As Keyaruga climbed a great staircase toward the colosseum on the mountain on the southern part of the middle city of Ranalitta, armed with poisoned knives and needles instead of the bulat saber, alloyed with adamantine, he thought about Norn. Again, he valued her, treasured their precious memories, but at the end of the day: `Next time we meet, we’ll be enemies`.
The pink-haired puppeteer had already commenced the hunt. The mighty armies and powerful individuals barely scared the young man, but them being led by a competent strategist? That drastically complicated things. That is why he preferred to keep his full arsenal secret, so that the genius wouldn’t find a way around his powers. With Kureha out of the town, Keyaruga forbade his other two companions to commit any more raids. The healer even had Freia and Setsuna exhausted with unrelenting sex, so they would get asleep before going out. The whole Ranalitta had been buzzing about the girls’ feats. Some were filled with awe, while others were filled with disgust and frustration over lost income, but both groups drew unwanted attention. Like a man that was waiting at the peak of the stairs.
"I beg your pardon, good sir. Are you the one I am looking for?" It was a knight in full plate armor. Alone at midnight under the light of the lamps along the way.. "Keya-?.." He didn’t finish, as the lad dashed forward and pointed a sharp needle through his helm’s visor. It stopped a few millimeters from the eye.
"What’s it for you?" The hero asked. The ironclad held his hands raised, not attempting to call for reinforcements or draw his blade.
"M-my name is Buck Tarwill. If you allow me, I… wish to speak eye to eye." The knight spoke, tapping his helm. First, Keyaruga glanced around. He let his weapon down only when he realized it was not a trap or ambush of any sort. "Thank you for your trust! Now, excuse me…" It took the man some time and clanking, but in the end, with the helm and padded cap out of the way, he revealed his young face and pointy dark hair. "I would…"
"No-no-no-no." The hero deprecatingly shook his head, placing his left hand on Buck’s temple. "Be still." The lad never needed invocations for his power; magicians asked for wonders, while healers drew them from their own reserves. It’s for the best. I can’t imagine myself running around and screaming: "Heal" like an idiot. Either way, when the dim green light subdued and the hero absorbed yet another set of memories (Buck was mostly a pampered child with an underwhelming level of fourteen, so glancing through his life turned out quite painless, too painless for the avenger’s taste), he viciously grinned.
"Hmm… I see." An idealistic moron, eager to betray his kingdom for some pretentious justice. Just what we needed. "So, what’s your deal with me?" The hero inquired, trying to hide the fact that he knew everything about that man-child and his aspirations.
"I know about your heroic deeds! You and Her Highness have been saving demi-humans from their wretched fate, and now you have come to rescue your people! I could not stand aside! My only wish is to offer my help to you!" From his pompous speech, the red-haired cynic was ready to vomit. That righteous boy, blunt as a brick, pure as spring water, reminded him too much of his own past self.
"Get the fuck out." Keyaruga replied, once again raising a poisoned needle.
"W-what?.." Buck stumbled, barely expecting such a reaction. "But I…"
"…chose the worst place possible, moron!" The healer smacked the back of knight’s head, like an unsatisfied teacher would do to his nasty students. "Saturday, Jester’s gold. Come alone, and we will see what you can offer us."
"T-thank you! Your…"
"Get. The fuck. Out." The man gritted his teeth, trying not to scream, for that would endanger his infiltration. Either way, Buck Tarwill offered a series of quick nods before finally running down the stairs. He was so fast, he almost sprained his ankle on the descent.
"What a dork." Keyaruga deadpanned, resuming his silent march to the Colosseum. What he failed to notice, though, was a crimson eye, watching from a living stain of blood nearby.
With the distraction out of the way, Keyaruga could get back to his thoughts. He aimed to save his fellow villagers right before the execution. He only faced two issues with that. First, the pit had only two exits, and both would be blocked by thick gates of cast iron. Melting them with alchemy would take too much time. Second was the source of Kureha’s worries — a magic barrier, a dome of death capable of holding everyone inside. Or murdering them in a matter of seconds. Only someone with decent firepower could break through it, like Bullet, armed with his Taslam, or Flare with her overwhelming magic capabilities. The main issue, though, would be the obstacle’s offensive capabilities. The barrier fed on mana and the blood of its prisoners. Normally, it was only a small hindrance for those fighting in the pit, but should the absorption rate rise, nobody could survive for long. Except for those who carried special ruby amulets made for the guardsmen.
