his grips on both weapons and assumed a general defensive stance. His feet felt slight tremors from the ground as the massive fusion between plant and bronze came into closer view, enough for him to make out rows of glossy black eyes that lined the seams between its bronze armor plates. This was the moment a rational person was supposed to run instead of meeting that much weight and momentum head-on.


    Manziholet breathed out and recalled a memory. The upside of having years of studying under the finest blade masters money could buy; one of them bound to be a deranged lunatic who considered it perfectly acceptable to let a ten-year-old boy face off against a stampede of war elephants to teach him how to ward off fear and stand unshaken in front of all dangers. He almost died, as did the master after Arin found out, but that was a very effective lesson.


    His mind raced to capture every detail of the arachnid. Time seemed to slow down when its front blades were inches away from his face. He stepped to the right while leveling the Wispstrike Cutter horizontally to the same height as the upper joints of its legs. With minimal effort, he made a slash.


    The arachnid¡¯s momentum, coupled with the inherent offensive concepts imbued in the Armament, amplified the force behind the strike and cleanly severed two of its left legs at the joints.


    Then the Rapier, having been raised up over his head, was brought down for another cut. Without the advantages that the previous slash had, it would probably be stopped by the armor, which was why he gave its aeon tip a trajectory in line with a row of the arachnid¡¯s soft eyes. Muddy green sap bursted out where the Rapier travelled.


    With a quarter of its legs disabled, the arachnid lost balance and collapsed, but its homicidal tendency had not. Already, vines were growing out of its wounds to reattach or substitute the legs, while it screeched and twisted its body using the remaining limbs to aim the blades at Manziholet. If this was a friendly duel, the audience would applaud it for the spirit or perhaps out of pity.


    The Vixtrian Rapier deflected one limb away as <<Armament: Wispstrike Cutter>> struck the joints, before both weapons pierced deep into its body through the maw and the eyes.


    The botanical nightmare convulsed, its limbs flailing while the vines recoiled and withered. The Quorathene regenerative mechanism had obviously failed to keep up with the ravaging of time acceleration.


    With the target reduced to lifeless debris, Manziholet retrieved the weapons. He grinned as a surge of euphoria coursing through his veins. This was the apex of strength, and it answered solely to him.


    Even then, another voice in his head, ever the scourge of joy, pointed out that it was but a little progress towards his retribution for the one who broke his heart (and made him look like an idiot in front of his mother). Aezixia must have reached the Second Sphere by now, carried forward by the patronage of her Greatling spouse, and Breaker Miracles were always nasty troubles to deal with. He would meet her at the Studium¡¯s Proving as a competitor.


    Shoving the pessimist¡¯s voice to the back of his mind, Manziholet switched focus to over the horizon. More arachnids were on the way.

 12. Vonna (II)

    Manziholet finished toying with a Quorathene arachnid, who was practically a cripple compared to his last two kills due to four javelin rods buried deep into its main body, then observed Chiorou taking on the last three herself.


    Unlike his Armament, Deathspine Lash possessed only one state, yet its destructive potential was nothing short of extraordinary. The blonde Archivist wielded the whip with precision and force, cracking it through the air like thunderclaps.


    The first lash struck at a charging arachnid across its face. Quite instantly, the bronze platings bursted into pieces among a spray of green sap. A simple movement of her wrist, and the Deathspine Lash darted forward again to exploit the wound. It tore deeper and dragged away more plant matter, leaving behind an oozing cavity in the arachnid¡¯s core.


    Her mercenaries went up and spewed flame onto the caress, as Chiorou stepped past it to engage the other two, although these had been softened during the bombardment with most of their bronze limbs replaced with more vulnerable plant matter.


    She snapped her wrist, sending the whip toward the one on her left and looping it around the arachnid¡¯s only blade. With a sharp pull, the vertebrae whip tightened, digging the bone spurs into the metal part and shattered the hybrids¡¯ best hope. Then, after a few unchallenging lashes, the battle was over. Leaving behind them a handful of burning wreckage, the line marched on.


    Manziholet kicked a javelin rod sticking out on his path as the psychopath in him idly wondered whether a fight against Chiorou might be a test of his limits or hers. He would probably win, but he must swing his blades first before she realized they were even fighting and sever her dominant hand (or both) as soon as possible, thereby depriving her of a chance to contest their Armaments. He chuckled at the thought. Already plotting against allies, his mother was to blame for that.


    By the time the sun hit its zenith, they had done cleansing their half of Vonna and arrived at the Ruin¡¯s entrance. Raka and Mirish had reached there first. Their mercenaries were erecting field fortifications ¨C four walls in a rectangle, with corner watchtowers and surrounded by a ditch, constructed from wood and mason airlifted via sa-raven and unloaded by thralls. The hole that the islanders had dug had also been widened and installed with stairs to provide easier access to the entrance. The Seraphist of Ocean was crouching before it, his fully armored head staring down.


    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± Manziholet asked.


    ¡°Dart launchers, hidden saws, giant flowers that spit acid, and more bronze-flora hybrids. Not those fodder arachnids, novice, but actual monsters with tentacles and thorns designed specifically to kill us.¡±


    Manziholet followed Mirish¡¯s gaze, but only saw simple wooden stairs leading down to a wide tunnel seemingly carved from silvery stone. Vines wound their way along the ceiling, their tendrils heavy with glowing fruits that cast a soft golden light over the floor, on which etched geometric patterns made from lines of bronze and covered with blood of Vonna¡¯s islanders who first came in.


    A soft breeze wafted from the entrance, carrying a faint smell of crushed lemon leaves but somehow made his tongue taste bitter as if he was chewing medicinal herbs. He was inclined to agree with the independent¡¯s intuition. Dangers awaited them down there.


    Over the throat of the entrance, there were also a series of bold symbols set on a bronze plate. So far, humanity''s efforts to understand the Quorathene hieroglyphs were on par with their attempts to interpret the subtle nuances of horse grunts.


    ¡°But the Archivists have figured it out, haven¡¯t they?¡± Manziholet asked Raka and Chiorou, when the host were having lunch.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Raka replied. Of the four, he was the only one exempt from the inconvenience of eating thanks to his Bastion Miracle and decided to spend time reading. ¡°Have you heard about Zinzenmo?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the ruin where they found the Cipher Engine.¡±


    ¡°An incredibly valuable artifact which propelled our mathematics forward by years. How about Ciazen?¡±


    ¡°Another Quorathene ruin, with a walking palace powered by wind.¡±


    ¡°How about the one on Kallan?¡± Chiorou chimed in, putting a spoonful of broth in her mouth.


    Manziholet looked at her, who winked back. ¡°Isn¡¯t it one of the three¨C¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t talk about Kallan, novice,¡± Raka raised his voice, ¡°because there¡¯s nothing there. Anyhow, you can see the similarity between them. All contained some kind of unique Quorathene inventions. We also discovered, in each of their entrances, another similarity.¡± He took out the previous piece of paper. ¡°The five middle ones. Look familiar?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Manziholet had seen them on the bronze plate. Like most Quorathene hieroglyphs, each followed a consistent pattern: the lower half commonly featured sharp and angular designs, whereas the upper half was made of delicate and flowery curves.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Although the accompanying hieroglyphs on the left and right may vary, these five appear consistently at every entrance to the Ruins. We believe they denoted ¡®vault¡¯, a secure location where the Quorathene preserved their most precious possession. These won¡¯t be weird domestic trinkets that are only valuable to collectors either. Whatever artifacts hidden inside will be worth a Greatling¡¯s wealth due to their immense utilities.¡±


    ¡°Of which their Grand Archivist will hoard three quarters,¡± Mirish muttered, as if he had ever needed money; they all knew who the independent¡¯s mother was. He had retracted the mouthpiece of his steel armor down to eat lunch, revealing pearly white teeth on unnaturally pale skin, although his hands were still cladded in the heavy gauntlets. Even then, his forkwork was surprisingly delicate and refined, like a surgeon operating on a patient ¨C in this case, a huge roasted pheasant glazed with honey and served with juices of starfall fruit.


    ¡°The Ruin,¡± Raka continued, ¡°will likely possess a lot more security measures than usual. Nothing four Seraphists can¡¯t handle, but hardly any harm in being thorough; I¡¯ll send volunteers ahead to map the way and test for traps. And, I must remind you, learn and support, novice. Don¡¯t do anything to jeopardize this expedition and you will come home to your mother intact.¡±


    Later, Manziholet recalled the number of casualties listed in the discoveries of and expeditions into those ¡®laboratories¡¯. These were records provided by the government, which meant he should multiply it by one and a half to get a realistic picture: two millions mortals and five independent Seraphists lost for Zinzenmo, along with seven professional Second Sphere and a peninsula wiped clean of life for Ciazen. The majority of the casualties had been inflicted by hybrids, especially the last one to be awakened at the end of the expedition. Perhaps those hieroglyphs really meant ¡®This way to your ultimate end¡¯, although, if anything, that made him want to go in more.


    The volunteers arrived soon after. Once the survivor child had confirmed those hieroglyphs, Raka had promptly asked the governor to provide some resilient individuals to lead the way. He had brought thralls from TerraSol, but he would like to use local goods as much as possible. Just as well, not only did Marwind have a group of people fitting those exact criteria within an hour flight, but they were also absolutely disposable.


    Manziholet watched two lines of convicts assembled before the entrance. They were young, almost his age even, and also devout followers of Invincible Light. Since they were arrested, the entire congregation had gone on a hunger strike. Their sackcloths had more wrinkles than their body had muscles, which had been further scarred by tortures.


    According to the government officials who delivered them, the youths¡¯ monstrous and shocking transgressions included such acts as unlicensed healing practices (they provided free prayer services and physical comfort to a local infirmary) as well as unlawful proselytizing (they distributed pamphlets after eight at night).


    The Church would have intervened to protect their own, but the congregation had the single distinction of declaring that paid indulgence was a crime in God¡¯s eyes. Therefore, working towards a brighter future, the planetary Patriarch had joined hands with the governor (the enemy) and added heresy to the list of crimes. The convicts were set to be quietly executed and buried in a mass grave next week, if the hunger had not gotten to them first, until they found gainful employment under the host.


    Of course, being the resilient volunteers they were, none was too eager to set foot inside the ruin first, especially when they had laid eyes on the mangled corpses of Vonna islanders.


    ¡°Order your congregation to cooperate, priest,¡± Raka told their leader, a young man with only a few strands of auburn hair left on his scrawny head. He simply looked up at the Seraphist and responded with a vacant stare. Like the dead people that followed his guidance, he was fresh out of cares to give.


    ¡°Sorry, I was wrong.¡± Raka raised his hand slightly, palm open as if it was a genuine apology. ¡°Order your congregation to cooperate, heretic, or I¡¯ll be forced to take a harsh measure.¡±


    ¡°We answer to Invincible Light,¡± the priest said steadily, though it seemed his throat had been damaged due to hunger and lack of water, ¡°not to our lost brothers or sisters, and certainly not to the faithless. You threaten violence but, the darker the path, the brighter God shines.¡±


    ¡°Alright, harsh measure it is.¡±


    ¡°Do your worst.¡±


    ¡°Chiorou.¡± Raka beckoned the other Archivist over to take his place.


    ¡°Imagine this very feasible scenario,¡± Chiorou said leisurely. ¡°We force feed you faithmongers a stimulant, weak enough to give you the illusion of control but potent enough to make the subsequent and unavoidable surrender into pleasure a grand spectacle,¡± ¨Cshe paused to let the horror sink in¨C ¡°then lock you all in a room and let nature take its course. Well, it won¡¯t exactly be natural, but whatever sins you perform there, do you believe, deep down, that your God will absolve you of half of it?¡±


    The congregation exchanged panicked glances and murmurs, but not their priest. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s too depraved even for the government.¡±


    ¡°But we have,¡± she replied, almost proudly, ¡°twice, during a study into human lineage continuation. We documented enough material to write three books about the subject. We didn¡¯t experiment on the clergy, though, but probably won¡¯t make much difference. It is a very effective stimulant.¡±


    It was probably the tone she used that convinced them. Manziholet could see the priest¡¯s faith visibly falter on his face. The nudge of terror had tipped the scale from defiance to compliance. Maybe they were not hardcore zealous in the end, so easily discouraged by what essentially was fiction, although¡­


    While the volunteers were put to work, he sought out Chiorou. ¡°The study, was it true?¡± he asked. ¡°You really did go down that route?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. We are not barbarians,¡± she replied. ¡°We paid some strays fair and square. It¡¯s amazing how low those people were willing to go in exchange for a few measly forisma. Why ask?¡±


    ¡°Just making conversation,¡± Manziholet lied with a shrug. ¡°What are those books you mentioned, by the way?¡± It was good to know his ally considered empathy to be optional, a weakness he could take advantage of if their self-interest ever crossed paths.


    The study was also no doubt horrific, and he did not condone such actions on account of waste, but it was not that surprising. At the age of five, he discovered where his mother stashed away sensitive documents for potential blackmail. Reading them had long made him accustomed with the fact that disregard for human life for the greater good had always been a standardized policy to government employees. Someone really ought to step up to fix it, but then that someone must be a lunatic who loved the thrill of death.

 13. The Ruin (I)

    A girl in tattered sackcloth limped through a tunnel. Her left leg was drenched in blood and dragging along a length of thorny vine around the ankle.


    Behind her silently lumbered a hulking hybrid beast, moving on four massive armoured legs and with a giant rose flower blossomed out in place of its head. Thick bronze scales covered the rest of its body, tapering off just before giving way to a sleek green tail.


    Her eyes seemed to be filled with hope when she laid eyes on the two Seraphists who were walking forward to meet her. One wielded a whip made of bone while her companion, a massive warrior cladded in steel armour, held a long spear made of ocean water with a white foamy tip.


    Death, however, already caught up to her. From the heart of the hybrid¡¯s rose flower shot out a rod of bronze with barbs running along its length. Manziholet had once witnessed a ballista bolt tear through a person¡¯s chest, and the sight before him practically mirrored it when the rod met its prey.


    The barbs held her in place as the rod retracted, dragging her toward the flower. The girl was still opening her eyes wide and reaching her arms forward as though she was seeing Invincible Light in flesh, before her entire body was swallowed into the red petals.


    Beside Manziholet, the dead girl¡¯s priest muttered a prayer. The young man, called Gersimi, had done so many times as his congregation got sent up one by one as scouts for the expedition. At this point, his words sounded like a guilty goodbye.


    Ahead, Chiorou and Mirish engaged with the Quorathene beast. With longer range, the former¡¯s Deathspine Lash struck first, its boney tips slicing through the air before crashing into the giant rose. Infused with the Force of an Armament, the lash tore through the dense layers of petals, shredding them into scattered fragments.


    The hybrid reared back, its remaining petals vibrated as if it was roaring in pain, before stomping down and responding with a shot of the barbed rod toward the Archivist, but its trajectory was efficiently intercepted by Mirish¡¯s <<Armament: Aquabound Spire>>.


    The Miracle¡¯s spearhead, made of solidified ocean foam, slided against the rod and cut away its bronze barbs. The maneuver also redirected the rod upward, buying Chiorou enough time to coil her whip for a horizontal sweep across the hybrid¡¯s front knees, shattering its protective cap plates and slicing into the exposed green flesh beneath.


    Meanwhile, Mirish took advantage of his Aquabound Spire¡¯s momentum to reposition the spearhead across the rod, then cleanly severed it, leaving the hybrid with only a quarter of its main weapon.


    As the beast stooped forward, Mirish shifted left, aiming for its ribcage. As the spear travelled, the man switched on the Miracle¡¯s second state, unraveling the foamy spearhead and part of its upper shaft into a swirling vortex of churning ocean water.


    The Aquabound Spire slammed into the ribcage as neither a spear nor a mere mass of liquid, but as a massive sledgehammer. The vortex fortified and kept its shape upon collision, delivering a crushing blow that sent shockwaves through the beast¡¯s frame. The bronze bones splintered and scales flaked away among an eruption of green sap.


    With the Armament condensed into its original state, Mirish stabbed it deep into the wound with one fluid motion before the regeneration capability even had time to kick in.


    The Quorathene, ingenious as they might be, had so far demonstrated hardly any usage of Miracle. To build their grand creations, they had seemingly relied only on physics and biology more advanced than humanity could ever hope to imitate, but those were also two fundamental principles of the universe that Seraphists considered suggestions from the weak.


    As such, when the Armament erupted again inside the beast, no Miracle manifested to counter or contain the damage. Whatever botanical organs that were keeping it alive became horribly compressed between the forming vortex and the bronze scales, squeezing out more sap and putting it in a state of sudden shock. The beast collapsed, no longer remembering how to stay alive.


    For the sake of scientific curiosity, the most important line in the job description of all Archivists, Raka decided to halt the expedition¡¯s advance there. After witnessing the volunteer being swallowed, he wanted to inspect its digestive tract. The thralls were equipped with saws, axes, shears, and set to carve open the monstrous beast.


    They found the young girl, half-digested, in a sac right after its throat. Next to her was another volunteer, both looking very much like they had been on the wrong side of a particularly enthusiastic cooking experiment.


    When they sliced an opening on the sac, the slime inside came gushing out onto the silvery stone floor and almost ate away a thrall¡¯s legs. The destructive alchemical property was not terribly rare, but the durability and elasticity of the sac itself were impressive enough to be harvested. After all, one hybrid¡¯s nightmare digestion sac was another man¡¯s premium-grade undershirt.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    It was folded and stored away in a glass jar filled with preservative liquid, before being transferred on cart further back to the surface, along with various miscellaneous items of the Quorathene. Nothing would attack the carriers on the way, since the tunnel up till now had been a long and winding path down underground at an angle so shallow it might be offended when anyone called it steep, with no split or diversion or hidden rooms where hybrids could stage an ambush.


    The floor continued to be decorated with complex bronze geometry while luminous fruits cast their gentle glow along the path, as if the Quorathene had to foresight to shock and awe the hairless monkeys who would eventually explore here. Repeats in decorative patterns existed though, and it would be quite tedious travelling for so long, had each twist and turn not led to a checkpoint chamber guarded by Quorathene hybrids or some deeply inconvenient traps that pretended to be treasures.


    The former would be burned away by the Fireguards after each time the Seraphist finished them off, and smoke was quickly ventilated by the breeze, although it still carried the stubborn scent of crushed lemon leaves and the bitter taste. The latter, consisting of plants that released sleeping spores or giant blades that dropped from the ceiling, were easily destroyed by Miracles or disabled by throwing enough volunteers at them.


    Also, despite the tunnel being wide enough for ten carts rolling side by side, therefore leaving plenty of free space, the leftover metal parts or any obstacles would be cleared by a team of thralls to make room just in case they needed to dash off like their lives depended on it.


    Not that the shameful possibility was high but, in the expedition''s best interest, the Ruin of Vonna should boast greater dangers enough to cause it from now on. The reason was that Manziholet had been unceremoniously relegated to rear guard duty ¨C an absolutely thrilling role primarily involving sitting back and observing the other Seraphists do all the cool fighting.


    ¡°There¡¯s such a thing as too much boredom,¡± he said, blocking Raka¡¯s way. The Archivist was going back to get the next volunteers. ¡°I must inform you, just for the joy of making things interesting, a certain person is dangerously close to doing something very reckless.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you forget? Learn and support, novice.¡± Raka walked past him and arrived before the congregation, now reduced to only seven. They sat huddled around a feeble campfire. Their thin sackcloth garments offered little protection against the constant breeze. Even then, they resiliently refused to eat or drink, perhaps seeing no point in hydrating for the imminent death.


