Chapter 459 - Trials and Tributions IX

  Lana slowly rose to her feet as she finished her toasted cheesy biscuit. She had eaten a few hearty meals after giving up on the orniferin—they pretty much caught and cooked anything unfortunate enough to cross their paths around mealtimes—but the cracker was the first proper snack she’d had in weeks. The jerky that Jules had made out of their prey didn’t count. It was bnd and unseasoned, often dried to the point that it disintegrated the moment she put it in her mouth. She was better off chewing on a bone and slowly sucking out the marrow.

  She indulged the fantasy for only a few seconds before returning her attention to the tiger in front of her. The big cat was clearly on guard. He had his body lowered, his rear raised, and his teeth bared. If he still had fur, it probably would have been standing on end.

  He had maintained the pose for ten seconds already, a low growl escaping his throat all the while. For the most part, his gaze was focused on Allegra, though he shifted it when Lana finally rose from the campfire and grabbed her horribly dysfunctional weapon.

  The rabbit was exhibiting much the same behaviour as the naked cat. Her eyes were across the battlefield, focused on the only foe yet to engage. Allegra knew all about her. She knew that she was a true goddess, and she knew that she was willing to intercede in a way that no normal divine would consider. Direct intervention was not strictly forbidden per se, and in fact, many gods often fell back upon it when things didn’t quite go their way. Such was often the case with natural disasters, used by the pantheon to express its outrage or displeasure.

  Likewise, there was no rule that prevented a god from descending and living among mortals. There wasn’t much proof, but again, it was specuted that the behaviour was far from uncommon. Still, it was frowned upon.

  To assert one’s will upon the mortal world was to create all sorts of friction. Even a minor scuffle could very well develop into an all-out holy war. It simply wasn’t worth it for the gods to fight amongst themselves, so they often exercised restraint and avoided activities that would risk stepping on each others’ toes.

  Olethra clearly cared little. She’d taken advantage of an opening created by the goddess of war in order to unch a direct assault on passing trial-goers inside the winter goddess’ domain. The god of the hunt at least had an excuse. He could easily deny his involvement and cim that his champion was simply acting on his own accord. But the goddess of weights and measures had no such convenient rationalization

  There was no telling how far she was willing to go or how discourteous she was willing to appear. And though Allegra doubted that there was much she could do to stop her, she focused her attention on the goddess regardless.

  Hence, the stalemate.

  Roumalou had refrained from attacking the wolf girl for the same reason that Allegra had yet to delete him. Each was focused on a far greater threat than the opponent before them.

  The bance remained until Lana kicked off the ground and aimed her axe at Roumalou’s neck. Though distracted, he pulled his head back before she could do any damage. He followed by stomping on the weapon’s head and forcing it into the ground, but Lana suddenly bolstered her speed, tore her axe out of his grasp, and aimed at his neck once more.

  Roumalou knew the ability. It was the reason that he had been told to avoid her. They were both melee fighters, and she held the advantage against him in a close quarters exchange. It wasn’t like it was because his stat boost was inactive. Lana was halfway between a wolf and a little girl, and Roumalou had eaten many of both in his time. But within her time-dited domain, she was faster than him regardless.

  It was frustrating, but addressing the problem was as simple as stepping backwards. Lana chased the tiger down, her mad swings hot on his tail, but he continued to hover just out of her range as he assessed his options. He was confident that he was at no risk of being defeated. Her method of locomotion—moving her domain once every few steps—was ridiculously inefficient, and he was so much faster outside of her sphere that she couldn’t have possibly kept up without it.

  She couldn’t touch him. Nor could he touch her.

  Roumalou had no way of circumventing her barrier and striking her down from afar. Even after his ascension, the weakness was left unpatched.

  That, however, didn’t mean that he was helpless.

  He would have long turned tail and sprinted away if he was truly incapable of harming her. Nay. He was leading her on, baiting her away from Allegra so that they could continue without the risk of an untimely elimination.

  It was a shame then that the Grand Magus caught on.

  She still kept her gaze fixed on the distant goddess as she waved her wand and threw out a series of spells. There was a crimson shark, which would swallow its prey and drown it in vaporized acid. There was a raging bull capable of shrinking to a miniscule size before entering one’s body and expanding once more. And then there was the arcane vortex. Deadliest of them all, it infected the circuits of those it caught and flooded them with enough magic to leave them damaged and disfigured.