    ¡°Priest,¡± he said, ¡°time to choose another pair.¡±


    ¡°Please, no more,¡± Gersimi stood up to reply, his slender hands clenching. ¡°You can easily handle the monsters. Why drive us towards pointless death?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Manziholet said from behind. ¡°Let me scout ahead instead. We are, by every measure, superior to mortals. I can do their work faster, better, and without wasting precious time.¡±


    Raka turned to face the novice. ¡°A sound argument. You have convinced me. You¡¯re now in charge of burning duty with the Fireguards. Maybe you can use their flamethrowers and shut up much better.¡±


    He had already known to use those weapons. They were not as complex and mystical as the mercenaries advertised their employers, hence not worth his attention. Manziholet raised both hands in deflection. ¡°I was joking.¡±


    ¡°Go back to your position,¡± Raka gave an order, to which Manziholet followed without further complaint. He had, after all, informed the appropriate authority of a morale issue amid the expedition. Any unexplained explosions henceforth would be a leadership problem.


    Meanwhile, despondent as the priest might be, he managed to convince two more of his followers to go lest they all face a worse fate. They took each other¡¯s hand and walked ahead deeper into the Ruin of Vonna toward the next chamber while invoking the name of Invincible Light in hope of divine intervention against whatever bronze-flora hybrids awaited.


    Manziholet found himself idly fascinated by their action. Gersimi¡¯s congregation members were young enough to have dreams of their own, yet they had chosen to dedicate the remainder of their bright future to the faith. He knew people with centuries behind them who could not even decide what to have for breakfast, let alone readily commit their existence to something greater than themselves, although that something had a high chance of being an Outsider in disguise.


    They had even dared to preach against some of the Church¡¯s most sacred practices, an act so audacious that it should earn a round of applause for sheer gall. The orthodox clergy had long ensured that all planets followed a singular guideline to faith, one personally approved by the Holy Solongo himself. Yet, the heretic Gersimi had not only gathered a sizable number of followers but also managed to keep them on for quite some time before being imprisoned. If somehow her methods or ideas were to be replicated on a wider scale, then the Church might face an unprecedented upheaval, which would be quite fun.


    The next checkpoint chamber soon came into view. Like many before, the space was circular and had no doors. The volunteers hesitated, then, with another prayer, stepped inside. He tried to look from the perspective of these scientifically impaired: Faith was useless, obviously, but perhaps admirably useless, the kind of futile gesture that lets despair stand a little taller, wear a coat, and call itself conviction. Like polishing the floor on a sinking ship, it could hardly stop the inevitable but at least made the whole catastrophe sparkle on the way down. Maybe that was why the faithmongers prayed to God, because the act of hoping and believing had a little meaning in itself. In that, there must be a strange kind of salvati¨C


    While his mind took a lengthy detour into the land of deep thought, the two poor fellows got vivisected into bloody chunks of various sizes by a hybrid with pointy and sharp tentacles. It had dropped down from the ceiling as soon as they set foot inside the chamber. The priest Gersimi muttered another guilty goodbye at the sight.


    Such was life, Manziholet thought. On the bright side, their Invincible Light, if He existed at all, had so far demonstrated no observable evidence to suggest that He was incompetent at solving complex puzzles. He should easily piece them back together in the afterlife.

 14. The Ruin (II)

    As Chiorou and Mirish moved out to engage, Manziholet considered the new hybrid. They had met the design many times before, although this one was much bigger, with its height reaching past the previous Quorathene beast.


    It moved forward by rolling, rather than walking or slithering, in the form of a gleaming sphere of bronze. Streaks of blood and fragments of flesh, remnants of the unfortunate volunteers who had woken it up, clung to its metallic shell like decorative clothings to accentuate its murderous intent.


    Evenly spaced circular openings dotted its surface, from which emerald green tentacles creeped out. Some were essentially its arms and legs, with their ends splitting out into strands that gripped and pushed against the floor. That way, the hybrid¡¯s momentum was preserved and built up, fluidly propelling so much metal forward.


    Chiorou¡¯s Deathspine Lash bashed into the hybrid, sending out a shower of sparks and carving deep gouges into its bronze shell, but ultimately failed to halt its roll. ¡°Not again,¡± she complained. Its smaller siblings had been protected by a layer of armor that took up a third of its inner space, and this larger variant seemed to boast that very same annoying perk as well.


    It would take time to grind the bronze away, time they did not have as the hybrid accelerated, threatening to crush the intruders of its creators¡¯ home under its sheer weight. Another whack from the whip reached the Quorathene sphere, before it collided with the Aquabound Spire.


    Mirish stood firm, his spear having been braced for impact. The tip angled forward, while the butt dug securely into the floor beneath him. The entire shaft of hardened ocean water refused to bend, even as the Seraphist¡¯s feet scraped along the ground backward upon receiving the collision, and so did his enhanced physical body. The musculature given after the encasement was neither just for vanity nor a visual aid for romance.


    The shell had been stopped but the tentacles were still free. Whereas some of them were designed for grabbing and pulling, the rest were either embedded with a long thick metallic spike or a sharp leaf-shaped blade.


    They erupted from the creature in a dense and overwhelming mass, their sheer number rivaling a forest canopy. As the first signs of the tentacles converging on him, Mirish swiftly disengaged and fell back.


    ¡°Release,¡± Raka¡¯s voice rang out behind the Seraphists. His Fireguards, having cocked their crossbows, sent two volley of expensive specialized bolts flying through the air in succession.


    As the bolts hit, incendiary liquid was released into the tentacles, sticking to them like glue and blazing hot. Its intensive heat was sustained by not only the hybrid¡¯s own flora components but also the mercenaries¡¯ secret formula, supposedly refined since ancient times and capable of burning bright even  underwater.


    However, trying their best as the flames were, the hybrid¡¯s healing matched a Bastion Miracle on its own, resetting the damage faster than the heat could inflict it. To dislodge some bolts that pierced into its tentacles, though, the Quorathene sphere did stop its strike momentarily.


    Manziholet reckoned a total of forty bolts had been expensed, with each costing roughly seventy thousand forisma. In terms of market value, that was the equivalent cost for a thrall¡¯s life, buying enough time distracting the hybrid as Chiorou put herself behind it while Raka stepped up to reinforce Mirish.


    <<Armament: Pyrolance Candlestick>> manifested on Raka¡¯s hands in a flash of fire. Manziholet knew the story that came with it. This type of Miracle had finished off the Body Walker who was about to demand an involuntary skin donation from Manziholet¡¯s family.


    Its base, deceptively simple in design, was a slender candlestick crafted from polished silver that could be found in any respectable dining hall. Intricate engravings coiled around its surface, depicting waves of flame intertwined with one another.


    At its apex was a vivid and unnatural purple flame. Unlike its ordinary cousin, it ignited upward with fierce intensity, extending half as long as the length of the base, and gradually streamlined into the perfect shape of a lance¡¯s tip. The flame burned not just to illuminate, but also to¨C


    ¡°Think long and hard before you try something stupid,¡± Raka said without turning his head back to Manziholet, who had walked up closer with his Vixtrian Rapier drawn. ¡°Stay back. Only when one of us is severely injured, do you get it?¡±


    Next to him, Mirish gave the novice a side glance. ¡°Listen to your leader, Manziholet. Don¡¯t push your luck.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you say,¡± Manziholet replied with a shrug and took a step back.


    ¨Cbut also to lacerate and penetrate. The very essence of fire had been sculpted into an Armament, ready to leave behind ash and whispered agony wherever it travelled and this time a Quorathene hybrid was blocking its path.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Raka put his weapon into a sweeping slash, severing a number of spiked tentacles that were thrusted at the Seraphists, followed by another from Mirish¡¯s. The limbs dropped around them while drops of green sap covered their cuirass and plate armor.


    Behind the hybrid, Chiorou sent out her whip again and again, its sharp bone spurs tearing through more tentacles and slicing chunks of bronze from the creature¡¯s shell. The incendiary liquid had also burned out, and the Fireguards were not so eager, unlike a certain novice, to accidentally shoot their employers while they fought close and personal with their opponent.


    Help was not needed anyway when the Seraphists were displaying a relentless harmony in teamwork, no doubt cultivated after years of covert missions for the Grand Archivist. Their attacks were deliberate and relentless, each strike building upon the momentum of the last. Few words were exchanged, yet every motion seemed preordained, as if guided by an unseen Overwatch Seraphist. They were steadily depriving the hybrid of its mass.


    With each tentacle cut down, however, another took its place. Bronze spikes and blades might be outside the coverage of the biological regenerative mechanism, but the new ones did not make the sphere any less lethal, forsaking the weaponry for more thickness and weight.


    The hybrid spun on its vertical axis and flared out its tentacles when Raka and Mirish closed distance to put their Armaments in range to chip away the bronze shell. Hidden among them was the leftover original tentacles with their metallic weaponry, which suddenly extended out further to catch the Seraphists off guard.


    The plan failed with Mirish who, despite his huge body and bulky armor, deftly maneuvered himself out of melee range, but it did succeed with Raka. One of the bronze blades managed to drag its serrated edge across his gilded cuirass. Sparks flew, and so did flesh and blood.


    The leader of the host staggered back with a wound deep enough to put any human into a state of deep reflection, often followed by unconsciousness. Yet, none of his companions bothered to stop their fight and went over to check.


    They were not being inconsiderate, because it would have been a complete waste of time ¨C a Second Sphere Bastion of Candle, as any decent Seraphists knew, unlocked this rather convenient Miracle called <<Waxen Nectar>>.


    Like a Seraphist of Sun¡¯s <<Daybreak Renewal>>, it could convert fatal wounds from a death sentence to a reminder that those Bastions who went through the After-Death were no longer bound to pesky biological limits.


    On activation, <<Waxen Nectar>> would produce a droplet of viscous, golden fluid at a location of the Seraphist¡¯s choosing on their body, to be used by them or anyone else. Once ingested and absorbed, it swiftly healed wounds, cured illnesses, banished hunger and fatigue, and made physicians ponder if they should take up knitting.


    As Chiorou and Mirish confronted the Quorathene sphere from two ends, Raka activated the Miracle, presumably right inside his stomach. One second he was hunching over and clutching his hand on the wound to stop bleeding, the next he was standing tall again, as if he had woken up from an incredibly energizing nap. A layer of wax had flashed over all his wounds before transmuting back into his flesh.


    He took a moment to savor the sweet sensation of rejuvenation (which was one reason why the physicians should not worry about Bastions taking over their job; that kind of bliss, the feeling of everything imperfect purging from oneself, could leave behind a dangerous echo that demanded to be fed over and over again), before rushing back to resume the struggle.


    Vaepor kept on being converted to draeg, fueling the three Candle, Bone, and Ocean Armaments as they chipped away both bronze and flora. The regenerative mechanism on this variant of Quorathene spheres seemed to work much faster, but on account of its creators¡¯ lack of messing with Miracles, the hybrid possessed a fatal weakness called the law of equivalent exchange. It only had so much mass stored inside to sustain the healing.


    The once-dense forest of tentacles was whittled down to a desperate few, thrashing futilely in their attempt to ward off the coordinated assault. Soon, even the Pyrolance Candlestick, known for its modest reach, effortlessly made contact with the shell. Its inherent concept of Sharpness, along with the heat of its purple flame, carved away huge chunks of bronze from the hybrid''s spinning body.


    Its spherical form was sculpted down unevenly, effectively disabling its ability to roll. Chiorou¡¯s whip cracked again, slicing through another emerald appendage with a sound like tearing silk, while Mirish, taking full advantage of the thinning defenses, drove his water spear directly into one of the circular openings before unraveling it. The fight was a done deal, like a closing argument with no rebuttal.


    The Quorathene who built this dwelling should consider implementing better security. Unpredictable and innovative as the hybrids might be so far, mortals with sufficient motivations or disregard for their lives would get through the dangers eventually, let alone Seraphists with their Miracles, and traps could be rendered useless after sending enough volunteers forward. A thick locked door might be more effective.


    ¡°Consider me envious.¡± Manziholet remarked, prodding the wreckage with his Rapier. ¡°I was itching for a piece of that action.¡±


    Chiorou and Mirish were leaning against the wall to catch a breath. Their Armaments had been dismissed while the menials went over to serve them refreshments. He wondered how much time left before they had to release their Ruin Scars. They must have done so before leaving TerraSol, but this level of exertion would have drained a significant amount of vaepor. It would be awfully inconvenient if they had to inside the¨C


    ¡°Seriously, Raka,¡± Mirish said suddenly, ¡°you need to talk to the novice. He is getting dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Yes, impart him with your ancient insights, old man,¡± Chiorou added while receiving a glass of iced tea from a menial.


    ¡°I¡¯m one year younger than you. Besides, old is just a state of mind. Anyway,¨C¡± Raka clapped both hands on Manziholet¡¯s shoulders and turned him around face-to-face, ¡°¨Cnovice, you are depressed.¡±

 15. The Ruin (III)

    ¡°¨Cnovice, you are depressed.¡±


    The statement was abrupt. It was also very ridiculous. Manziholet could not imagine it being uttered by an intelligent human being like the Archivist. ¡°I am not,¡± he denied with a frown.


    ¡°You are depressed,¡± Raka repeated, ¡°because your dream girl left you for a Greatling. Don¡¯t deny it. I did some digging as soon as Osiri added you to the host. I know you got strung along for weeks. You probably had a life plan with her already laid out in your mind. Marry, form a host together, make the Studium your playground. Then life essentially slapped you in the face, which is often followed by depression.¡±


    ¡°You are a very confident man,¡± Manziholet replied, ¡°spewing nonsense.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not nonsense. I know the symptoms. I was depressed too, when I performed average during the Proving and failed to become a student of the Studium. Entire paths of growth are denied to me, leaving working under the government as my best choice. It¡¯s not the end of the world, but it has plenty of shortcomings, like being stuck with insufferable people like her forever.¡± He gestured vaguely toward the other Archivist. ¡°You can imagine my dismay.¡±


    ¡°The feeling is mutual,¡± Chiorou said with a dismissive wave. ¡°Not the depression, I mean. That¡¯s just for the mentally inferior.¡±


    ¡°Although in theory,¡± Mirish added, ¡°nothing stopped you from working as an independent contractor like me. More risks, but total control.¡±


    She let out an exaggerated sigh. ¡°If only we had a District Admin as a mother who gives us Shards every year, Mirish. It must be wonderful, being pampered as an heir to a massive fortune.¡±


    ¡°Being an independent is not all sunshine, naturally,¡± he replied, shaking his head. ¡°For example, everyone assumes you¡¯ve had it easy, even if you work twice as hard as a certain professional.¡±


    As his companions continued exchanging the opposite of pleasantries, Raka kept his eyes locked with Manziholet¡¯s. ¡°Now,¡± he continued, ¡°Seraphists experience depression a little differently from mortals due to the fact that we can be easily revived from just an intact brain. In my case, an unhealthy commitment to body modifications. In your case, it means your usual penchant for courting death gets, shall we say, a bit more... enthusiastic.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re getting more and more wrong,¡± Manziholet replied. ¡°Like any sensible person, I have never actively sought death.¡±


    ¡°Said the boy who, before even receiving his Circuit, slaughtered his way in a building full of armed criminals on Promethean, broke through the security of the Langer¡¯s estate, challenged a First Sphere Seraphist and somehow won. Not to mention, switched the revered Veil of Anna with a cheap replica, in broad daylight, during a ceremony attended by Redeemers, while¨C¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite enough. Thank you for the compliments, though they hardly prove your point. They were strictly for the sake of fun, nothing else.¡±


    ¡°You and I clearly have very different concepts of fun. Mine doesn¡¯t include a high chance of funerals. You like courting death, novice, and it¡¯s becoming worse.¡±


    Manziholet pushed Raka¡¯s hands away and stepped back to disengage. ¡°Correlation doesn''t equal causation,¡± he said. ¡°The Civil Service must have taught every Archivist the principle.¡±


    His eyes scanned around to conduct a situational assessment. Right before him was Raka, whose damaged cuirass had been removed, and a spare one was being transferred from the rear, although he still had his buckler. Armored or not, he would not be able to mount much resistance if Manziholet chose to stab him, and Bastion Miracle might be able to fix broken arms but not revive corpses.


    Chiorou and Mirish were still having their own conversation while taking time to rest. Next to them, the Quorathene sphere was being dissected for parts, and the Fireguards were trying their best to ignore the drama from their employers. The mortals were actually eating dinner and preparing to go to sleep, since it was nighttime on the surface right now. Nothing suggested a conspiracy to kill Manziholet while he was distracted, which ruled out the most logical reason for why Raka insisted on talking nonsense.


    ¡°Of course I know it,¡± Rake replied, seemingly more frustrated, ¡°along with one common symptom of depression ¨C denial, which you are making your life¡¯s mission to do at the moment, probably because you don¡¯t want to be considered a failure in the eyes of your mother, yes? Your family is famous for a very particular life philosophy. I suspect that¡¯s one reason why you go with us instead of training hard for the Studium like your peers, so that your mother can¡¯t see.¡±


    Maniziholet looked at him in silence, before saying it one more time. ¡°I am not depressed. A sleep-deprived squirrel¡¯s rambling has more coherence in it than your words.¡±


    Raka rolled his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t have enough patience to give brick-for-brain people. You¡¯re practically guaranteed a spot in the Studium, which means you should be smart enough to soon figure out who¡¯s right between us in the end. However, even if you are not depressed, I¡¯m still giving you an ultimate warning as the host¡¯s leader. Stop ignoring my orders and interfering with our battles, or I shall force feed you my Miracle. If such a resolution fails, then you¡¯ll return to TerraSol as a brain in an ice box.¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The expedition temporarily halted as people went to sleep for the night. With their enhanced constitution, the Seraphists only took three hours at most, after which they woke the rest up to resume the advance. The mortals would need twice that long for optimal rest, but they knew what they had signed up to. For those who felt it was unfair, they were free to lodge a formal complaint to biology.


    The next two chambers were both protected by hybrids, each more dangerous than the last. Compared to the struggle with the previous sphere, the host¡¯s Miracles greatly strained to put down the threat. The true value of having a Bastion ArchSoul in their midst was undeniable.


    Even as Mirish narrowly escaped being sliced in two or Chiorou was incapacitated when her neck snapped, however, Manziholet stayed at his post and dutifully handled rear guard responsibilities. After the talk, he found it best to temporarily withdraw from social activities (incidentally, that was another symptom of depression, but mere incident it was; he could not fathom succumbing to such weakness) and spent the majority of his time studying the Quorathene artifacts and decorations.


    It would be a crime against culture, after all, to ignore the sophisticated craftsmanship surrounding him, especially the patterns on the floor. Back home, he had seen fragments of such designs in a museum, where entire slabs had been painstakingly extracted from ruins and displayed like ancient trophies, but standing amidst the unmarred, pristine originals was an entirely different experience.


    The Quorathene had obviously devoted a significant portion of their time and effort to make their dwellings as both mathematically perfect but also breathtakingly ornate as possible, masterfully weaving bronze works into plant lives. The more he looked at them, the more beauty he discovered. For example, on the floor of one chamber was gleaming bronze patterns sprawled outward from a flower, creating seven concentric rings, on each of which were a dot made of rare gemstone. The star system of Marwin, as a matter of fact, had seven planets. Astronomy was not his speciality, but he could bet that the floor was not just a map but also mirrored a phase of it.


    He wondered if the Quorathene themselves were as aesthetic-pleasing as their architecture. As far as humanity had discovered, the Quorathene left behind no portraits of themselves or illustrations of their daily life, which meant no one really knew what the ancient beings looked like. They might as well have been shapeless blobs, rat-like creatures, or possibly very artistic arrangements of bronze sticks, with the geometry Manziholet was stepping on being their group paintings.


    Quorathene was not even their species¡¯s name. They probably had a much grander way to refer to themselves, but humans, in an exercise of infinite creativity, decided on the term ¡®Quorathene¡¯ because Quora happened to be the mountain where a ruin was first stumbled upon (the discovery of which perished two thousands mortals along with a host of unknown proto seraphists).


    Apart from the ¡®kill first, ask questions later¡¯ automatic defense system, the Quorathene also left behind an assortment of miscellaneous items, presumably having the same functions as hairbrushes, forks, or cups. After carefully studying them though, humanity could not tell for sure if they were actually mundane domestic tools or implements of doom.


    They agreed, however, that the Quorathene had started the construction of their dwellings on a handful of planets simultaneously, in tandem with one another, at roughly the same point in time, and that these separate civilizations then vanished quietly and inexplicably long before the reign of Justinian, as if they were a Miracle in themselves.


    Those planets had not even been terraformed to sustain life during that time, which led to another question: how could the Quorathene and their hybrids endure the violent conditions of nature? Marwind, for instance, had been enveloped by a crystalline layer of cold noxious fumes before humans arrived. Any creatures would have been suffocated or frozen to death without Miracles, but the Quorathene had managed to cultivate plants, though technically their plants were alien constructs that closely resembled Terra¡¯s flora.


    Perhaps that was why their dwellings were invariably carved deep underground or hewn into the protective embrace of mountains, just like the last chamber that the host cleared would reveal a grand and long gateway. It led into another circular chamber, one that was much more enormous than any before.


    From the measurements taken along the winding tunnel they had travelled through, they were certain this vast space was sitting directly beneath the edge of Vonna¡¯s northern beach, hidden beneath all the sand and water.


    Vines crept up to cover most of the wall and converged at the epitome of the vaulted ceiling, from which hung a giant glowing fruit. It would seem that the Ruin ended here, because from the other end of the gateway they saw no more tunnel entrances.


    ¡°If it is a closed space,¡± Manziholet pointed out, ¡°then where is the breeze originating from?¡±


    ¡°I suspect the answer will be apparent once we settle inside,¡± Raka replied, ¡°along with the grand prize.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t get your hopes up,¡± Manziholet said. ¡°This doesn¡¯t feel like one of those wonderful vaults you¡¯re imagining. It has been too straightforward and easy. None of us have died yet.¡± Of course, the mortal toll had already climbed into the dozens, but those hardly mattered. They must take in consideration all the pigs or other animals slaughtered on Vonna so far to mark the expedition status of perilous.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see, novice. First, let¡¯s send in our final volunteer.¡±


    Gersimi, last of his congregation, was ushered in front of the gateway. The young man had been further exhausted in both mind and body, walking sluggishly as though bound by invisible chains. His face was pale while his eyes were void of focus.


    ¡°Time to unite you with your Invincible Light,¡± Raka said.


    ¡°A common mistake,¡± Gersimi chuckled, before coughing heavily. When he recovered, faith seemed to lit up in his eyes as he stared back at the Seraphist. ¡°Invincible Light embraces all that is. He is with both the faithless and the faithful. I¡¯ve never been apart from Him.¡±


    Chiorou nudged Manziholet with her elbow. ¡°Faithmongers, novice. If anyone¡¯s more out of their minds than you, it¡¯s them, and that¡¯s a feat considering how deluded you are.¡± He ignored her. The Circuit had given Chiorou the face of a goddess but had obviously passed over the muscle of her mouth.


    Meanwhile, Raka looked down on the priest with amusement. ¡°Since you have been so helpful to us in organising your people, Gersimi,¡± ¨Cthe priest frowned at the remark¨C ¡°I believe a parting gift is in order. Can¡¯t have the Invincible Light welcome you to the afterlife while you look like a walking tragedy wrapped in the equivalent of a stray¡¯s wipe cloth, can we? It¡¯s disrespectful. Mirish, break his arms.¡±

 16. Gersimi

    Before Gersimi could react, the hefty Seraphist of Ocean had already arrived behind him. With nonchalant ease, as if he was dealing with a chicken, Mirish put one hand on the priest¡¯s left shoulder, while his other hand seized the priest¡¯s left wrist then pulled it up and back.


    As the arm was violently bent, like a dry branch beyond its limit, it produced a sharp snap, followed by a crisp crunch as the bone splintered and the surrounding tissue gave way under the pressure.


    Gersimi let out a howl of pain. Salty streaks trailed down his cheeks, an impressive feat for someone who had not touched a lick of water for so long. His tear ducts should probably be as dry as desert by now.


    Mirish repeated the same with the remaining arm. It was a little different this time, since it was accompanied by an additional faint wet pop, presumably from the dislocation of the joint. He then released the priest, allowing the young man to sprawl down on the floor and cry his heart out. ¡°Why?¡± Gersimi asked in anguish.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re annoying,¡± Raka replied. ¡°Also, you centre your entire life around ignorance of facts. Those two combined stretch my tolerance level to its experimental limit. Relax, I won¡¯t have you pass away in pain. The Ruin will.¡±


    He let Gersimi enjoy the suffering a little longer before he seized the priest''s sackcloth by the collar and yanked him upwards. ¡°Don¡¯t be coy. Open your mouth,¡± he commanded, but Gersimi recoiled, turning his head and snapping his mouth shut, his legs thrashing wildly in the air.


    It was a futile gesture. No mortal defiance could stand against the will of a Seraphist. Raka slammed the priest down on the ground hard, rendering him momentarily stunned from concussion, before using his thumb and forefinger to press just below his jawline, coaxing his mouth open slightly. With his other hand hovering above it, he produced a drop of <<Waxen Nectar>> and let the Miracle fall down.


    Gersimi¡¯s small form trembled slightly as wax briefly manifested all over his body. The visible signs of fatigue and weariness that had carved deep lines into his face began to soften. Lines of scars faded from his skin, which also lost its pale dryness and now flushed with a healthier color. He jolted upright and took in a deep breath of air, his chest rising as if reacquainting itself with life while his green eyes opening wide and brightening up.


    His broken arms cracked to set themselves back together and smoothed out into their natural positions. His fingers twitched, as the Miracle kept on mending and undoubtedly sending waves of pleasure throughout his broken body.


    <<Waxen Nectar>> not only physically purged the imperfect from Gersimi. After all, the food he consumed, the labor he undertook, or whatever hidden injuries he accumulated since his infancy had cascading effects over his form that no amount of medicine could fix. They had all left their marks, rearranging the original design and writing in the autobiography of his existence.


    The Miracle pulled forth knowledge sealed in that book, then rebuilt the mortal into what he ought to be.


    Where his auburn hair had dully faded and dwindled to just a few fragile strands during his time in captivity, wax grew out to thicken and fill up his barren scalp. The substance transmuted itself into long, soft, and radiant strands as they tumbled down his shoulders, their color deepened and rippled outward from the roots like first rays of dawn breaking through a misty horizon.


    The Miracle had revealed a truth. Raka chuckled, leaning close to inspect the changes. ¡°All this time, you¡¯ve been rejecting the title of heretic. Yet here you are, embodying the very definition of it.¡±


    In addition to the hair, Gersimi¡¯s cheekbones had also been lifted subtly while her chest swelled outward to form gentle curves as the Miracle rebuilt her body into what she should be when life fed her correctly. The sackcloth, once draping loosely, now clung to her body and revealed a feminine silhouette where there had been none before.


    ¡°My God cares only for the sincerity of our hearts.¡± She gritted her teeth to fight back the pleasure and stood up. Her voice had lost all its coarseness, becoming more clear and unclouded, but not its faith. ¡°Branding people like me heretic is a heresy in itself. His divinity touches equally upon both the sons and the daughters. Why then are the former free to answer the call while must the latter be bound by tradition?¡±


    ¡°Because the Scripture of Light is your God¡¯s very words, and His words strictly prohibit, with heavy penalty, any woman from assuming the sacred office of the priesthood.¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°Half of the Scripture is man-made. It has gone through centuries of edits and redactions and rewritten and reinterpreted by whoever happened to be in charge for their own benefit. You think people have been able to repent their sins by just a donation to the clergy all the way from the Ternary Strife? They wrote it into the Scripture when they discovered the guilty would gladly pay a fortune for a sense of peace. Corrupting the sacred text, my disguise is nothing compared to it.¡±


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    As matter of fact, Manziholet recalled, the practice began in 1856 during the heyday of the previous government ¨C the Republic of Ascendant Man. The story might be the Imperium¡¯s propaganda, but it was likely not far off from the truth.


    It was, as usual, a case of decadent Republicans wanting to ease their consciences without actually doing anything that might involve effort like helping the homeless or going to prison for their actual crimes. They approached a local church for a solution. Its clergy, who had been pondering for quite some time how to fund a few more towers and statues, came up with a charmingly efficient idea: just a quiet exchange of funds and their innocence was secured.


    The wealthy Republicans, who had never been too averse to spending money, particularly on things that could not be physically touched or felt, were intrigued, and once their interest had been piqued, they would go to extraordinary lengths to satiate it. The practice took root from there.


    Soon, seeing its popularity, the clergy were offering discounts on all sorts of sin to expand the operation to poorer people. Thieves, murderers, and rapists were considered absolved in Invincible Light¡¯s eyes (His opinion was not known) by a one time payment of a few thousand coins or payable in installments for those who were financially stretched. Land, jewelry, and other assets were also acceptable mediums of transaction.


    Naturally, to preserve the Church¡¯s image, the Holy Solongo had long put much greater restrictions on the how and who. However, since the deteriorating relation with TerraSol had cut off many potential customers, discussions were underway regarding the possibility of allowing the living to buy indulgence for their dead relatives and friends, thereby maintaining its position as one of the clergy''s top three primary revenue sources.


    ¡°Maybe we should keep the faithmonger alive,¡± Chiorou joked. ¡°Let her be the Church¡¯s headache.¡±


    ¡°I have to admit, that¡¯s a solid plan,¡± Manziholet said as he walked over and considered Gersimi. She was not exactly the most beautiful girl, even among employees of an average pleasure demiplane, but there was something in the way she refused to stand down that made him think he should lie for her life.


    ¡°Bring her back to TerraSol,¡± he suggested. ¡°My mother can find a place for her in Clerical Privilege. They¡¯re lacking a proper third perspective over there.¡±


    ¡°What do you think, priest? Would you like to work under a Logic Committee?¡± Raka asked, amused. ¡°I imagine you will be paid more than you can spend, and you get to help dismantle the Church in the process.¡±


    Gersimi looked at him, then to Manziholet. ¡°Never, Seraphists. You know who I serve.¡±


    He was disappointed. She would be a good person that he could make a companion out of, if only she was not so religious. He considered pushing further to compete with God in a contest of will and take away His follower, but found his interest quickly faded. Gersimi had made her choice. She was a lost cause.


    Raka turned the girl around to face the great chamber. ¡°At least you will die happy, priest. Some mortals have sold their family for a drop of nectar. Most don¡¯t even get a glimpse of what you have experienced. Be grateful, and finish the job you got sent here to do.¡±


    He put one hand between Gersimi¡¯s shoulder blades then shoved her through the gateway. His augmented strength was not suppressed, presumably to toy with her one last time. She nearly fell over, her steps scrambling to keep pace with her momentum as she fought to stay upright.


    She glared back at Raka, who had manifested his Armament just as his two companions did. The Fireguard mercenary with their crossbows cocked and flamethrowers primed had assumed formations behind them, guarded by Manziholet, while non-essential personnel had retreated further back to make space.


    They were expecting a powerful hybrid waiting at the end of the Ruin. The Quorathene usually reserved the good stuff for the end. The display of force also reminded the volunteer that she had two roads to take, both leading to the same outcome, although the one without possible murderous hybrids would be much more humiliating.


    Silence fell as they watched her walk out of the gateway and toward the heart of the chamber. Meanwhile, a faint and nagging itch crept up Manziholet¡¯s thoughts. Two things, he realized, were out of place.


    The first one had always been there before he left TerraSol, but he had hardly noticed it until his latest decision. Since when had he so easily given up getting something his heart set out to acquire? It was both a failure and an example of cowardice, like a certain weakness that reserved only for, as Chiorou had said, the mentally inferior.


    He rewound the moments in his mind, reliving them not as himself the Seraphist but as the boy who had yet to face his After-Death. The boy overlaid his common tendencies with the recent events for a deep analysis. Neither Gersimi¡¯s faith nor her choice, the boy concluded with a shake of his head, troubled him as much as the speed by which his interest fizzled. It was an abnormality.


    The girl had essentially spat in the face of centuries of established orthodoxy, which made her worthwhile because she had demonstrated she possessed what it took to pursue her path. He was supposed to be interested in people such as her. It dawned on the present Manziholet, quite quick but very uncomfortably, that this dulling of his awareness was merely part of a greater pattern. In other words, it was a symptom of the problem that the entire host had pushed on him not long ago, one that he had insisted otherwise like an idiot.


    Aezixia¡¯s manipulation, it would seem, had struck him deeper than any weapons or Breaker Miracles could and left behind an ugly scar. She deserved an applause while he deserved a beating. He had ignored the words of a sane person partly because of the depression but mostly, he must admit, he did not respect his three companions that much. They had failed to get into the Studium, which made them ordinary and inconsequential in his eyes. There was a lesson here: never judge a book by its cover.


    He felt a bit ashamed. It took him almost a decade to make sense of a lesson they had taught him when he was six. If he had known any better, he would have fought harder to keep Gersimi from going in. The forecast for her immediate future was doom with a high chance of disaster, given the second thing that he realized was out of place.


    The constant breeze had been weakening.

 17. Colossus (I)

    The breeze had been blowing from deep inside the Ruin to the surface without fail. Both Raka and Chiorou, Archivists who had trained in many disciplines and possessed rare knowledge, had declared that it was harmless after testing, at least for enhanced constitution.


    That often came with an unspoken ¡®but¡¯ to everyone else. For the mortals, therefore, the breeze was more or less an experiment in progress. The result would reveal itself eventually, hopefully without being accompanied by symptoms such as coughing up blood or mutation into walking corpses, as with the spores found during the expedition into the Ruin of Thawler.


    Perhaps its purpose was to be so profoundly irritating that it drove the intruders to abandon the Quorathene dwelling entirely. The breeze carried the scent of lemon leaves, which seemed pleasant, but then it had to ruin the effect by leaving a bitterness on their tongue and throat. The taste was so stubborn that it outlasted meals, water, and even the most determined gargles, though it faded quickly after the exposure ended as reported by the mortals who had returned to the surface.


    Manziholet had made peace with the fact that his mouth was in a permanent state of protest, rendered worse by his newly augmented organs after receiving the Circuit. That did not mean the Defiant Path had left a design flaw in their creation. Rather, he had yet to fully accustom himself with its various controls. Many veteran Seraphists had learned to shut their ears, unrestrict their muscle strength, or suppress their sensory input, which was why the breeze did not bother his companions as much.


    With every step Gersimi took toward the heart of the chamber, he felt the annoying breeze wane along with the taste in his mouth. The change told him that, whatever awaited her there, it was far from innocuous. Harmless architectures rarely had the urge to shift its environmental conditions on a whim. And with the scar on his mentality no longer able to hide itself and dulled his awareness, Manziholet knew what to do.


    ¡°Novice, what are you¨C¡±


    Ignoring the words of his leader, Manziholet slipped past the first line of Seraphists and rushed toward Gersimi. He had never run as fast his entire life (perhaps outrunning even his better judgment) and quickly caught up to the girl. Before she could notice, Gersimi was already lifted off the floor and carried back to the gateway.


    As they made their way over to safety, past the complaining Seraphists, she wore this dumbfounded expression on her face. Her surprise was understandable. First, the gift that the Quorathene had prepared for them was unraveling on the ceiling above, and it made all previous hybrids look like kittens. Second, why, in the incandescent glory of the Invincible Light, did a Seraphist like him want a mortal like her so much that he was risking his life? It was a good question, one that Manziholet hoped to give good answers to after the host had finished dealing with the threat.


    ¡°Hide behind them.¡± He put the girl down and pointed to the Fireguards. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to see the spectacle though, feel free to run.¡± The mercenaries parted to let her through then resumed their formation, all the while exchanging worried murmurs regarding the new opponent.


    Manziholet stepped over to the Seraphists, who were keeping their eyes locked on the ceiling. ¡°You¡¯re right, Raka,¡± he said. ¡°I do have a bad case of depression, along with a penchant for courting death.¡±


    The Weng Archivist grumbled. ¡°We will talk about your insubordination later, dimwit. For now, ready your Armament. It¡¯s time you contributed.¡±


    ¡°Which is the reason why you need to give me <<Waxen Nectar>>. I need to restore my brain to its functional capacity.¡±


    Raka glared back at him. ¡°The alterations that depression makes to your brain are only half the issue. The other half is deep inside your mind, which my Miracle can¡¯t touch.¡±


    ¡°Already took care of that half. Give me a drop, now.¡±


    Raka extended a finger out. A glistening golden fluid emerged on it. Manziholet transferred the viscous drop onto his own fingertip before placing it into his mouth. The nectar tasted sweet. Once he had digested it, his body itched, especially in his skull¡¯s area, as the Miracle sought to repair and rebalance.


    Compared to Kylla¡¯s <<Daybreak Renewal>>, its side effects hit like a hammer to his pleasure center. He could see why some people kept coming back for more, even for a Seraphist who had a better body and almost no injuries like himself. It was too much of an ecstasy. A legacy seraph like one used by Kylla was free from such a glaring shortcoming.


    The Miracle of Candle Domain still did its job brilliantly, however. The protest in his mouth subdued as the leftover effect from the breeze was purged entirely. He felt replenished as vitality coursed through his vein. The scar on his mentality remained mostly entrenched, no doubt retaining the nerve to threaten a return whenever it felt like it, but at the moment it had been suppressed to but a problem for the future with no influence in the present. A stillness swept over him as his thoughts coalesced in clarity, with which Manziholet used to assess the massive Quorathene hybrid.


    When the breeze faded to nothingness, the giant fruit hanging from the chamber¡¯s vaulted ceiling had splitted open in four. These segments curled back like the petals of a flower, revealing inside it a bronze humanoid construct tangled amid a mass of yellow anthers, as if it was an ancient statue long left abandoned to nature.


    Except, its metallic weaponry and body were as polished as new. They gleamed under the light emitted by the luminous fruits ubiquitous to the Ruin. Some larger surfaces even captured clearly the reflection of the four Seraphists standing at the gateway.


    The heavy colossus twitched to life, sending shivers through the anthers as they loosened their grip and coiled away. Gravity took hold, drawing it downward. Once it made contact with the ground, the stone floor cracked and the vines on the wall shook. If Gersimi had still been in the chamber, right at the hybrid¡¯s landing zone, she would have either found herself squashed like a bug under its feet or the first victim under its three pairs of great swords/hammers/spears.


    The adjective ¡®humanoid¡¯, after all, only applied to its lower body ¨C two sturdy and bulky legs connected to a broad pelvis, with each foot being a rectangular plate and clawed toes that dug securely into the ground. The joints, where bronze met bronze, were housed in larger spherical armor seemingly designed for both articulation and protection.


    From its waist up, the colossus¡¯s anatomy diverged from the description. Instead of a solid core, its upper body was mounted on a rotating component, allowing it to spin smoothly and face towards the intruders with different torsos, of which it had three.


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    Interlocking plates of bronze covered each torso and extended to the thick flora arms. The hybrid had no apparent fingers, with the weaponry fixed to its wrists on flexible joints. Its three heads all looked like the main body of Quorathene arachnid, although the rows of eyes had been forsaken and replaced by four big amber orbs arranged in a diamond pattern. They were further protected by grated helmets.


    When it had recovered from the drop and stood tall, the hybrid¡¯s towering frame easily reached four times the height of a human. Unlike the designs that the expedition had faced before, worryingly, this one seemed to possess a bit of intelligence. Instead of charging blindly at anything with a pulse, it stood silently in place and looked at them menacingly.


    Occasionally, the hybrid cycled through the torsos at random. Sometimes, it was the one holding in each hand a sword designed to have straight edges and broad enough to be considered a door. Other times, it was either a pair of hammers with cubed heads or a pair of long double-bladed spears. Regardless of which torso was facing forward the gateway, all three heads steadily kept their gaze on the host.