  It didn’t work on other mages in her level range, nor did it affect anyone with the right affinity. But Roumalou fell short on both accounts.

  All three spells were fresh, nasty concoctions, birthed in the wake of her ascension. And all three were certain executions.

  The cat’s fate was sealed. It was only a matter of time.

  And yet, he remained far calmer than some of his peers.

  On the other side of the battlefield, Agrippina was in the midst of panicking. She didn’t know what to do, or even really how she was meant to attack. Her confusion didn’t stem from a loss of ability, nor a fsh of sudden stupidity. She simply couldn’t decide where she was supposed to be attacking the maid.

  On one hand, she could clearly tell that any damage dealt to the vampire’s dress returned as a hit to her sanity. She stared greedily at the exposed skin. Her face flushed whenever she did. It was just so indecent that she couldn’t stop herself from drooling. The maid clearly had some sort of magic or trait at work, something that left Agrippina feeling hot and bothered. Logic dictated that she only needed to attack where the dress was already damaged if she wished to keep her mind intact.

  But at the same time, Agrippina wanted nothing more than to rip at the fabric. Her swords drifted every time she tried to attack, their tips searching for the seams that would see the most flesh exposed.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  It was so hard to resist. It wasn’t like exposing a little more flesh would really be all that harmful in the first pce. If anything, it would only open up her enemy to other attacks. The maid uniform was curiously padded after all, and all of the bits of metal mixed in made it difficult to determine exactly which hits would prove most effective. Stripping the maid would be for the best; it would assure her certain victory.

  And so the dunce’s thoughts went.

  They were clear as day, written all over her drooling face as she continued to swing her bdes.

  Even with Krail’s fire support—he crafted a thousand arrows each second—Agrippina’s insanity was the only reason that Chloe kept up. The sword dancer was almost too quick to follow, but by keeping her daggers near her uniform’s structural supports, she was able to repel every blow. She might have been able to put up a better fight were they still outside of the dungeon. She had a few dozen thralls standing by, the aid of which would have made the duel a whole lot easier.

  She just wasn’t fast or strong enough. Her arms felt as heavy as lead. The repeated hits had only numbed them further and stolen any sensitivity to touch that they might’ve had at the start. Her blocks no longer had any of the finesse they started with; she was simply shoving the weapon into position and praying for the best.

  She didn’t even want to imagine how the battle might have pyed out had the dual-wielding cervitaur not committed most of her time to her partner. And yet, Chloe was still at a loss. She hadn’t the slightest clue as to how she was meant to push back against the assault. Even haphazard and thoughtless, it was almost too much for her to bear. She was all but certain that her arms would give out before she spotted an opportunity to retaliate.

  Her best bet was hoping that her opponent succumbed to lust. But while she could certainly see it in her eyes, she doubted it would work without a direct appeal. And as, without even the time to breathe, there was no such chance at hand.

  The only other choice she could think of was winning in a contest of pure speed. So long as momentary velocity was all that was considered, Chloe could have been faster. But she cked the control to leverage the advantage in battle. She just knew that she would mess up the moment she tried; she would certainly see herself straight to her doom.

  The thought must’ve circled around in her head for the better part of a minute before she finally realised that Krail wasn’t just stalling for time. He had id out a magic circle with his arrows, forming it in the snow beneath them. There was only one piece missing. She wasn’t sure if he could complete the cast before Agrippina escaped its range, but deciding to trust him, she kicked off the snow and retreated as quickly as she could.

  Surely enough, a pilr of surging magic erupted from the ground right after. But Agrippina was far too fast to be trapped within. As if not noticing the bst, she continued single-mindedly striking at the seams that held Chloe’s outfit together.

  But while Chloe was certain that Krail’s spell had missed, it was only because she forgot his most potent ability.

  He could imbue any arrow he forged with the ability to nd on target.

  And such was precisely the form that his mana took after it rose into the sky.

  No matter how quickly she ran or how desperately she struggled, the fate that awaited the bde dancer was ultimately one of magical bombardment.