    ¡°I swear,¡± Mirish said, ¡°they¡¯re smiling at us. I suggest we retreat further back inside the tunnel. It won¡¯t be able to fit through with that size.¡±


    Chiorou nodded. ¡°Agree. The damned thing looks like a lot of work. Let the Fireguards work first. I want them to use up all of their munitions before we engage it in melee, however small their contribution will be. Raka?¡±


    Their leader studied the Quorathene colossus for a few more seconds before giving an order. ¡°We retreat slowly to gauge its reaction. If it remains in place, then we will stop at the next curve and build up a battle plan. We would need more than Miracles, because I think our final obstacle is intelligent, likely the same as the one in Zinzenmo.¡±


    As he took a step back then another, the colossus raised all its weapons up and roared loudly. The sound reverberated through the surrounding space, bouncing off the walls and thundering along the gateway. It was soon joined by panicked cries from the mortals. The Seraphists glanced over their shoulders, where their mercenaries were rushing desperately toward the previous chamber.


    They were supposed to be veteran soldiers, but the discipline had been broken at the sight of the entire floor of the chamber rising up to block their only escape. Two Fireguards scrambled up and tried to crawl away, only to be crushed alive between it and the ceiling. Judging from the size of the chamber, it would take more than an hour for Armaments to carve away the stone.


    The trouble did not stop there. If the previous traps were unpleasant, then the Quorathene had made sure these ones to be downright enthusiastic about their job. The floor underneath the gateway was rising as well.


    ¡°Get out, now,¡± Raka yelled.


    Before he finished, his Seraphists had already stepped out of the death trap and into the great chamber, followed by the mortals. Some barely made it before the stone closed, only for them to face the rushing hybrid next, its sword and spear sides leading the charge.


    ¡°Disperse.¡± The command came too late, and Manziholet doubted the mercenaries had enough time to follow it in the first place.


    The hybrid¡¯s weapons found themselves brutally pierced through the body of six Fireguards and struck holes into the wall behind, blowing up dust and blood. Its upper body spun while its arms slashed the swords and spears out to catch the nearby survivors, as the hammers also travelled low along an arc.


    Each strike ignited a burst of fire as the Fireguards¡¯ flamethrower tanks and crossbow bolts took damage. At least none of the incendiary liquid got splashed onto the vines, or else they would all be roasted inside the airtight chamber.


    From the disorganized mess that were the mortals, Manziholet discovered Gersimi. She was scrambling to increase distance between herself and the bloodbath. The hybrid was still busy dealing with all the other mortals in its vicinity, and before it could register her as the next viable target, the Seraphist host initiated their attacks.


    Due to the difference between the hybrid¡¯s height and their Armaments'' reach, they had decided to focus on the easiest targets ¨C its legs, which Deathspine Lash reached first.


    Chiorou¡¯s vertebrae whip wrapped around its left leg while the bone spurs along the weapon dug into its bronze armor. They could only prick through the thickness, however, and the spear side quickly thrusted at her. She had to unmanifest her weapon to rush away. The force behind the strike, coupled with its mass and momentum, would have put her into a non-revivable death.


    Some surviving Fireguards let loose their bolts, but if the Miracle had failed to do much damage, then those only served to tickle the hybrid and, worse, remove the supply of breathable air in the chamber. Raka yelled out that fact to them in his next command. They were too agitated to care. They knew their fate had been sealed, but even desperate rats would fight back with everything they could muster.


    ¡°We need to throw our Armaments. We can¡¯t engage it in melee,¡± Raka told Mirish.


    ¡°It¡¯ll incur backlash,¡± the independent pointed out.


    ¡°Better than dying. Unless you happen to have a better idea¡­¡±


    He nodded back and shifted his grip on the Aquastream Spire. Raka did the same with the Pyrolance Candlestick. They readied their stance and hurled both through the air into the colossus¡¯s central mass. The Ocean Armament pierced through the sword side¡¯s right shoulder, while the Candle Armament was deflected away by a twirling from a spear.


    They then disappeared as the Raka and Mirish dropped to their knees in pain. The Defiant Path¡¯s invention was not exactly perfect. In order to function, most Armaments must receive a continuous flow of energy potential from the Circuit, and the link between them had limits. Metaphorically and metaphysically, once stretched over a long distance, the link would snap and rebound back at both ends. The Circuit would then face the brunt of it to diminish the effect on the seraph and the ArchSoul, but even then it was a searing agony.


    As the two struggled to stay conscious (Raka¡¯s Miracle could not heal that deep), the wound on the colossus¡¯s shoulder began to fill with writhing plant matter. Fortunately, the bronze armor still bore a noticeable breach.


    The Seraphists appeared to have climbed several rungs on its threat hierarchy. Leaving the last of mortals alone, the colossus stormed toward them, each step it took sending tremors through the floor.


    ¡°Any plan, Vixtrian Paragon?¡± Chiorou said.


    ¡°I must ask you the same, Archivist.¡± Wispstrike Cutter had appeared on Manziholet¡¯s hand while the aeon Rapier had been unsheathed. He knew both blades were capable of slicing all that bronze, if only they could reach it. The colossus¡¯s flurry of arsenal would make no attempt to do so come without a steep price. Fighting around or under it would be impossible, which was why¡­


    ¡°I want you three to distract it,¡± he said and ran to the wall.


    ¡°What?¡± Chiorou called out, before she narrowly stepped aside from a downward slam from a hammer followed by a thrust from a sword, then swiped her whip wide to clear distance.


    Another throw went over her head from Raka. This time, the Pyrolance Candlestick embedded itself into the sword side¡¯s left elbow while its arm was coming down for a slash. The heat and force behind the strike made it stop and spin back.


    Mirish dragged the Bastion, face now covered in sweat and teeth gritted, further away while Chiorou screened the subsequent attacks with her whip. Between the openings, she managed to hit its legs a couple times, scratching away metal, but the armor still proved to be quite stubborn. Then, whether it was a stroke of luck or a stroke of brilliance, the Deathspine Lash connected with a spearhead and severed it clean off.


    Unfortunately, it was during a pincer attack. Even with one spear disabled, another of the same side was being driven toward her in a slash, while two swords travelled from the opposite direction.


    She bent under the first sword to dodge it as Mirish, who had recovered, came over and deflected the spear up with his Aquastream Spire in sledgehammer state. Unfortunately, a moment of miscalculation had Chiorou cut by the second sword.


    She fell down in a torrent of blood. Looking up, she met Manziholet¡¯s eyes.

 18. Colossus (II)

    While his three companions were pouring their (quite literal) blood, sweat, and tears into dealing with the Quorathene colossus, Manziholet took the more scenic route. He climbed up the wall.


    He had chosen a rather robust vine, not only to bear his weight but also a flamethrower tank with that he had borrowed from a half-breathing Fireguard, as well as a cocked crossbow with cloth tied around the body to keep the bolt from falling out.


    It was a long way over as he hauled himself upward with hands gripping the vine while his legs braced against the wall. Fortunately, his Seraphist physiology ensured that neither limbs entertained the treacherous notion of quitting, not that the alternatives were any less attractive.


    The colossus was no doubt having him in its field of view with its triple heads, and it would certainly make short work of him if given the chance. For now, its focus remained solely on finishing off his companions, which it was doing a fine job of. When Manziholet was a few meters away from the vaulted ceiling, he observed the colossus cut Chiorou at the middle of her thighs.


    It was not a clean slice like from a human blade of refined steel. All the weight of bronze in the great sword, driven by the hybrid¡¯s monstrous strength, brutally mangled flesh and bone alike. Her eyes were wide open from shock as her body fell away from the legs. The elaborate blue robe she wore, once flowing with grace, now clung to her as blood stained it while the lower fabric was torn in pieces.


    With that much blood spluttering from her wounds, the likelihood of her staying consciousness was dwindling fast, but he trusted the Archivist to know what not to do in the situation: never yield to the rising sleepiness, because if she did, she would never wake up. She only needed to wait long enough for Raka to arrive in time with his <<Waxen Nectar>>, which he did not.


    The Archivist looked as if he had just stumbled out of a Chainbreakers¡¯ interrogation room. Before he could reach Chiorou, the colossus stomped down with its foot, converting the female Seraphist into a splatter of red that exploded outward in all directions. Motes of iridescent light bursted out and disappeared as her remaining vaepor left the Circuit. She never had the chance to even scream.


    Manziholet frowned at the sight, before turning back to the task at hand and resuming his ascent. There was no point in mourning her death. Every single member of the host was aware of the risk when exploring the Ruin without the government¡¯s support, though he could not help but lament the fact that her Circuit, seraph, and all the precious Genesis Shards invested in her had been dispersed into the fabric of reality upon her brain¡¯s destruction.


    Raka and Mirish, who were positioning nearby, might manage to absorb some of the dissipating vaepor but that was far less efficient than using Shards directly. The rest would be lost forever, as would the draeg bound within her ArchSoul. It was needlessly wasteful.


    At least, the two instances of backlash had still left Raka¡¯s Circuit functional to summon his Armament one more time and joined Mirish. The independent was losing ground, passively fending off and evading the colossus¡¯s relentless attacks. The reinforcement from Raka alleviated the pressure, but the teamwork only added in a little more wiggle room. That was alright. They only needed to wait long enough for Manziholet to arrive at the very top, which he, of course, did.


    By now, the colossus had fully dedicated one of its heads to the task of watching Manziholet, seemingly intelligent enough to realize the monkey was preparing to become a big nuisance, though watching him was all it was doing. He had counted on the fact that he had yet to display his offensive capability, therefore likely to rank lower on its threat hierarchy. And when he was already so high above the floor, it would not be able to reach up and attack him without exposing vulnerabilities to other Seraphists.


    Observing the struggle below, with the advantage leaning sharply toward the Quorathene hybrid, Manziholet entertained the idea of letting one or two of his companions die first before acting. That would reduce the troubles later with keeping Gersimi alive and he might even keep the grand prize for himself. As usual, the idea was suggested by his inner psychopath. It was promptly outvoted by more rational voices.


    With one hand securely gripping the vine, Manziholet used the other to unstrap the tank of incendiary liquid from his back. He worked out a calculation in his head, swung the tank, and released. As it hurtled downward in a tight arc, he quickly removed the crossbow on his belt, tore away the cloth with his teeth, then pulled the trigger.


    The Fireguards always boasted that operating their complex gears demanded more brains than brawn, hence the exorbitant fees, but Manziholet found them to be no more challenging than the puzzles his engineering instructor made him solve for homework. Before the climb, he had already aged the outer casing with his Rapier and tinkered a little bit with the valves so that streams of the liquid already seeped out and coated the tank. Instead of detonating harmlessly on a durable casing, the crossbow bolt sparked a chain reaction that consumed the entire content.


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    A bright fireball erupted high over the hybrid before embers of burning liquid rained down while a cloud of black smoke billowed outward. If he had allowed it to explode closer, the resulting damage would have been more apparent, but he could not risk the colossus swatting the tank away with its weapons. The heat only annoyed it anyway, as the Fireguards had tried. No, like the Seraphists below, the entire spectacle was another distraction.


    Manziholet leaped off the wall. Gravity became his ally in the descent, pulling him past the screen of black smoke and toward the oblivious Quorathene colossus. Its eyes recognized the attack too late, and so did the attempt to bring its entire arsenal up to catch him.


    The Vixtrian Rapier plunged through the grated helmet and pierced into the head of the hammer side. He gripped the weapon¡¯s black ivory grip with both hands as the aeon blade dragged a line from one of its eyes to the mouth, all while absorbing his immense momentum. The muscle of his arms strained to break the fall before his legs made contact with the torso¡¯s neck.


    The colossus roared as its two other heads swiveled to the wound, but by then, Manziholet was already airborne once more, springing from his landing point to another position. The Vixtrian Rapier was left nailed in place so that its regenerative mechanism was exerted to compete with the poison that was aeon¡¯s time acceleration.


    He landed next to the head on its sword side. His left hand clutched a bar on its grated helmet as a jet of mist bursted out on his other hand. The Wispstrike Cutter manifested into physical existence. He crashed the gleaming edge into the bronze, cutting through it and into the vulnerable botanical components behind. Dark green sap dirtied his arm and clothes.


    All of its eyes and its mouth suffered disfiguration as the head shook side to side while its upper body spun to dislodge him, but Manizholet stubbornly clung on. When the colossus brought its weapons over to wipe him away, he jumped to the next head.


    Below him, with the pressure on them disappeared, the other Seraphists finally had room to focus on their planned targets. They ignored the fight above their heads as both sneaked to the colossus¡¯s legs and put their Armaments to work. One after another, Pyrolance Candlestick and Aquastream Spire grinded away the thick armor on its left leg, which Chiorou¡¯s bone spurs had once weakened.


    Sooner than expected, the battered leg gave in to all the weight of its upper body. The colossus lurched to one side and crashed heavily into the stone floor, sending tremors through the chamber. Along the way, its heads were also caught in the vines on the wall, tugging them down and covering its vision.


    From the dust, Manziholet stepped out and strode over to the rest of the host. ¡°It¡¯s all yours,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m sure Chiorou would want you to be the ones who deliver the final blow to her killer.¡±


    [Seraph: 38¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 64¦Ô of draeg]


    With his vaepor running low, discretion was a better part of valour anyway. It would be better to conserve strength for potential fights in the near future, though the two men had no need to know that. Raka, for his part, seemed almost grateful.


    They cut off the colossus¡¯s hands to disarm it then assaulted its shoulders. Thrashing and growing out organic limbs, it attempted to mount a resistance, which was all in vain now the height advantage had gone. The Quorathene regenerative mechanism was also greatly taxed as the two Armaments freely had their way with the hybrid, not to mention Manziholet¡¯s aeon Rapier still lodging inside one of its heads, until the repairing was no longer sustainable.


    Desperately, the hybrid began cannibalizing its own body, with non-critical organs withering away to seemingly funnel mass and energy toward preserving its most essential systems. That only brought death closer.


    Standing over one of the torsos, with an angry yell, Mirish stabbed his spear down. Its chest bulged up and erupted as he unravelled the ocean water inside. The entire colossus then shuddered, its three heads spasming. If it had any mouths left, it would probably roar in anguish. Instead, it succumbed to stillness without so much as a whimper.


    Upon the hybrid¡¯s death, the floor at the gateway and the chamber beyond that sank back, once more revealing a passage that led up to the surface. That was one last problem solved. Amid the cheers of the surviving mortals, the two Seraphists slumped against the wreckage while Manziholet cut through its head to retrieve his Rapier.


    ¡°After this,¡± the independent said, ¡°I¡¯m begging my mother to raise me to the next Sphere and cutting off all service to you people. I¡¯ve had enough of nonsense like this.¡± He tapped on the armor of his left arm, which had been deformed after directly taking a hammer blow. His blood vessels had also burst, but the bleeding had stopped.


    ¡°You do you, Mirish.¡± Raka grunted. The agony from the backlash seemed to linger, but he still had enough in him to offer a drop of nectar; later, of course, after the damaged armor had been removed. Leaving it on while the Miracle worked was akin to patching a roof while the storm still raged. Then with a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet. Manziholet was beckoning them to come. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with,¡± the Archivist said. It appeared that they had found the grand prize.

 19. The Talk

    Manziholet found his Vixtrian Rapier among a mass of gray and withered plant matter. The dead substance, even with the accelerated passage of time, still held onto the blade as he took it out. He flicked his wrist, spattering them on the floor. At the same time, the atmosphere inside took on a new flavor.


    Bitterness was accumulating at the back of his mouth as the breeze caressed his skin once more. Wherever it originated, the source could not be far. During the climb, he had carefully surveyed the great chamber in its entirety. The walls were smooth and the ceiling was vaulted, with no cracks, vents, or visible openings for an external draft to seep through. Apart from the gateway and tiny patches of dirt where the vines spawned from, the structure was utterly sealed.


    Logically, this meant the source of the breeze had to be internal. Something within the chamber itself was generating the airflows, which had been fully cut off once the fruit on the ceiling splitted then returned after the demise of the hybrid. He let his sensitive senses do their job, scrutinizing and mapping back to the breeze. They led him to the colossus¡¯s waist, where laid the rotating component that had allowed its upper body to move. Next to it was a puncture wound with a melted rim, likely from Raka¡¯s Armament, from which air was hissing out.


    He called the other Seraphists over, before widening the wound open with his Rapier. As the metal was corroded and wrapped, the air rushed out faster while the hissing noise it made grew louder.


    ¡°What do you think it is?¡± Mirish asked.


    Manziholet returned the Rapier to its sheath. ¡°I believe we are standing inside the so-called ¡®vault¡¯ that Raka mentioned.¡± He knocked on the dead colossus. ¡°And, in a sense, this is the promised treasure chest. Why would the Quorathene need primitive deterrences against thieves like a padlock when the chest itself came with six oversized weapons? As such, our next job is what no dead thieves can do: pry open the lid.¡±


    ¡°I will organize the thralls,¡± Raka said. ¡°Their tools work slower than our Armaments, but at least they are less likely to accidentally damage the thing inside.¡±


    Manziholet nodded. ¡°Take your time, then. There''s probably no hybrid left in the Ruin.¡± He took a closer look at the Seraphist, whose Circuit had probably been damaged from backlashes. His skin was ashen and damp with cold sweat. It reminded Manziholet of a certain person. ¡°About the priest¡­¡±


    Raka let out a tired sigh. ¡°Novice, I hope you made that decision using the head designed for logic instead of the head that has no neck under it. In fact, I would suspect you have brain damage otherwise.¡±


    ¡°You hope for the right thing. She merely is of practical use for me in the future.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll forgive that specific insubordination of yours, but my last warning still stands. And remember, our government is on the brink of war with not only the Church but also its entire religion. When the time comes, every single faithmonger in this galaxy will become an enemy combatant, of whom she is one. Carve that deep into your mind.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t disappoint you,¡± Manziholet replied.


    ¡°You said the same words when we first arrived at Vonna, novice,¡± Mirish pointed out with a chuckle. ¡°Look at how much headache you have caused us so far, although I must admit¡± ¨Che gazed at the wreckage¨C ¡°you¡¯re quite awesome.¡±


    After making sure that the previous death traps were no longer operational (by hitting and stomping the floor very hard) and putting the colossus¡¯s great hammers on it as braces in case they still were, the mortals were called into the great chamber to render aid.


    In addition to treading as lightly as possible to preserve the artifact hidden deep within, the thralls must also systematically dismantle the colossus, extracting each organ and component for inspection. Soon, their bodies were slick with sap and covered in dead plant matter, building up an unpleasant second layer on their skin. Their hands were scraped raw by the sharp edges of twisted bronze while their backs groaned in protest to haul the metal away.


    It was a dirty and grueling task, but Raka had demanded it of them. The Seraphist was the one who could both provide and withhold their very survival, and to defy him was to challenge the fabric of reality itself. As far as they were concerned, that made him a cousin of God.


    Meanwhile, the Fireguards¡¯ medical attachment made their rounds through the surviving mortals and tended to those wounded. The task was not as demanding since most hardly have any parts left to be fixed. Some were barely alive, capable of communicating only through painful grunts. The physicians asked the Bastion to provide his Miracle, to which Raka happily agreed, on the condition that they paid the standard amounts of forisma. None did.


    The corpses as well as any other unrecognizable human parts littered on the floor were swept away into buckets and carts. They would be transported outside then later burned or ceremoniously buried if deemed suitable. That way, the great chamber was cleansed of its gruesome leftovers and provided space for proper science.


    Chiorou¡¯s remains were handled differently. After Mirish and Raka had collected some flattened mementos amid the bloodstained floor, they said their goodbyes. Rude as a bear with a hangover as she was (Mirish¡¯s words), the Seraphist had been an integral part of their host. She would be remembered most fondly. Logs of woods had been piled up on her spot and doused with the incendiary liquid. Raka, seemingly ignoring the fact that his damaged Circuit might be leaking vaepor, manifested his Armament one more time and ignited the funeral pyre with its purple flame.


    Meanwhile, in the privacy of a checkpoint chamber far from the enhanced ears of the two Seraphists, Gersimi was being patched up by a physician. A large burn on her left foot was being bandaged off when Manziholet arrived. The rest of her injuries were limited to trivial scratches, probably because the girl was religious and Invincible Light had divinely intervened to protect His follower.


    ¡°¨Cor maybe it¡¯s just a case of good fortune,¡± Manziholet said. ¡°Trust me. Your God did not whisper in my ears and compel me to rescue you.¡±


    Gersimi looked at him warily, like a wild animal watching a hunter moving closer.


    ¡°Is there anything else?¡± he asked the physician, who was packing her kits in a very deliberate manner.


    The woman turned to him and bowed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare to raise the issue, sir, but since she does not fall under the terms of my contract, may I¡­¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    He took her hand, which flinched, before putting on the palm a gold coin. ¡°All yours.¡±


    Her eyes widened. ¡°Thank you, sir, for the generosity,¡± she said gratefully. At the current exchange rate, it was worth around five thousand forisma. While the gold content would not fetch as much if melted down, the dissonant material mixed inside guaranteed it was.


    On the obverse, the coin bore the moving portrait of the Imperator, which blinked at intervals to remind his subjects of his omnipresence, while the reserve featured his seat of power, the rotating giga-architecture of TerraSol with Sol constantly shifting to reveal Terra.


    The only way the coin could be faked was if the forgers had managed to seize control of the Mint where the dissonant material was extracted, but before that they must somehow outwit and overpower the Fourth Sphere Seraphists who garrisoned there ¨C a task so absurdly difficult that any individuals capable of it would be much better off using their talents to make an honest living.


    Five thousand forisma was equal to a fourth of what she would make after the expedition ended. Manziholet had chosen to give her that much because she had the nerve. Many mortals, even back when he was just a kid, could barely manage eye contact once they learned of his status, let alone asking for fair payment. Also, he only carried with him that denomination, and it would be quite embarrassing asking the poor woman for small changes. She suffered long enough, being born without an ArchSoul.


    After expressing her gratitude once more, the physician went away, leaving Manziholet alone with Gersimi in the chamber. Occasionally, some people passed through, but they left quickly when they met his gaze. Meanwhile, she was still giving him the guarded look. ¡°You have a question,¡± he said. ¡°Ask it.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because then I can bring you back to TerraSol and put your faith to work. Not for the Logic Committee of Clerical Privilege, obviously. I wouldn¡¯t trust them to light a candle without burning down the building, and you will definitely stubbornly starve yourself to death before they realize you work for them.¡±


    ¡°I will do so regardless of whatever you force me to do.¡±


    He grinned at her. ¡°Admirable, but you won¡¯t change how the rest of the world works as a corpse. Also, unless you happened to have millions of followers, which you never would without my help, your hunger strike would be like any other silent protests. Too silent to matter.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°Your help.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my help, to build your own Church with millions of followers who follow whatever beliefs you subscribed to. No Patriarchs or Viceroys or priests can declare you a heretic, because you¡¯ll be the one who decides its very definition. I¡¯ll even get you the original Holy Scripture for you to preach the true words of Invincible Light, who might be impressed enough to appear to you in a dream and declare you His next representative.¡±


    He could see, briefly on her face, a flash of temptation that was then masked behind a thicker layer of suspicion. For a person who had been hardened during her struggle against both planetary and religious authority, she must know better than to trust the words of a handsome stranger.


    ¡°Going by what you¡¯ve said, they may think you actually believe in God,¡± she replied. ¡°Do you, Seraphist, or you are a doubter like your friends?¡±


    ¡°Frankly, I couldn¡¯t care less if He was an Outsider or outright a figure of imagination. I¡¯ve already suffered under a scary and judgmental goddess at home. Granted, she is the creator of my body and therefore deserves utmost respect, but I¡¯m too exhausted to accept another omnipresent being like her into my life. Given my experience with the woman,¡± he said with a chuckle, ¡°I can sympathize with you people though.¡±


    Gersimi widened her eyes slightly, as if she had witnessed a blasphemy. ¡°You compared my God to your mother.¡±


    ¡°I did, albeit in a very reserved manner. Wait until you actually meet her. You might consider renouncing your faith and pledging eternal loyalty to my mother.¡±


    That had offended Gersimi, judging from her pursed lips and furrowed brows. Religious people rarely had a sense of humor even though, based on existing theological and historical evidence, their God did. Manziholet considered switching to a darker negotiation tactic like one used by Chiorou and Raka when they forced her congregation to scout the Ruin, but it would make him look like a bully and a villain. Those two aspects were strictly reserved only for his enemies.


    ¡°Look,¡± Manziholet said before the priest could begin giving him a sermon, ¡°I¡¯m helping you not based on whether I believe or not, but because what you are born with and what you have managed to achieve with it so far, despite the traditions¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a girl,¡± she cut in, ¡°and you want to be the gallant hero. Is that why?¡±


    ¡°A coincidence, I assure you. I¡¯ve always been intrigued by people who are willing to defy the established rules and have proved themselves to be competent at it. There¡¯s something compelling about a good upheaval, a stirring of the waters, in my opinion. Therefore, you can trust that I will invest greatly in your cause without any ulterior motives.¡±


    She looked into his eyes, as if searching for the truth. ¡°The offer is very tempting, but sorry. Please, set me free or kill me if you must. We cannot work together. I will not cooperate.¡±


    ¡°In that case, it¡¯s my turn to ask,¡± Manziholet said. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I must maintain integrity in face of all temptations, as Invincible Light has taught.¡±


    That made him laugh lightly. ¡°A good excuse, though not quite good enough. Try better. I¡¯m not religious, after all.¡±


    ¡°Then, as my aunt and uncle, who lured me in when my parents died and treated me as their little slave, had taught, the cost of every free meal is an immense regret later. No offense, but I find it impossible to believe that you will not take advantage of my faith or my followers for your own interest. Moreover, I am merely of practical use for you in the future ¨C I overheard you telling that to your leader. Am I wrong?¡±


    ¡°You aren¡¯t. Alright, I must admit, I did lie to you. I do have an ulterior motive.¡±


    Gersimi nodded, beckoning him to continue. Her eyes, green as emerald, met his own without fear. Again, not many mortals had the nerve. He wondered if her new and improved body had added to her courage. Recalling her attitude long before that, the answer was no. She had always possessed what it took to pursue her path.


    ¡°My father and brother live in Zaicaster,¡± Manziholet said. ¡°Once the war between the government and the Church breaks out, which it undoubtedly will, all three of us may meet on the battlefield as enemies. Personally, I would rather it never did at all. Or at least, when the time comes, we don¡¯t have to kill each other. My mother has prepared many contingencies for the worst case scenario, and so should I. You will be one. Your cause may or may not work out, but there¡¯s a chance it will help us.¡±


    She remained silent as a group of thralls pushed carts filled with bronze parts through their chamber. The breeze was also rising in intensity. He should come back to the great chamber soon. ¡°Is that all?¡± she asked, when they were alone again.


    ¡°Also, I¡¯m not exactly myself recently, on account of having been emotionally exploited by a classmate. It¡¯s a long story. Anyway, observing you was one of the main factors that helped me realize the problem. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s another ulterior motive of yours?¡±


    ¡°No, merely a sincere declaration of my gratitude.¡±


    Gersimi nodded, before folding her hands as she drifted into deep contemplation. Presumably, the priest was seeking guidance from Invincible Light. At the same time, a menial arrived and gave him news from Raka. The grand prize had been revealed. Manziholet acknowledged the man, but otherwise remained in the same spot.


    She looked up at him. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to go?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for your answer. Is it a yes?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a no, at least for now.¡±


    Manziholet grinned. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes. Now, you can come with me and gaze upon an invaluable Quorathene artifact with wonder. You almost died for it after all, and I promise the other Seraphist won¡¯t bite.¡±

 20. The Heart

    Gersimi agreed, though there was a problem. One of her feet had just been tightly bandaged due to the burn, and walking without proper boots was going to be a painfully counterproductive process. Also, she might as well have been draped in cobwebs for all the protection her thin garment was providing. The cool breeze was making itself far too comfortable against her skin. Since the priest now had a reason to live¡­


    ¡°Right, I didn¡¯t notice,¡± Manziholet lied. He had noticed her vulnerable state the whole conversation, but pointing out the discomfort would have removed a soft pressure that he could leverage to his advantage. ¡°It¡¯s no problem at all. Give her your boots and robe,¡± he told the messenger.


    The man widened his eyes in surprise, before sitting down to take off his boots. He did it with the haste of someone who had witnessed the harsh consequence of disobeying the orders given. For those who were serving under Sui-Jen Ring¡¯s residents, it might even be a life-or-death scenario.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Gersimi descended on him and halted his hands. She then shot a disapproving look at Manziholet. ¡°I would rather go naked than robbing another person of their possession.¡±


    ¡°Of course you would, which is why I¡¯m going to pay him.¡± Manziholet held a gold coin between his fingers.


    ¡°Are you going to if I¡¯m not here?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Unlike many of our species, I¡¯m a law-abiding citizen of the Imperium.¡±


    It was easy to make such a statement, especially when one possessed an ArchSoul that automatically granted them immunity to half of the punishable crimes. To gain the title of Vixtrian Paragon, he had also spent a considerable amount of time studying the law. Perhaps he was of the rare few who did, because had the Logic Committees or the Assembly been even half as knowledgeable as they pretend, the law would not have more loopholes than a poorly made fishing net, though, on reflection, they had no need to mend it in the first place so long as the fish kept getting caught. If a hard season came, there was the option of calling in Knight Purifiers and evaporating the whole body of water.


    After the apparel procurement in exchange for fiduciary value (the exact phrases had been used into an official legal document), the menial was allowed to go up to the surface to get new clothes, which he seemed to be as grateful for as the money in his hand. He had not set foot outside the tunnel for days, the menial explained. Understandably, wallowing in the bitter breeze for that long must be tortuous.


    The leather boots fitted Gersimi just right, but the robe hung loosely, too large for her frame. Its plain fabric and uninspired cut were clearly put together for necessity rather than luxury, with faded decorative patterns around the neck. This type of garment was probably churned out in some nameless Promethean factory years ago.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know clothes could feel this good.¡± Gersimi ran her fingers along the inner lining of its sleeve, before pulling the robe tighter around herself.


    ¡°You have never left Marwind, have you?¡± Manziholet asked. He was sitting across her, as they travelled on a cart bound to the great chamber, pulled by a pair of draught horses. Their driver, a stocky thrall with calloused hands and a sunken face, kept his eyes staring straight ahead as if the Seraphist¡¯s attention would kill.


    She paused then composed herself. ¡°It¡¯s too obvious, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯re right. My whole life, I¡¯ve been guiding the faithful here.¡±


    Marwind was a prosperous planet (even more developed than Juno, where he was born) but it was still a backward place compared to the poorest District on TerraSol. As someone who had lived at the near bottom of society here, Gersimi must have made do with far worse circumstances, including the matter of her education, which raised some questions.


    ¡°Yet you don¡¯t cower before Seraphists,¡± he pointed out, ¡°even though our idealized form has been designed to inspire reverence in the common rabble, especially for those who see us for the first time. In fact, you seemed remarkably composed when I offered you my help, not once but twice. People would give their arms and legs for the chance, yet you had the nerve to weigh costs and benefits.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°Because, in my heart, there is none capable of triumphing over Invincible Light. My faith is resolute, and therefore so must my mind.¡±


    ¡°You are doing it again.¡± Manziholet lightly shook his head.


    ¡°What am I doing?¡±


    ¡°Masking yourself behind lines of theological rhetoric. Sometimes you even quote directly from the Holy Scripture, such as when Raka first threatened you: the darker the path, the brighter God shines. A very convenient display of piety, but I really hope you cut that out when we get to TerraSol. Some will use it as an excuse to capture and torture you until you admit you¡¯re a spy for the Church. Remember the scenario that Chiorou had made you imagine? Multiply the horror by five.¡±


    She sat in silence for a few minutes, her face devoid of apparent emotions, before responding. ¡°I will keep your advice in mind.¡±


    Manziholet looked at her with amusement. ¡°You haven¡¯t answered my question.¡±


    ¡°It would involve my parents, who have left this world.¡± She sighed softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Until I can actually trust you, I won¡¯t divulge anything, but I am confident that it would make no difference whatsoever to our arrangement.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°As a fellow human being, I understand. See how much simpler it is when you speak plainly?¡±


    ¡°This humble mortal aims to please, Seraphist. I didn¡¯t know you read the Holy Scripture though. I wouldn¡¯t expect someone so seemingly indifferent to matters of faith like you to recognize the quotes.¡±


    ¡°Know your enemy,¡± he replied.


    They arrived one more time at the great chamber. The carnage had been cleared away, while tables and chairs had been brought in. Their surfaces were laden with various tools and instruments for Raka¡¯s experiments. Lanterns had also been set up on wooden posts to complement the light from the glowing fruits along the walls.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Organized neatly to the left of the gateway were the colossus¡¯s two most intact torsos, its arsenal of great weapons, one of its legs, and all three heads. Thralls were scurrying around to wrap them in pieces of cloth, with carts waiting to transport them back out of the Ruin. What was once an awe-inspiring creature of war would likely end up on museum shelves or being used as teaching aid for Archivist recruits. For the ultimate humiliation, the pieces might spend eternity collecting dust in a wealthy family¡¯s basement after all the novelty had been lost. The rest of its remnants would give back to the world in more meaningful ways such as by being dismantled piece by piece to unravel the secrets of its inner workings, which Raka was doing at the moment.


    Strewn across the stone floor beside the tables were an assortment of bronze items, ranging from battered armor platings to an array of different gears. They had all been cleaned of dead plant matter and gleamed under the light despite the odd scratches, punctures, or scorch marks. From them, the Archivist was sketching a diagram of the colossus¡¯s rotating component, an exhausting task that also involved complex maths and engineering. Even then, his expression was one of unbridled enthusiasm.


    ¡°This must be a discovery equal to the Cipher Engine, novice,¡± Raka said as he led both of them to the grand prize. He paid Gersimi no attention as though she had become a decorative accessory. It was for the best, and her presence paled in comparison to what they had found anyway. The item had been put on a pedestal across from the gateway, while the Seraphist of Ocean standing watch nearby.


    It was an orb, with height reaching that of an average human. Its shell was as black and rough as charcoal. Fissures of verdant green spread across it in a twisted pattern. Encircling the orb was a solid band of bronze with unknown hieroglyphs etched on it. The band¡¯s inner edges had also been corroded and weathered away. All together, the orb¡¯s appearance was not that impressive. He had seen ones with more gleam and grandeur on his way from home to the Academy. No, what made it a discovery equal to the Cipher Engine laid in what it could do.


    At intervals (or for every one point four seconds, as Raka had so meticulously measured), the verdant fissures flared up. Their radiance pulsed in perfect synchrony with each other, as though the orb was mimicking the steady rhythm of a beating heart. With each flare, they exhaled into the surrounding a rippling wave of air, the smell and taste of which were all too familiar. This was the source of the annoying breeze and in all likelihood the only one.


    Even a particularly obtuse person would realize that the orb was defying both natural laws and scientific principles. The sheer volume of air that was released each time could never be compressed within its charcoal-like shell, not to mention it had been going on almost constantly since the Ruin¡¯s reopening.


    His fingers brushing against the orb¡¯s surface, Manziholet felt an odd sensation of warmth at his touch. ¡°You found it inside the hybrid¡¯s waist?¡± he asked and stepped back from the strong airflow. Behind him, Gersimi raised a hand to shield her eyes as hair strands whipped around her face.


    ¡°Correct,¡± Raka replied. ¡°The orb was slotted into the rotating component. My current hypothesis is that the hybrid harnessed the orb to spin its upper body, modulate centrifugal force, and likely channel energy into its arms. It would not have been so flexible otherwise.¡±


    ¡°But the breeze did stop when the hybrid woke up. I don¡¯t see any switch on the orb, and the hybrid didn¡¯t vent any excess air during the fight.¡±


    Raka gestured back to the diagram he had been drawing. ¡°That¡¯s what I am trying to figure out. The metal elements are largely intact, and they¡¯re well within the scope of our current understanding. I can see the principles behind them, hence my current hypothesis. The Quorathene had definitely invented a way to control the orb though, and it would probably involve the botanical elements. Unfortunately, there are none left.¡±


    Manziholet considered the hieroglyphs on the band around the orb. The answer must also be tangled up in whatever those lines and curves meant. However, if generations of smart people like the Civil Service¡¯s Archivists, armed with every tool imaginable including the honored technique of squinting very hard, had barely managed to understand the ancient language, then it was safe to say he was unlikely to crack it anytime soon.


    Despite their ability to craft bronze-flora hybrids capable of standing the test of time, the Quorethene had been remarkably lax with preserving the helpfulness of their hieroglyphs. It was a huge oversight, because they had inadvertently allowed silly monkeys to rename their legacy. ¡°What do we call it?¡± Manziholet asked.


    ¡°The Orb of Eternal Breeze,¡± Mirish declared. He had discarded his damaged armor and donned on a fresh set. Its design was slightly different from the last and painted entirely in sleek black, but it still stubbornly adhered to the independent¡¯s principle of complete defensive coverage.


    Raka sighed. ¡°As we¡¯ve discussed, absolutely not. We¡¯ll be forever linked to whatever the orb is called. We cannot afford to settle for something so trivial. This demands thought and deliberation.¡±


    ¡°Incidentally,¡± Manziholet said, ¡°the Orb of Eternal Breeze is also the name of that famous flowerhouse in Nuwa District.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so that¡¯s where I got the idea. No wonder it felt familiar. How about¨C¡±


    After considering a few more suggestions, they settled on the name of Pneuma Heart, a phrase which would certainly be analyzed, romanticized, and mythologized for generations without somehow making the three Seraphists who had conceived it feel embarrassed.


    Then came the next phase of the expedition. Raka would stay behind to further study the orb. He could not risk moving it out of the Ruin and back to TerraSol only for it to spontaneously combust. Mirish would also remain to provide an additional eyes on things, as would the Fireguard contingent.


    The Ruin of Vonna being cleared of its automatic defense system did not mean all threats had been eliminated. If anything, with all the hard work having been done by the host, the place had become ever more inviting for opportunistic independent Seraphists or other enemies of the Imperium. It was probably paranoia speaking (laying hands on government employees, even when they were doing missions unsanctioned by said government, would be a declaration of total war against the greatest arsenal of weaponized Miracles in the galaxy) but better to check twice rather than regret once.


    ¡°And this is where we must say goodbye. It¡¯s time you came home to your mother and actually trained for the Proving, novice.¡± Raka handed him a letter. ¡°Have this delivered to Osiri for me. She would know what to do.¡±


    ¡°How considerate of you,¡± Manziholet said as he put away the letter. ¡°All my hard work, and I get to leave with nothing but a bit of paper. Truly, I¡¯m overwhelmed with your generosity.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the least I could do, novice, for your immense and absolutely irreplaceable contribution. Also, please do not fumble your Studium¡¯s Proving. Chiorou wagered fifteen million on you getting into the top three. I¡¯d really prefer not to have to knock on her family¡¯s door to collect debt.¡±


    ¡°Same reluctance here,¡± Mirish raised his hand, ¡°though double the amount.¡±


    Manziholet did not know that. Despite her less than desirable etiquette, she actually believed in him. He smiled. ¡°Strange, I would think that you two know better than to wager against certainty.¡±


    ¡°We had our doubts at first,¡± Raka replied, ¡°but then we realized your unique variety of bravery.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°As Justinian the Great had said, fortune favours the brave.¡±


    ¡°As do the graveyards, Manziholet. They commonly have special areas reserved for heroes when Fortune loses interest in them.¡±

 21. The Offer

    During the descent into the long and windy tunnel, the expedition had been significantly slowed down by hybrids and traps. What could easily be a two hours ride had turned into two miserable days underground while the obnoxious breeze persistently irritated them. Such was why the ascent back towards the surface was as liberating as suddenly discovering someone else had paid off all your debts while you were not looking.