  While the maid’s battle was just about ready to wrap up, her mistress’ was still in its earliest stages. Arciel stood silently in front of her opponent, wand gripped tightly in her hand, and her lips an obvious frown. She was all but certain of the criocentaur’s identity. The feeling of her magic was still as fresh in her memory as it was on the night that Matthias was taken.

  And volume aside, it was a perfect match.

  Still, Arciel said nothing. She simply raised her wand and calmed her heaving chest. Nothing good would stem from losing her calm.

  But she couldn’t help it. By kicking off the ground and infusing her fist with magic, Sophia had only further established her identity.

  Because it was the very same attack she’d used to end Matthias.

  Arciel bit down so hard that she thought her teeth would shatter, half on account of the seething hatred that worked its way through her chest, and half on account of a victorious grin. There wasn’t enough time to double check the faker’s formu, but the squid was confident that she knew exactly what it was. After all, she’d spent many long days in mourning developing precisely the counterspell she needed to overcome the monster before her.

  The very same reason she’d chosen to invest in pure arcane.

  She needed only to chant a single word.

  She didn’t even need to flick her wand or make contact.

  Simply by ordering the spell to break, she was able to shatter her fist.

  The limb exploded into a fountain of blood as soon as the command left her lips. There was no visible attack, just a silent pulse of magic that reversed the flow of her magic. The mana the false goat unleashed flowed back into her flesh and tore at her magic circuits. And yet, she still pressed forward.

  Sophia was a Cadrian warrior.

  A spell that drew only a few hints of blood may as well have been no spell at all.

  Her fist didn’t slow for a moment. It simply continued towards Arciel’s chest as it put itself back together. But that too the squid had expected.

  A bloody talon suddenly appeared out of thin air. It tightened after catching Sophia’s fist and held the limb in a solid vice-grip. She tried to struggle and fil, but the copied arm remained steadfast. An equally bloody scythe appeared right under her neck and removed her head in an instant. Perhaps if she were truly a centaur, such a scenario might have proven a little problematic. But Sophia’s neck extended, grabbed her head, and pulled it right back into position. Her hand warped right after as well. And after slipping out of the false Cire’s grasp, returned to its previous trajectory.

  Arciel reeled back just in time to dodge the attack whilst returning a point bnk spell. It was a swath of darkness, a giant piercing bst that swallowed the hills and battered the distant castle. Based as much in arcane as it was in shadow, the spell had no additional effects.

  It was simply a discharge of pure power that left Sophia’s body half missing.

  Had she suffered the same hit, during their first encounter, the resulting damage would have posed a problem. Without the ability to regenerate her lower half, the lorputus spawn would have been forced to either give up the body’s stat bonuses or fight whilst only half-banced.

  But the Cadrian warlord’s splinter was no longer subject to the restriction.

  Sophia was technically incapable of leveling. Any experience she gained was stored, reserved for the next time that she returned to the progenitor, so that it could all be bestowed upon him. But because they were systematically entangled, any levels he gained were hers. And the most recent delivery, the one that Olethra had arranged for just a few days prior, had bolstered the progenitor above level one thousand.

  Ephesus didn’t think for a moment that he would ascend, even after hitting the breakpoint. He knew he wasn’t worthy.

  But that was where Olethra came in.

  Ignoring all convention, she flipped the switch and made him an aspect, thus empowering all of the servants he’d spawned.

  And it was precisely said boost that allowed Sophia to regenerate her vessel. She healed back all of Arciel’s damage in a heartbeat, only to be bsted yet again.

  The mage repeated her attack nonstop.

  Because she knew that there was a limit to Sophia’s recovery. And that it would certainly be reached before she ran out of mana.

  Regardless of the angle of one’s observation, regardless of which battle one watched, it looked the brigade was winning.

  And yet, none of the hunters despaired.

  If anything, Lucius was ughing, cackling as his opponent wasted his mana bsting away at his flesh. With every moment that passed, the brigade’s members grew bolder, greedier, more desperate to seize the shot at victory dangled as bait before them, completely unaware of the noose slowly tightening around their necks.

  It was precisely at the height of their tomfoolery—as her eyes fell upon them— that he finally gave the signal.

  He unleashed a bolt from his bow for each member present.

  A bolt blessed by Olethra and endowed with the concept of equivalent exchange.

  With each, he cimed a weapon.

  And with each, he ordered a companion to conceal their might no longer.