    Of course, Manziholet had yet to experience the latter verse of that simile in his entire life, but Gersimi did. ¡°It was a member of my congregation¡¯s story, actually. A fairy tale ending, Hnoss had always said.¡±


    ¡°I think I know who that is. Isn¡¯t she the big woman with blue eyes?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We passed the spot where she died three chambers ago.¡±


    The two of them were travelling side by side on the riding horses that Raka had prepared. The breed were less agile and nimble than the white-scaled draconic steeds Manziholet had used to back home, but they were serviceable enough. Their hooves struck steadily against the stone floor, the sound reverberating through the tunnel¡¯s walls as they put the breeze behind them. The path ahead was clear of traffic and debris, and no murder hybrid dropped down from the ceiling to waste their time.


    A handful of heavily laden carts were also supposed to trail behind them, but the weight of their cargo had long since slowed their progress. The mortals did not need his protection anyway, and arriving up sooner would not change the fact that they were all stranded on the island until further notice. Only Manziholet was allowed to leave the planet via the next sa-serpent as a trusted messenger.


    The letter to the Grand Archivist was tucked safely inside his jacket. He had been tempted to crack the seal and let his eyes dance over its secrets, then feign a mishap during transit later (an unfortunate tumble into a puddle or a stray ember from a passing lantern) so that she could not detect the tampering. It would not be worth the trouble, though, and he could guess its content and Osiri¡¯s subsequent moves anyway.


    With the immense value of the Ruin and its Pneuma Heart confirmed, she would realize that hiding them from the rest of the world any longer was akin to asking to have her skin flayed. The government might have indulged her penchant for using the Grand Archivist position for personal gains and it might even be blissfully unaware of the Ruin¡¯s existence for a few more years. However, left alone long enough and the government would get around to its duties eventually. In fact, once it found out the immensity of her ruse, having her skin flayed would be considered an act of leniency. The Seraphists it employed could be quite creative with punishment.


    What Osiri should do was to lean sharply on the government itself and petition it to fund a full-fledged research base on Vonna. All the wealth unearthed within the Ruin would be seized, her considerable investment in the expedition would be written off as a loss, and she would still face harsh scrutiny, if not outright condemnation, for allowing a Breaker Seraphist to die under her oversight, but at least it would stave off cruel consequences.


    As luck would have it, the Weng family might find themselves wealthier in the long run with the influx of Archivists and Imperial Hammers dispatched to Marwind to build the base, as well as their scribes, servants, and soldiers. This was typically followed by a massive stream of investments: paper mills, smithies, storage demiplane, grand palaces for the elite and housing for their retainers, defensive structures against both Miracles and mortals, schools, plumbing, and any other civilized conveniences that they had so accustomed to on TerraSol. They might even request the Guild of Caelivagantes to allocate more stops here, hence flooding this backward place with traders and luxury goods from distant planets. By the time the dust settled, the governor, Osiri¡¯s loyal relative, would reign over a more prosperous Marwind ¨C assuming, naturally, that all the people that mattered had been properly bribed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask,¡± Gersimi said. ¡°Must I absolutely go with you to TerraSol? It doesn¡¯t seem wise for me to walk in the most hostile environment in the galaxy for a priest. You can drop me off on a planet with as little Imperial and the Church¡¯s influence as possible, and I can rebuild my congregation without looking over my shoulders everyday.¡±


    ¡°Is that fear I¡¯m detecting?¡± Manziholet replied with a smirk.


    ¡°The word you should use is ¡®caution¡¯. And, unlike you, I am keenly aware of my mortality and what my captors will certainly inflict upon this body, now that your leader worked his Miracle on it. In the governor¡¯s prison, I had my lackluster appearance and my congregation to shield me from the worst. In your home, I will have none.¡±


    ¡°Which is a reason why you must go with me. I need you to see how much suffering the individuals of your social strata, your potential followers, are enduring. You may have experienced horrible things over the last few days, but those are a vacation compared to what many of them wake up to each morning. You must internalize their suffering so that when people like Chiorou come to you with demands, you won¡¯t compromise like the last time out of ¡®caution¡¯, knowing that their threats are the miniscule in face of reality.¡±


    She seemed to be amused by his words. ¡°You talk like an idealist.¡±


    He grinned back. ¡°Between us, you are the idealist. I¡¯m merely trying to convince you of the lessons that thousands of your kind have paid with their life over the course of history. Chains are not broken by those who tiptoe; that¡¯s one of them. Personally, I treat it as a study into how to effectively convert the downtrodden into followers by harnessing their desire for societal change. Also, you¡¯re wrong about one more thing.¡±


    ¡°What would that be?¡±


    ¡°In my home, you will have me, a Seraphist, as protection. Just don¡¯t start proclaiming loudly the authority of your God or quoting Scripture in public and do as I tell, and everyone will think twice before touching you. That practically makes you immortal.¡±


    Manziholet ended his words with a long sigh, before bringing his horse to a halt and dismounting. As far as he could see, there were only him and Gersimi inside this length of the tunnel. Frowning, Gersimi pulled the reins to steer her horse back behind him. ¡°Troubles?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Manziholet drew the Vixtrian Rapier out of its scabbard. ¡°Big ones.¡±


    It had occurred to him that they had not met any mortals going the opposite way for quite some time. There were supposed to be frequent resupply trips from the surface. He would know, being the rearguard who was responsible for managing them. With most of the thralls inside the Ruin occupied with transporting the trail of carts behind them, Raka also should have requested a rotation of fresh bodies back to the great chamber.


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    Manziholet gestured for Gersimi to dismount and stay quiet as he tried to listen. His ears picked up faint noises from the thralls and the horses mixed in the soft hum of the breeze. Those were from behind his back, however, whereas the tunnel in front of him was filled with silence with the next curve blocking any view of what laid further beyond.


    If enemies were approaching, at least his enhanced sense should be capturing the telltale sound of footsteps. Maybe it was all in his head. Even then, he decided to stop their ascent for a few minutes and waited, just in case his imagination was not being overly creative.


    As it turned out, what gave the enemy away first was neither sound nor sight in the physical world, but the disturbance at the metaphysical realm. Vaepor in seraphs and draeg in ArchSouls, despite being immaterial material, possessed mass that made the Circuit encasing them an undeniable presence capable of being registered by proper tools and senses. Manziholet felt the enemy Seraphist moving toward him and Gersimi, mere seconds before his Circuit sent a message to his vision through the Oculon.


    [Seraphist detected: Overwatch, Second Sphere, Cloud Domain.]


    Unfortunately, his Ribbas-pattern Circuit had been designed for minimizing vaepor conversion rather than maximizing surveillance range. The opposing Seraphist¡¯s Circuit likely matched or even exceeded his own in reach. Spotting the enemy meant that he had been spotted as well. Contact was imminent. There would be no running from this fight, but with only one Overwatch to face, the odds felt balanced despite the disparity in their Sphere or number of Miracles.


    Then, from behind the curve, the enemy slipped into sight ¨C correction, the enemies, two of them. The pair did not travel on foot or ride horses either, but stood atop a tide of blood as it washed over the floor and smoothly creeped forward. The Miracle belonged to neither an Overwatch ArchSoul nor a Cloud Domain.


    Only one group of people had managed to evade the detection capability of Circuits. Last time, they showed up unscheduled and made a grand declaration during his graduation ceremony, which put a stop to an otherwise fine day. The coming Daemoneer were doing the same annoying thing right now. Hopefully it was not a hobby, because no matter how great their ideology was, that was grounds for general extermination of their race.


    He looked at Gersimi, who was watching unblinkingly and intently at the display of power. What he should have done was to send her back to the other Seraphists at the first signs of the troubles. He should have followed her as well, if only he had not been so confident in his chance of victory. Perhaps, on reflection, he wanted her to behold his supremacy in action; he wanted to impress her as he had with Aezixia. It was a shame. Manziholet might emerge alive, but Gersimi would die here.


    By the grace of Invincible Light onto His favorite female priest (or just plain luck), the surging sanguine tide slowed then splashed down as the enemies trudged the remaining distance on foot. One of them extended both arms up with palms turned outward to show no weapon and signal for peace. Since the enemies, contrary to the definition of the noun, wished to converse, Manziholet put his weapon back as a gesture of good faith and walked up to meet them.


    The blood content spread out across the floor and flowed past Manziholet, bringing with it distinctive metallic smells before the breeze ventilated them away. The horses, ever sensitive to the unnatural, neighed loudly and stepped back as the liquid reached them then abruptly stopped flowing. The inclined floor had failed to wrestle control from the Daemoneer and drain it down toward the great chamber. Make sense; the enemies would not want to notify the rest of the host, and with that much blood remaining, they possessed absolute advantage on the battlefield.


    At five paces between them, the two sides paused in their steps, the distance more than enough for them to scrutinize each other from head to toes.


    To his left stood a handsome man as tall as Mirish, with a long neck and a pointed chin. His white hair, grown to impressive lengths, was let fall naturally past his shoulders. Its smooth and sleek texture made it appear almost liquid, flowing with every subtle movement he made. He wore an overcoat of the same color, except it was crafted from snakeskin, with another layer of silver chainmail underneath. Each individual scale was larger than a human¡¯s head, suggesting a serpent so colossal it could easily span the entire tunnel they stood in. The overlay from Manziholet¡¯s Oculon marked the man as the warned Overwatch Seraphist.


    ¡°You must be that menace Fliker,¡± Manziholet said.


    The man¡¯s lips curved into a sly smile. ¡°My dear Mirish¡¯s words, I assume.¡±


    ¡°Yes. When we left our sa-serpent, he swore up and down that you were spying on us with your <<Skyborne Lens>>. In hindsight, we shouldn¡¯t have dismissed him as having brain damage. You trailed us all the way back from TerraSol, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Fliker nodded. ¡°Your operational security has been lax. We even stayed at the same inn during the whole trip. I wasn¡¯t stupid enough to oust myself with the Miracle though, and can¡¯t blame the poor kid¡¯s paranoia either. He probably developed a habit from our many encounters.¡± He grinned. ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure to ruin his business as it¡¯s my business to ruin his pleasure.¡±


    ¡°You enjoy bullying, then?¡±


    ¡°I enjoy retribution, novice.¡±


    Both sleeves on his white overcoat, Manziholet noticed, had been lightly charred. He turned to face the other man, who wore a simple set of steel armor. Three dents, presumably from crossbow bolts, scattered across the chestplate. He was standing with arms crossed. On his left wrist was a band with marbled black exterior and adorned with bold golden patterns, half-hidden under his gauntlet. His two green eyes, the color resembling that of unripe olives, bore down on Manziholet.


    The Circuit detected no metaphysical presence from him. For all intent and purpose, Manziholet was looking at a rather nondescript mortal, albeit one who wielded total control over the blood under their feet. ¡°And you must be his employer.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± the man replied. ¡°The name is Relias Agool, Third Circle Daemoneer of Blood Lineage, member of the Defiant Path.¡±


    Despite his composed demeanor, Manziholet groaned inside. If the words of Amat Ninlil, the first Daemoneer he had met, were to be believed, then the man before him must have subdued the will of a Third Circle daemon and claimed its three Domains of Blood, Flame, and Matter as his own.


    His Sanguine Wright might be inferior to Amat¡¯s Sanguine Alchemist, but that did not necessarily mean he lacked the ability to effortlessly control and transmute blood, which made Relias the very peak of authority here. The Quorathene colossus might as well be a decrepit doll in the face of his Miracles. Of course, that was assuming both Daemoneers were not lying. Actions spoke louder than words for good reason.


    ¡°Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor, Vixtrian Paragon, First Sphere Seraphist of Mist, but you two must have known that. I have a question, Relias. What happened to the mortals after you finished the Fireguards?¡±


    ¡°They had given themselves to a greater cause.¡± The Daemoneer gestured down to the blood-soaked floor with a tilt of his head. His voice held no remorse. ¡°They are serving us even in death.¡±


    If he meant what he said, they were standing on what used to run through the veins of every single living being at the entrance. The mercenaries left behind to guard it could not have bled enough to feed the tide, but adding in the unarmed servants would. They had been drained and repurposed.


    ¡°From your rants on TerraSol, I reckoned the Defiant Path was all about freedom for mortals and feasting on the flesh of the elite. So, they were merely rhetorical to instill dissidents.¡±


    ¡°They weren¡¯t, but changes demand more than just blind adherence to principles. Unlike many of my colleagues, I know how to be flexible. Exceptions must be made if we¡¯re going to succeed. I¡¯m making one right at this very moment.¡± He paused, before continuing. ¡°Help us kill the two government''s pets, Manziholet, and you can carve your name into the annals of history as a member of the Defiant Path.¡±

 22. Treachery (I)

    Prior to the Ternary Strife, there was the Starscourge War, a conflict exclusively reserved for proto seraphists and daemonic anchors over the dwindling number of Genesis Shards in the galaxy.


    With the fuel of their power growing scarcer, instead of sensible options such as setting up a multilateral group to monitor and distribute the resources (like the future Republic¡¯s Council of the Measured Hand, which now had been folded into the Civil Service) or traversing the void to reach another galaxy (unfortunately, it remained impossible according to the smartest guilders of Caelivagantes, but the Outsiders should have at least made the effort), both seraphs and daemons had opted for senseless violence.


    Later, it was agreed among historians that since neither had hailed from this galaxy, they were under no inherent obligation to preserve its integrity. In fact, for every one thousand light years worth of distance they wrecked, consumed, or despoiled, they would effectively deny the opposition a chance to conquer and reuse those territories in the next century or perhaps even perpetuity, a war ethos which was shared by both sides.


    The Starscourge War, then, was fought not to claim the galaxy but to ensure that neither would ever claim it as their own. Beautiful planets, painfully terraformed and inhabited by millions of humans, became nothing more than strategic points where proto seraphists and daemonic anchors clashed their Domains with reckless abandon. And if the benefit was not worth the fight, then the local star would be extinguished or detonated. Their orbiting celestial bodies would be released into the void¡¯s cold embrace or promptly incinerated clean, and every life in the system would be taken with them.


    Around one out of ten stars in the galaxy disappeared before humanity decided they had had enough. For a painfully long time, even when these Outsiders bickered and ravaged their home, they endured because it was the path to prosperity. Humanity would still be wallowing on a ball of dirt if not for the Miracles. Fighting back the powerful masters was a fool¡¯s errand anyway, until the damned War. Death awaited wherever they looked. They had reached their breaking point. No longer compliant servants, humanity chose to walk the Defiant Path.


    Various organizations and individuals had been studying the Outsiders for decades, but their work was limited in secrecy due to fear of persecution by fellow humans and masters thereof. With greater support from their species, they came out and joined force into one. In the year 1445, the Defiant Path built the first Circuits, allowing a select few to achieve their true potential. They also invented, among other wonderful things, sa-serpents for interstellar transportation as well as the Demiurgic Science for creation of communal demiplanes. The Outsiders had lost their monopoly on Miracles.


    Using the inventions, humanity seized dominion over their home system, transforming it into the mighty fortress of TerraSol, then built up their force for the coming total conflict with the Outsiders, later known as the Ternary Strife, the winner of which every Imperial citizen could recite in their sleep. The Defiant Path¡¯s contribution was undeniable, but every great cause eventually succumbed to dissension and politics. During the times of the Republic of Ascendant Man, the organization was splintered into the modern Guilds.


    Since then, the name ¡®Defiant Path¡¯ had faded into obscurity and became absent from the tongues of everyday conversations. To most living mortals, it was vaguely recognized as the predecessor to the Guilds. Still, among the more learned or the older generation, the name held weight, which was why...


    ¡°I¡¯m flattered,¡± Manziholet replied. ¡°Really, it would be a great honor to join your illustrious organization.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sensing a reservation in your tone,¡± Relias said. ¡°Are you hesitating to kill the other Seraphists? You only worked with them for a few days, and from what I gathered from the mortals, you got sidelined for most of the expedition.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less about those Seraphists or their murders. What I do care about, however, is securing one additional condition. The Defiant Path had figured out a way to elevate mortals without ArchSouls into Daemoneers. I want you to grant my mother the opportunity.¡±


    ¡°Before we continue,¡± Fliker cut in. ¡°Who is that girl over there, novice?¡± He gestured to Gersimi, who was standing with the horses behind Manziholet.


    ¡°She is an unimportant nobody,¡± he replied with a shrug. ¡°But lay a finger on her, and you and I will become eternal nemesis.¡±


    ¡°A pet mortal, how quaint. I used to have one. Too bad she couldn¡¯t keep up with my games.¡±


    ¡°Is he one of your exceptions as well? Independents like him have acted opposite to your cause their entire life, Daemoneer. Being flexible won¡¯t excuse you from hiring a walking atrocity, and I doubt your colleagues have warmly welcomed him in the organization as well.¡±


    A flicker of discomfort crossed Relias¡¯s face. ¡°Technically, I¡¯m having a disagreement with my colleagues. They don¡¯t know about his contract with me, just as they don¡¯t know about this Ruin. But it will be no matter. After I bring them the Orb of Eternal¨C¡±


    ¡°Outdated intelligence. We settled on calling it Pneuma Heart.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Fliker said. ¡°I can¡¯t stand one of my favorite flowerhouse¡¯s name being cited over and over in some boring books. It feels like tarnishing something sacred.¡±


    ¡°¨CAfter I bring them the Pneuma Heart, they would have no choice but to listen to my approach. I can bring both of you in and share techniques that not even the Studium possesses. We invented the Circuits after all, and we haven¡¯t stopped studying ever since. Also, yes, I can help grant your mother the mantle of Daemoneer. I read about her. She is among a list of individuals marked as viable allies, and those less deserving than her have met the Defiant Path¡¯s criteria, so it won¡¯t be difficult convincing the others. All that stands between you and immense power is your answer. Will you accept or refuse my offer, Manziholet?¡±


    If Manziholet refused and they fought right there and then, Gersimi would inevitably be affected. But even if she was not here, on what basis could he refuse such an enticing offer? The son of Arin Claisara and Foidan Sylvektor, liar and cheater, grinned then gave his answer.


    ¡°I was beginning to trust you, Seraphist,¡± Gersimi said later, her voice tinged with anger and disappointment, as Manziholet tied her hands behind her back with a rope. ¡°What kind of person so readily betrays his friends?¡±


    He had suggested to the members of his new host that they let her go free. They refused, reasoning that the girl might run directly to the governor and called for reinforcement, which would make a massive mess of everything. All mortals at the entrance had been drained dry to the last one in order to eliminate that possibility. As such, either Manziholet would have to kill her, beat her unconscious, or do what he was doing.


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    She spat in his face once he turned her over. She had aimed well. Her ammo would have wet his right eye had his enhanced reflex not brought his head out of the way. Manziholet pressed down on her shoulders and had her sit leaning against the wall, before working on her ankles using another rope.


    True to her spirit, the priest struggled, which made it quite troublesome. Manziholet had asked Relias to use his control over the Domain of Blood to solidify up a cage and save them time. Surely, at the Third Circle, it would be an easy task for the Daemoneer. Relias declined, pointing out that he must preserve his vaepor.


    ¡°If we are somehow separated,¡± Manziholet whispered to her after the job was done, ¡°go to the planet of Juno and find a man called Holting and his descendants. Say my name. They will help you.¡± Her response was inaudible, on account of the rag on her mouth, but it likely involved holy judgment and eternal damnation.


    And so, down the tunnel he went again. This time, he rode on a tide of blood along with a member of the self-claimed Defiant Path and an independent who had recently upgraded his own job records to include treason against the Imperium. His mission had been, if the current state of affairs was anything to go by, switched from learn-and-support to slash-and-strike against his former host.


    The patch of blood they were standing on, Manziholet also noticed, was not transmuted into the solid state like the ocean water on Mirish¡¯s Armament but rather kept unbroken under the Daemoneer¡¯s will. Relias had positioned himself at the front with Manziholet and Fliker behind him. The patch was then propelled ahead by the churning mass of red liquid underneath it.


    ¡°I¡¯m curious,¡± Manziholet asked, ¡°which one of you two decided I was worth the trouble? I am an insignificant novice, and with Raka and Mirish weakened, a Third Circle and Second Sphere like you two can murder everyone in this tunnel with ease.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s his,¡± Fliker replied, his hair flying behind him like a ribbon of pale silk in the wind. ¡°When my Circuit picked you up, my first thought was to increase the pace, run you down, and rip you apart before you call for reinforcement, but he talked me out of it. He¡¯s got this thing about keeping potential assets breathing, even if they are deadweight.¡±


    ¡°I have a feeling that he found you in the same circumstance.¡±


    ¡°My Miracle found him first, actually.¡± Fliker smirked. ¡°For all his power, he was terrible at keeping himself inconspicuous when observing a hostile fortified position. The balls of blood around him were about as subtle as a war horn at midnight. I have met amateur independents with more sense in their pinky toe, seriously¡±


    Manziholet glanced at Relias, who was locking his eyes on the path ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line. Both of his hands hovered midair, with each of their movements steering the direction of the blood tide. Whether Fliker¡¯s words had offended him or not, his mind stayed focused firmly on the job.


    ¡°Our employer can¡¯t talk, by the way,¡± Fliker explained. ¡°He needs the concentration when manipulating this much blood.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯m also curious, though, about what he¡¯s promised you to betray your Imperium.¡±


    ¡°My justice scorched into the world,¡± the independent replied gravely, ¡°and a fortress to shield me from the repercussions.¡±


    ¡°Mirish? He seems harmless. Did he insult your taste in hairstyle or commit some equally horrific sin upon you?¡±


    Fliker smiled. ¡°He did gravely insult my hair once, although, to be fair, it was after I poisoned his cat. No, dear Mirish is a good kid, and a competent Seraphist at that. Probably one of the better ones I¡¯ve met. In a perfect society, he and I might have been business partners, maybe even friends, but regrettably¡± ¨Che shook his head¨C ¡°this society is far from perfect, especially when his mother, curse her pitch-black ArchSoul, stole the District Admin job right out from under me by falsely branding me as a Forbidden Script speaker. When the Service was done investigating, she¡¯s already under the protection of the job while I must return to breaking my back for Shards. No, her son is a mere appetiser. That conniving woman is the delicious main course, which I will make sure to savor.¡±


    ¡°But is it really worth betraying the Imperium?¡± Manziholet asked. ¡°You can hide behind the spatial lock on the Defiant Path¡¯s planets, but the guilders will break through it eventually. When they do and the military orders go in¨C¡±


    That made the man laugh out loud. ¡°Listen, my naive novice, the government and the Church will cancel each other out long before they get to that. We¡¯re repeating the War all over again, except it isn¡¯t seraphs and daemons who tired themselves¨C¡±


    While Fliker kept on talking, a much more important discussion was going on inside Manziholet¡¯s brain. Betrayal, after all, was a serious business that deserved proper calculation and deliberation. Every risk must be weighed against its reward, and every consequence must be anticipated. ¡®Never just burn bridges,¡¯ his mother had said. ¡®You carefully choose which ones to light up and when, preferably while the enemies are walking on it.¡¯


    Of course, on this occasion, he had no mother to discuss with. He had the perspectives in his head, though. The psychopath inside him was eager to begin first. It insisted that he should kill both of them and be done with it, to which another voice inquired: both of whom, exactly?


    Simple. Kill both Raka and Mirish, so that he can get access to the most illustrious organization in history and their technologies. The Defiant Path is also the very definition of extraordinary, which he has always tried to achieve. Or, kill both Fliker and Relias, so that he will be hailed as an Imperial hero and greatly rewarded. They may even grant him enough Shards to reach peak Third Sphere. It¡¯ll make no difference really, the psychopath grinned, as long as he chooses to betray.


    But then, the pessimist pointed out, no matter what side he takes, he will likely be hunted across the galaxy by individuals wielding millions of vaepor units, each capable of unraveling his existence with a mere thought. Good luck finding joy in life while the very fabric of reality crumbled around him. Perhaps it¡¯s wiser to take no side at all.


    He has already stepped on the blood tide, useless moron, the psychopath replied. He is already on his way to the fight between both sides. When the time comes, he must choose one. There is no third option. ¡®If he remains neutral, he will inevitably be seen as an enemy by the victors, for in their eyes, neutrality is no different from allegiance to the defeated.¡¯ ¨C a quote by the brilliant Vellian Charis. Don¡¯t you remember the lesson?


    Why am I not surprised you¡¯re the one who remembers that? his conscience said. Anyway, it¡¯s not just the pros and cons for Manziholet himself that must be considered, but also for his loved ones. What would happen to Arin if he betrayed the government? The Imperator wouldn¡¯t be so lenient with a rebellion by another Sylvektor. Also, Gersimi¡¯s loss of trust in him would be permanent, because she was right. What kind of person so readily betrays his friends? Therefore, he should side with Raka and Mirish.


    Who cares about any of them? the psychopath replied with a groan, which earned it glares from the others, before more ideas were suggested and the conversation went on.


    Meanwhile, outside in the real world, the blood tide was approaching the carts that Manziholet was supposed to oversee. They had stopped dead since the lead one had broken its axle and spilled massive bronze gears onto the floor. The distance between here and where Gersimi sat was big enough to shield her from any fighting.


    If he betrays Fliker and Relias, the boy Manziholet, a new voice, reasoned, at least he¡¯ll be adequately protected from the Daemoneers while he stays on TerraSol, as will his loved ones. And if he is certainly to do that, then this is the moment. Let¡¯s put it to a vote.


    Remember what truly matters in this world, his conscience reminded others, many of which rallied around it. Among them, in a brief departure from the norm, was his psychopathic tendency. With that, a majority was formed.


    The final decision had been made. Manziholet struck.

 23. Treachery (II)

    The Overwatch Seraphist of Cloud was still talking when Manziholet brought his right hand into a horizontal swing. Along the way, Wispstrike Cutter manifested on his palm.


    [Seraph: 30¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 72¦Ô of draeg]


    Manziholet had chosen the Second Sphere as his first target, as opposed to the Third Circle Daemoneer, because the latter might not be as strong as he himself had claimed.


    In his eyes, Fliker was the bigger threat, particularly given Seraphists¡¯ nasty habit of unleashing their Ruin Scars when they wanted to escape from an unwinnable fight or take everything in the immediate vicinity along with them to death. Unlike with Chiorou, Fliker had no reason to hold back in the tunnel due to potential collateral damage. His Ruin Scar would be a farewell present wrapped in pure malice. Manziholet had zero interest in receiving it.


    Mist trailed behind the Armament as its white edge slashed toward Fliker¡¯s head. He was confident that his attack would connect due to its speed and the fact that the independent was too immersed in lecturing him about why the Defiant Path would emerge victorious. Since Manziholet had been nodding with feigned interest, the man had no reason to suspect an ambush.


    Instinct often surpassed reason, however. At sight of the incoming mist-forged longsword, Fliker¡¯s arms seemed to move on their own. His First Sphere Miracle was promptly summoned into reality as his right hand raised it up to assume a vertical block.


    The Cloud and the Mist Domain shared the same type of Armament, although his Wispstrike Cutter took after the design of a saber, with a curved blade and an ornate guard that spiraled like plumes of clouds. Their inherent offensive and defensive capability was the same nonetheless. Irresistibility would be met with indestructibility. The ambush would be halted before any damage was done.


    Everything hinged on what came in the next instant. Time slowed as Manziholet raced to think ahead. He could switch it to the second state then bypass the mist through Fliker¡¯s block, but that was a dangerous gamble. The man might easily predict the move and work not only to render it ineffective but also strike back hard. He had more experience being Seraphist after all.


    Alternatively, Manziholet could draw out his aeon Rapier to overwhelm Fliker. Not many had experience fighting a dual wielder, which was one of the reasons why he trained in the style in the first place, but in this particular moment he would need to hold it in reserve grip using his left hand ¨C not optimal, and that would allow Relias enough time to notice the treachery and retaliate.


    No, he must end the independent¡¯s life as swiftly as possible, even by making that dangerous gamble. Hesitation or any other alternatives would only ensure his own demise.


    [Seraph: 17¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 85¦Ô of draeg]


    More of his limited vaepor reserve was drained to unravel his Wispstrike Cutter into the gas form just as it made contact with Fliker¡¯s saber. The curling mist passed through the blade of frozen cloud and arrived at the empty air right in front of his dilating pupils.


    Instinct took over once more. While his head jerked away, Fliker drew back his saber, angling in a way that would presumably settle it inside the mist-forged longsword as the latter reverted to the solid form. Such a maneuver would destabilize the Armament¡¯s structure and deliver a punishing backlash to Manziholet¡¯s Circuit.


    But, from the very start, Manziholet had made sure the strike came from his right arm, the stronger and surer of his limbs. Countless years of training had honed each of its muscles, which were further compounded by the Seraphist physiology. The speed of his attack was faster.


    Right then, Fliker must have realized that and changed his mind. His own Wispstrike Cutter dispersed. Draeg stored in his Overwatch ArchSoul was being pulled to his seraph. The opposite of a Miracle was about to manifest, setting ruination free in the tunnel, and Fliker¡¯s demise would entail Manziholet¡¯s reckoning, and the novice would learn that the cost of disloyalty would be paid in blood, and¨C


    And all that would have happened, had Fliker unleashed Ruin Scars as soon as he saw the ambush or had he come up with a smarter counter to the Wispstrike Cutter¡¯s second state. Those were fatal miscalculations, perhaps born from underestimation of someone he had dismissed as the regular novice. Never judge a book by its cover, Manziholet would know.


    His gamble struck true. The mist condensed back into the gleaming edge without issues before Fliker¡¯s counter came into effect. Its Sharpness easily cleaved through the handsome face and delivered the inevitability of destruction.


    The part beginning from his upper lip was severed from his body, and the long hair attached to it acted like a sail. It was flung tumbling away from the blood tide, keeping Fliker¡¯s brain safe for later revival. Of course, Manziholet had a different plan in mind for it, one that was not needlessly wasteful. But first, he needed to finish off the so-called Third Circle Daemoneer.


    Less than a second in time had passed since Manziholet brandished his Miracle. Relias was still concentrating on his task, seemingly oblivious to what happened behind him, but his mind would react to the noises soon.


    Harshly twisting his body, Manziholet brought the Armament around to slash at Relias. He had no fear of retaliation from a Sanguine Wright¡¯s power, since the Daemoneer  was less than unlikely to possess one. Assuming his identity aligned with the man¡¯s own assertion, he would never have sought help from Manziholet or even Fliker, or allowed the mortal Fireguards to put three dents across the chestplate, or strained to steer the blood tide. They were embarrassing signs of a novice.


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    An anchor under the control of a Sanguine Wright would have procured the Pneuma Heart by yesterday. Relias¡¯s daemon must be a Blood Pyre or a Blood Churl (Second and First Circle of Blood Lineage respectively), both of which could bend blood to their will but had yet to unlock the full might of transmutation.


    As the Armament bit deeply into Relias¡¯s left shoulder and his eyes caught a glimpse of the attack, his body contorted abruptly and pulled himself out of harm¡¯s path. Those were impressive reflexes, though not quite fast enough to keep his arm.


    With the will holding it together disrupted, the blood patch they were standing on lost its cohesion. They fell down and rolled across the floor, thoroughly drenched in crimson. At the same time, Relias¡¯s presence became visible in the metaphysical realm.


    [Warning! Daemon detected: First Circle, Blood Lineage.]


    With a grimace, Relias scrambled to his feet, clutching the stump on his shoulder and applying his Miracle to seal the open wound. Scattered around the man were his separated limb and the disfigured independent, behind him were the carts and mortals who were in a commotion at the sight, and in front of him were the charging form of Manziholet.


    Perhaps Relias was really a novice after all. Only a person unfamiliar to conduct on the battlefield would pause to stare slack-jawed when the enemy was within striking distance. It was pure inexperience on display.


    The Wispstrike Cutter jammed into his right eye socket. Seizing the momentum, Manziholet shoved the Daemoneer to the ground and twisted the blade, tearing through what remained of his brain. Even a Bastion Miracle would raise hands in surrender before the damage. As the last vestiges of life drained from his body, his other eye locked onto his murderer, who met back at the gaze with an equally unflinching stare. Immense hate burned in that olive green eye.


    Not a mote of iridescent light bursted out and dispersed into reality from Relias¡¯s corpse. Daemons, unlike seraphs, did not release their leftover vaepor upon death. The stuff seemed to integrate directly into their being upon absorption of Shards, and Daemoneers seemed to share the same trait as well. This prevented their powers from being siphoned by adversaries, which was an affront to basic civility in his opinion.


    Having dismissed his Armament, Manziholet wiped the blood off his face, and took a long sigh. Altogether, during this entire trip, he had witnessed the demise of two Seraphists and one Daemoneer. They had yet to ascend to the Fifth Sphere/Circle, but that did not mean they were beyond reaching it. It was the equivalent of watching the legendary Rokous die young before he ever had the chance to compose Firelight Serenade for humanity. So much for ¡®Nothing too intense, I imagine¡¯, mother.


    He gave the corpse a kick, just in case the Defiant Path had installed posthumous traps into their members. Like any other dead corpses he had encountered, it stuck to the specialty of remaining utterly motionless, though Relias¡¯s intact eye stubbornly refused to close.


    Manziholet could have captured the poor Daemoneer alive. The wealth of intelligence that the government could creatively extract out of the man about the mysterious organization who had terrorized the good residents of Sui-Jen would bring Manziholet untold benefits, but he decided better. A Blood Churl was dangerous even in captivity, and all grudges against Manziholet should die with those who carried them.


    Moreover, the Defiant Path would surely appreciate it more if Manziholet brutally murdered instead of consigning one of their people to a fate behind the government¡¯s closed doors. It showed an appropriate degree of courtesy.


    After Manziholet signaled her, the mortal in charge of the carts came closer. ¡°Sir,¡± she said, bowing her head, in such a way that suggested fear mixed with vexation. Evidently, her meager wage failed to cover enduring this lunacy. He could sympathise. He was not even getting paid.


    ¡°I need you to dispatch a messenger to Seraphist Raka Weng immediately. Inform him that we were under attack by an independent called Fliker and a Blood Lineage. Repeat it back to me.¡±


    ¡°We were under attack by an independent called Fliker and a Blood Lineage.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then have all of your people retreat back to the previous chamber. Forget about the carts. Move fast. And don¡¯t let them go anywhere near the blood. There may be dangers hidden inside.¡±


    Her eyes hastily darted around the floor, where the blood was slowly trickling down the tunnel.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯re fine.¡± He smiled. ¡°You can leave now.¡±


    ¡°Of course, sir.¡± The mortal was not convinced, and practically ran away. The rest quickly did as told after she relayed the information. During the retreat, a few stumbled and fell to the floor. He felt cheap, having exploited their ignorance over Miracles to incite panic.


    The lie was necessary, however, because he needed privacy for what came next. The government would demand a detailed report of the event. It would be far easier to handle if he was the sole person to frame the narrative. For example, the Daemoneer definitely had not brought anything of value into the Ruin¡­


    When Relias¡¯s left arm was severed from his body, the presence of his metaphysical mass, once concealed or dormant, had instantly rippled out. Manziholet still remembered the moment his Circuit picked it up. Was it because the man lost concentration, or perhaps his left arm held the secret to the Daemoneers¡¯ ability to vanish from the perception of Circuits and the Oculon System?


    The answer laid not far from where Manziholet stood. When the last prying eyes had left this section of the tunnel, he walked over to the limb and picked it up. The peculiar wristband was still there. Once he wiped away the blood, its surface gleamed faintly under the light from the Ruin¡¯s fruits.


    Upon a closer look, it was not solid marble as he had initially assumed, but rather a liquid of black resin that flowed sluggishly, like the dissonant material used to mint forisma coins. Sharp golden patterns zig-zagged across the surface, upon which the resin twirled and splashed against. When his fingers ran over it, what responded in return was neither wetness nor stickiness but the familiar feeling of cold, smooth stone.


    He located and undid the clasp behind the wristband, liberating it from the unsavory attachment, then weighed it for a moment in his own hand. The item was lighter than it looked, which made it ever more suspiciously dangerous. A normal wristband would be content to just quietly accessorize its wearers, maybe jingling a bit for fancy. This one, though, was probably crafted with deadly securities to prevent theft in case said wearers got terminated.


    The sensible thing to do, he thought, was keeping the wristband safe and secret until he could pawn off the risk of experimentation onto some poor unsuspecting Seraphist. Let them discover the Defiant Path¡¯s secret, or involuntarily combust, whichever came first. Either way, he would not end up as a cautionary tale passed down to posterity: And that, children, is why you don¡¯t put on a weird piece of jewelry without consulting your elders first.


    Unfortunately, on this particular occasion, he felt like the opposite of sensible. Fortune favoured the brave, and so far She had been remarkably patient with his repeated attempts to test death. At this point, stopping would just be bad manners.


    Without further hesitation, Manziholet rolled back his left sleeve and slid it on.

 24. Treachery (III)

    The instant the clasp snapped shut, Manziholet¡¯s Oculon was taken over. Lines of messages ran across his vision.


    [Lex: Ephemeral Facade established.


    Your metaphysical presence has been neutralized.]


    A shiver briefly coursed down his spine before vanishing. Limited as his grasp on the inner workings of his Circuit might be, he knew something had been applied to the device that encased his ArchSoul.


    Manziholet flexed his fingers. The wristband¡¯s size was a little small for him. It dug into his skin, sending a faint pressure through his hand as if a constant reminder for who was the illegitimate wearer, but there was no spontaneous skin-flaying or sudden urge to kill himself, the sense of relief from which canceled out the discomfort.


    Manziholet manifested his Armament on his left palm, dismissed it, then manifested it again on his right. Vaepor had been pulled to his ArchSoul without any apparent irregularities or increases in cost. His Circuit, however, still detected the mass of vaepor in Fliker¡¯s intact brain, but not his own.


    [Seraph: 0?¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 0?¦Ô of draeg]


    [Errors detected. Contact your personal After-Deather immediately.]


    Further tests would be needed once he returned to TerraSol, but it seemed Manziholet had now effectively become invisible in the metaphysical realm. As far as he was concerned, everything else was behaving as normal, the implications of which, on the contrary, were awful.


    What the Daemoneers had used was working properly on Seraphists. If the government, or the Church, got hold of one of these Lex: Ephemeral Facade, then their Breakers could easily slip through Overwatches and cause unchecked devastation, while the Overwatches themselves would be further empowered to spy, stalk, and generally poke their noses into places they had no business being (like perverts). The wheels were coming off the wagon of civilization, so to speak. Society as they knew it would collapse.


    Therefore, as a law-abiding citizen of the Imperium, he bore the solemn duty of ensuring that all unworthy hands were kept away from this dangerous item for as long a time as possible. Some burdens were heavier than others, indeed, Manziholet thought happily as he removed the wristband and hid it away in his jacket.


    After that, Manziholet rummaged through Relias¡¯s armor and clothes. For a person hailed from the Defiant Path, the quality of his equipment was unremarkable ¨C practical for adventures, but nothing extravagant. Most likely, he had thrown on those ordinary gear to blend in with the locals.


    Manziholet had hoped to find more dissonant items like the wristband. Back on TerraSol, after their declaration, the Daemoneers had also displayed the ability to freely perform spatial shifts, but Relias carried none as such. Among his most valuable belongings were a steel dagger as well as a few coins. The rest was the usual assortment of traveler¡¯s useless odds and ends.


    Leaving all of them alone, Manziholet struck down the corpse with the Wispstrike Cutter as well his Rapier. Both minced it to pieces, which he then kicked to distribute around the scene. That way, if anyone had prior knowledge of the wristband, he could claim ignorance by pointing at the mess. At this level of disarray, even the evidence would struggle to find itself.


    Manziholet then stepped forward until he loomed over the half-head of Fliker. The independent¡¯s sleek white hair had been soaked in blood, its lengthy strands spreading out and clinging to the cold stone floor like a grotesque halo.


    For mortals, a wound of this magnitude was nothing short of an early retirement from existence. But, a Seraphist would never truly die so long as their organ of intelligence remained unscathed. As one Guild had made clear to the public, the brain served as the last anchor for their Circuit, which preserved the metaphysical kernel that was their ArchSoul, which in turn preserved critical information to be used in successful revivals. No brain, no second chances, his After-Deather had said, though Manziholet believed the Nat¡¯Seax meant it figuratively, too.


    Hence, when his Vixtrian Rapier skewered into the independent¡¯s ear and through the other, the life of a man called Fliker was officially terminated. Manziholet raised the head off the floor as motes of light, dense and abundant, leaked out from it into reality. Attracted to the weight of his seraph, the vaepor converged around him.


    [Unclaimed vaepor registered.


    Absorbing¡­]


    [Seraph: 932¦Ô of vaepor]


    As someone who had reached Second Sphere and unlocked his first ArchSoul-specific Miracle, Fliker undoubtedly possessed a vaepor reserve exceeding ten thousand standard units. Given his progression, even when factoring those he had expensed into draeg or those Manziholet had not managed to capture before they dispersed, Fliker should be hoarding many times more to ascend into the Third as well.


    [Seraph: 4035¦Ô of vaepor]


    Manziholet laughed as power filled him. All of them, no doubt painfully accumulated through a lifetime and traded with the independent¡¯s sorrow and sacrifice, would now be his to wield as he pleased. The cost of disloyalty would be paid in blood. The trick, as his mother had so lovingly demonstrated to him over her career, was making sure it was not yours.


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    [Seraph: 9497¦Ô of vaepor]


    He felt his seraph stirred up within the Circuit. Sated with a fresh influx of vaepor, its metaphysicality bulged up, slowly pressing against the encasing shell as the figure on his Oculon increased. Soon, the critical mass of ten thousand units was reached, and the shell was shattered. The Outsider¡¯s authority over the Domain of Mist took another order of magnitude towards totality.


    [Seraph: 17331¦Ô of vaepor]


    Mist began manifesting to herald the ascent. Thin, translucent tendrils creeped out from nowhere. At first, they were faint and fragile, but soon they thickened, their presence undeniable, swirling in defiance of the constant breeze originating from Pneuma Heart. The phenomenon clung to the air, wrapping itself around the vines that crawled on the wall, caressing their leaves and making them tremble ever so slightly. It waned away the light from the glowing fruits and filled every breath Manziholet took.


    Within a few seconds, the tunnel had become cold and wet. Water condensed on leaves, clothes, and any other surfaces. Just as quickly, however, the Outsider¡¯s will was silenced once more as the mechanism built into the Circle formed another shell over it. This seraph of Mist would never be allowed the taste of freedom or mindmeld with mortals, forever doomed to be a component in the machinery of soul and serving the Seraphist.


    [Seraph: 25590¦Ô of vaepor]


    The last unclaimed vaepor was dissipating away, while the mist weakened and followed the air movement outside, returning normalcy to his surroundings. Dropping Fliker¡¯s head, a mere husk of lifeless flesh no different from any other mortal remains, on the floor and putting away his weapon, Manziholet considered the changes.


    At Second Sphere, he unlocked an additional Miracle, its usage having woven into his instinctual mind like a limb he had not had, liable to be switched on at his will. It was not an Armament whose functions were determined solely by the Domain, but a specific Miracle shaped by the very definition of the ArchSoul.


    [Seraph: Mist, Second Sphere (27308¦Ô of vaepor)


    ArchSoul: Porter (101¦Ô of draeg)


    Miracles: <<Armament: Wispstrike Cutter>>, <<Mistmask Wander>>


    Ruin Scars: <<Harvester¡¯s Shield>>]


    The main roles of Porters were mobility and logistics. They specialized in the transport, storage, as well as movement of goods (themselves and other creatures included), across thresholds. Their Miracles could give them the ability to generate personal demiplanes to carry vast quantities of supplies, phase or travel between locations faster than the speed of light, or perform similar actions to provide the opposition with truly unforgettable headaches.


    Specifically, designated by the name of <<Mistmask Wander>>, this Second Sphere Miracle would allow Manziholet to streak through space with greater mobility, unbound by the limitations of physical movement.


    Upon the Miracle¡¯s activation, a curtain of mist instantly superseded the air around him. Unlike the previous fleeting phenomenon, it was much more dense and heavy. Despite the cold on his skin, there was a strange comfort in its embrace, because here he held the power.


    [Seraph: 25988¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 1421¦Ô of draeg]


    He knew the exact dimensions of the curtain ¨C spanning over five meters in all directions from his central mass at first and slowly shifting under environmental factors such as the tunnel¡¯s breeze. It had been manifested using 1320 units of vaepor and sustained using 5 units per seconds, more than extravagant compared to <<Armament: Wispstrike Cutter>> even after his Ribbas-pattern Circuit had already mitigated the burden. The amount of destruction his Ruin Scar needed to inflict in order to convert the draeg back increased accordingly as well.


    It cost an arm and a leg, yet it gave him wings. Inside among the tiny water droplets of <<Mistmask Wander>>, his movement became unconstricted by neither gravitational pull nor biological force. Where the mist spreaded, he could travel to.


    At his will, the Miracle applied a force to his body, lifting Manziholet off the floor. Anything physically connected to him, from his equipment to the caked blood on them, came under its influence as well. The more mass controlled, the more vaepor his Circuit must convert to sustain this anomalous state. Currently, around twenty-four units were used each second.


    With an ease akin to moving his legs, he glided forward, the speed of which was only set by the depth of his desire, not by the world around him or bearing any additional cost. The Miracle could instantly accelerate him to near the speed of light, provided that Manziholet was tough enough to not be crushed by the force.


    There were limitations, of course, or else Porters of Mist would run society by now with impossible fast spear thrusts or arrow shots. They were not Breakers; their ArchSoul-specific Miracles might be capable of breaking distance but not mountains. For one, in this state, expelling the mist in his vicinity away would lead to backlash, as was any attempts to influence the mist with <<Mistmask Wander>> itself.


    Also, any momentum created at the result of the Miracle could not be imparted to external objects, except into the air or the mist itself to part them away. Sword slashes he made would be supported by his weight without being further amplified by his speed. If he propelled himself into the empty space outside of the Miracle, the momentum would also dissipate and he would immediately be halted as normal reality took over. In fact, lacking caution and finesse, the difference in speed between what in and what out might squeeze his body to pulp.


    Already, the part of the human brain responsible for causation might feel ache with questions about paradoxes and implications. At the Academy, the instructors had told him best not to dwell on the workings behind complex Miracles. Knowledge expanded the mind, but some of them shattered it. Overthinking about Miracles, especially those of high Sphere, could drive people crazy as it had with many researchers of the past Defiant Path or the present After-Deathers.


    What Seraphists should do was to leave the Miracles as they were ¨C highly improbable and unexplainable phenomenons under natural or scientific laws, and go on merrily dominating reality with them. When inquired about the Studium¡¯s advanced techniques in usage of Miracles, the instructors smiled and skillfully switched to another topic. They were of ordinary minds. They knew trying to answer about what smarter people were doing would only embarrass themselves.


    Manziholet did not intend to be such failures. He had chosen to encase with a seraph of Mist not only because it led to an Armament suitable for his fighting style, but also because its Miracles were among the hardest to master. Until he was granted a legacy seraph, he would explore and dry all secrets from it. But first, he must travel back to TerraSol in one piece. Relias had admitted to having a dispute with his colleagues, but he might not be the sole Daemoneer on Marwind. It was time to call in the Knight Purifiers.

 25. Homeward

    With the Porter Miracle unlocked, walking or riding back seemed primitive and cumbersome. It would be too slow compared to what Manziholet was now capable of. Efficiency was important.


    He could only travel to where the curtain of mist reached, obviously, but another thing about <<Mistmask Wander>> was that the mist it had manifested would persist in reality even after he ceased converting vaepor, drifting downwind toward the entrance like a creeping veil.


    As Manziholet went over the scene one more time to make sure all traces linking to Relias¡¯s wristband had been properly disposed of, he activated the Miracles at intervals. Each occurrence, dense mist took over the place where fresh air once resided around him in an act of swift transmutation, before following the flow of the breeze. Soon, it would create a continuous mass of mist that reached where Gersimi was being tied.


    Naturally occurring mist could also be incorporated into this Miracle upon contact, vastly expanding his range of operation. Under the right conditions, Manziholet had the means to take charge of an entire District¡¯s transportation network as its Admin, much like the trail of smoke that governed movement in Old Bell District. With potentially billions of humans relying on his Miracle everyday, the sheer volume of wealth he could extract out of them would set him for life, which was why Fliker was understandably sore. More than just losing a job, he had watched a river of forisma reroute itself straight into the account of Mirish¡¯s mother.


    After all was done, Manziholet let the Miracle lift him up and drift him forward through the Ruin. His pace was steady at first. The twist-and-turn design that the Quorathene had used when building the tunnel meant moving too fast recklessly would crash him into the wall, not to mention the reduction in his visibility due to the mist.


    As he picked up speed, some quirks of <<Mistmask Wander>> became clearer in his mind. He had observed other Porters wielding the Mist Domain in the past, and the knowledge that flooded his brain when the seraph rose in Sphere was more than enough to use the Miracle properly. But, even when one had read a thousand books about how to fly sa-ravens, no lesson on wind resistance or weight distribution could be taught more effectively than by the unforgiving education of reality, which was delivered in the form of broken bones and pride along with the occasional face-first introduction to the ground.


    Here, his suffering got limited to minor bruises and getting entangled in vines, while his clothes were further smeared with glowing pulp and juice. In exchange, the Miracle became less of a tool he used and more of what he was. His confidence in manipulating its influence increased, as did his speed.


    The air pressed against his body with rising force as <<Mistmask Wander>> kept on accelerating him forward, while applying abrupt and violent shifts to correct his course through the windy tunnel. The fruits blurred from glowing dots into lines. The moisture seeped its cold into his skin yet it did not condense, another quirk of the Miracle that he was grateful for.


    A journey that had taken him some hours on horseback was reduced to less than ten minutes. Manziholet brought himself to a halt then landed where he had left Gersimi. She was not there. Only the leather ropes remained, lying in a loose coil where she had been bound, with neither signs of blood nor torn straps.


    He sighed in self-disappointment. The plan had been simple: tie her up just convincingly enough to fool both Relias and Fliker, but loose enough that she could slip free when the moment was right. He had even left the horses alive for her. The delicate balance was supposed to be a masterstroke in deception.


    He had failed. She undid the ropes much earlier than anticipated, a harmless yet grand folly on his part. It made the plan look like the work of a particularly incompetent kidnapper. Manziholet made a mental note to spend some time studying superior ropework upon returning home, before travelling further downwind.


    [Seraph: 21877¦Ô of vaepor


    ArchSoul: 5532¦Ô of draeg]


    The quantity of draeg was accumulating. As of now, a fifth of his total reserve was being locked behind that unproductive state in his ArchSoul, waiting for a destructive release of <<Harvester¡¯s Shield>> upon the fabric of reality to regain usefulness. Once he did just that, the number of vaepor units at his disposal would touch twenty-seven thousand, a respectable figure for a non-Greatling novice who had yet to go through the Proving but ultimately still the first tiny step in a very long race.


    He would need one million to ascend to the Third Sphere and unlock a Form, thereby imbuing the impossibility of Miracle into his physiology itself. From then on, the climb grew steeper with a staggering one hundred million to grasp the Fourth, which only a small population Seraphist ever did. Beyond that was the truly unfathomable Fifth Sphere, where a person ceased to be a person and instead assumed a form of existence so alien and incomprehensible that even the stars themselves would recoil in terror. Its price was ten billion units of vaepor ¨C the price of Extraordinary.


    The race was very long indeed, but he could make it more manageable by killing both Raka and Mirish then cannibalizing their vaepor. They had been defenseless in front of Manziholet when he only had an Armament. With his new Porter Miracle, the weakened Seraphists would not have time to suicide with Ruin Scars before he positioned himself behind their back and began cutting off heads.


    Such an ambush failed to justify the effort, however. He doubted their seraph still held ample vaepor in them after the fights as well as those punishing backlashes. The nearby mortals must also be removed, because spinning a tale into the government report to explain why two Seraphists died, when the threat had been eliminated, was already messy enough without adding eyewitnesses to the mix. On the contrary, the narrative that he had saved not only the Pneuma Heart, a Quorathen artifact that displayed dissonant characteristics, but also the life of two valuable ArchSouls from the hands of despicable Daemoneers sounded much more impressive.


    While he was deep in thought for future plans, Manziholet flew past Gersimi at first. He then backtracked and landed down beside a twisted heap of bodies piling up next to the wall. Their equipment marked them as part of the Fireguards¡¯ medical attachment. Despite the expressions of undeniable horror on their face, not a single drop stained their fabric or pooled on the floor. They were victims of Relias.


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    Each of their eyes bulged hard, straining against their sockets as if seeking escape from the torment that consumed them, while their jaws were locked open in eternal, voiceless agony. The mortals¡¯ death seemed to have been swift, but far from merciful. No blade had touched them. Instead, the crimson liquid that once nourished their body had been unraveled from within and siphoned away under the control of a force beyond their comprehension. Their bodies had been withered, drained, and hollowed to feed Relias¡¯s blood tide.


    Undoubtedly, grim spectacle like this would meet him time and again before he arrived at the entrance. Such was the fate of mortals in this world, foreordained to relentless suffering and inevitable demise ahead of potential realized. If those physicians had survived, their knowledge would have preserved many lives, possibly contributing more good to society than a Bastion Seraphist.


    In the end, they had been harvested like livestock for an utterly futile attempted murder, their ambition defiled and their skills lost forever. At least, even in their demise, they served a purpose. They had shielded another mortal from prying eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s safe,¡± he said. ¡°You can come out now,¡± but Gersimi did not bother to reply back, continuing to play dead.


    <<Mistmask Wander>>¡¯s primary usage was mobility enhancement for the Seraphist, but simultaneously it could be used to provide him with an advantage in moving other objects. Once he grasped a leg among the heap, under his will, the Miracle¡¯s influence spread out and took hold of all topmost corpses.


    Manziholet drifted up, and so did they, revealing inside the heap a girl with green eyes and auburn hair. The expenditure in vaepor to manipulate that much mass was considerable, but the stunned look on her face made it feel like a bargain.


    Having lowered the corpses to the side, he stopped the Miracle, then extended a hand out to the priest. Reluctantly, she took it and stood up with anger on her face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not jump to conclusions,¡± Manziholet said, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m not the kind of person who so readily betrays his friends. In fact, it might please you to know that two agents of great harm to the mortal population had been eliminated by my action.¡± He gestured to the corpses. ¡°They have been avenged.¡±


    Her irritation softened. ¡°I¡¯ve had my doubts that you will do just that. It is an admirable deed. However, you tied me up against my will. Granted, it was so easy to undo that I escaped as soon as you three disappeared from view¨C¡±


    ¡°As I have planned.¡±


    ¡°But I really hoped that you would give me more clues. Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to be restrained by someone you thought was better than the rest? It brought back memories.¡± She jabbed a finger at his chest. ¡°You reminded me of my aunt and uncle, Seraphist.¡±


    It was quite amusing, in his opinion, to see a mosquito lecturing a dragon. He wondered, when he brought her with him to the highest speed that he could endure in <<Mistmask Wander>>, how would her meager body break under the force? ¡°Won¡¯t happen again, I promise. But if it ever does, trust me when I say this. My reasons will never be treacherous, just for a convoluted plan that may save us both just as I did from those two. I would sooner betray myself than betray you, Gersimi.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°One part of me insists that your words are like shifting sand, unstable and unworthy of my trust ¨C yes, I know, one more quote from the Scripture ¨C but lucky for you, the other bigger part considered yours tolerable. I¡¯m willing to forget about this.¡± She paused, looked down at the physicians, then back at him. ¡°You really killed them for good?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say their brains are having a permanent vacation now,¡± he replied with a grin. ¡°Why were you hiding, by the way? Where¡¯s your horse?¡±


    ¡°The mist spooked it. I lost my grip and fell. Since I didn¡¯t know whether you or the other two were coming, I decided to hide.¡±


    ¡°My bad. On the bright side, we can now ride this mist back to the entrance grand and gloriously.¡±


    It took less than a minute as his Miracle brought them through the last stretch of the tunnel and up the stairs. Here, the mist was widely dispersed, revealing a vast sky shimmering with countless stars. Wooden walls enclosed their immediate surroundings, obscuring the island¡¯s full expanse, but even such a limited space felt more open and freeing than in the suffocating Ruin.


    By all accounts, it would have been a wonderful night, had desiccated corpses not been not littered everywhere like unpleasant autumn leaves. The air was no longer bitter, yet carrying a far worse offense ¨C a thick, putrid stench of decay that hammered into the deepest part of their noses. It came not just from humans, but also the weird chemicals leaking from wreckage of sa-ravens, their carriages half-opened with mortals trying to escape. With the Guild of Caelivagantes treating even the slightest repaint of their products as an act of unforgivable vandalism, that must be akin to rape in their eyes.


    Most of the tents had been burned down to crisp as well, a result of the host¡¯s mercenaries valiantly defying the pair of Seraphist and Daemoneer. The governor¡¯s navy surrounding would not come to inspect the smoke, which had become a familiar sight wherever Fireguards were employed. Those natives were also under strict order to stay out of TerraSol¡¯s official business. Even if they had, they would be of little help against the threats anyway. And for all he knew, the entirety of Marwind might have fallen under the control of the Defiant Path already, with a spatial lock set up to block any reinforcement via sa-serpents.


    But as it turned out, the governor was fine, as with the rest of the planet. After receiving the news from Manziholet and having a fierce discussion with Raka (in which many dramatic gestures and exasperated sighs were employed), he came to the conclusion that the central government was ultimately more competent at protecting him from the Daemoneers than the people who shared his last name. He could not care less about informing Osiri first so that she had time to prepare. Safety of the planet was the priority.


    Lucky for the man, too; otherwise, Manziholet would have had no choice but to carve a bloody path through his palace just to smash the signal gem like a barbarian. In fact, he would not have needed to ransack the whole structure. The governor had conveniently brought the gems with him here, storing them in a heavily armored box and having them flanked by a squad of guards so decked out in metal that they could double as battering rams.


    After an unnecessarily tedious process of fumbling through a comically excessive number of locks, the governor finally pried open the box. Inside, three gems of different colors were suspended gently in soft velvet. Since the protocol on what gem to use for Daemoneers had yet to be sent from TerraSol, the governor chose the one designated for detection of daemonic anchors.


    Upon crushing it into pieces inside his palm, he had committed the concept of destruction upon its counterparts on TerraSol as well. The causation was instantaneous. No doubt, within minutes, a sa-serpent would be rerouted at great expense and a host of Knight Purifiers had been assembled, while millions of mortal warriors and scribes stood ready to provide more help. They had to act fast, because being a little late might lead to a planet getting so infected that the only effective solution left was to scorch everything and everyone, like with Bastion Kylla¡¯s birthplace.


    Coincidentally, in what can only be described as an almost scripted turn of events, the red-haired woman was among those who were dispatched to assist Marwind. Also included, much to Manziholet¡¯s sorrow, was a man whose presence he recognized immediately. On the one hand, having one of the most renowned Third Sphere Breakers of Sun as protection would guarantee a peaceful trip home. On the other hand, relying on the same person for help repeatedly was not exactly the height of etiquette.


    ¡°Manziholet, for the love of all things sane,¡± Tamajiang said with a sigh, before staring down at him; his eyes were glowing white hot under the effect of the Form Miracle. ¡°Tell me, on a scale of nonsensical to absolutely ridiculous, how bad is it this time?¡±