Not only will I be shut down, my strength will be depleted, with enemies remaining strong. Yeah, let's barge in, let’s make a fun suicide, Keyaruga chuckled, thinking about his perspectives. With but a few dozen meters to the entrance, the red-haired lad approached the half-open steel gates.
"Hey, yo-" The only sentry around fell silent. With a needle in his throat, the soldier’s body started to wriggle in convulsions, but in the end, he would be fine. With the little spike removed, that man would awaken in an hour or two. The Hero of Healing didn’t want to leave more casualties than necessary, and also, corpses wouldn’t answer his questions.
"Now, let’s see…" The lad laid his hands upon the body. "Heh, now that’s interesting." Keyaruga smirked, looking through the memories of a poor sentry. No, he was not qualified enough to tinker with the barrier, yet he knew that the spell was too complex to be sustained only by magic scribbles. It involved machinery with some sort of a processing box to operate it. Either way, after the man hid the unconscious warden, he quickly made his way forward, seeking the priceless trinkets.
With nobody but a few sleepy tinheads to guard the inner sanctum, Keyaruga faced no real difficulties with getting inside. Of course, there was always a risk of being spotted. If that happened, then even with the healer emerging victorious, the missing amulet wouldn’t help much with the enemy (particularly Norn) knowing about his involvement. Such an outcome threatened to compromise the entire operation.
Wait, why am I even bothering?
*"*Ventura patronum." A whisper raised a quiet whirlwind and covered the hero, reflecting the light off of his body. That… helped little in half-darkened silent rooms, so he still had to keep crouching. Fortunately, with a brand-new heat-scanning spell, keeping all guards in the field of "view" turned out to be even easier than expected. That power demanded little and gave many. Its only downside remained the necessity for a vocalized incantation. It was a short one, but even a second is worth a lot during combat.
In the end, though, with three columned corridors passed and a few careless dullards behind, the man finally reached the stockpile. With a lock picked, the healer entered a wide premise, filled with cheap mass-produced weapons and armor, crates of potions, and bitter but nutritious rations. Yet, what the lad really wanted was a small chest on an inconspicuous table. Inside…
Hm, that brings me back. Flare put it on me before kicking me inside to fight some sabertooth beasts. The idea was Blade’s. Yeah, right, as if the junkie you made me into could actually learn how to fight instead of yelling and running around.
"Now, what should I do? Keep one for myself and break the others? But what about the people of Alban? No, I have to find another way."
…
Leaving a room with amulets behind, the hero reached deeper. Intentionally avoiding the prison rooms, Keyaruga arrived at the heart of the colosseum — a vast machinery filled with tubes and valves. Complex mechanisms pumped blood from the void below a barred hole. Monsters, humans, demons, demi-humans — their deformed bodies were pressed to drain their remaining liquids. But, at the end of the day, that was only a reserve power source. The Hero of Healing reached the brain of that entire structure — a relatively small metal box. And when he opened it…
"Oh...A magic circle? Hmm, a fresh one. School of Rapmantas, I believe." The man sneered, recognizing the work of the protégées of the western university of magic. With all that progress humanity had been making, the magic arts slowly deteriorated, leaving space for more practical and sophisticated use of Enoa’s wonders. While being vastly alien to this antique technology, the modern conjuring circle was more than enough to maintain that thing. Constructing another one? No, only the first Children of Enuas knew how to produce such wonders, and they were gone. Or degraded to small tribes.
Either way, the control schemes were familiar to the man, and thus exploitable. "Draining not only those within but also outside? Now that’s curious." As it turned out, the barrier absorbed the audience’s mana, which seemed both ridiculously cruel and wonderfully advanced. Every living being radiated a small amount of magic energy. Wild mana, it was called. The world had plenty of it, and casters all over the continent dreamt of conquering this force of nature for its destructive capabilities. Yet, only one reached success without breaking a single wand, scepter or limb, toying with that volatile energy. Although to repeat that feat, the young progeny had to reacquire her legendary staff, Vanargand. But Flare, Freia — she was a god-chosen champion of Marduk, a great exception. The others had to suffice with long and tiring rituals to utilize at least a portion of that potency. But that was a story for another day.
"This entire colosseum is one big relic of the past." Keyaruga deadpanned, although he held no reverence for those who built it. They were just as cruel as humans of the modern era, and however much Freia pitied them now, the demi-humans would gladly become merciless slavers if given a chance. That conflict was not about a good race or a bad one. Still, in no way did it excuse Jioral’s ruthlessness.
And there he was, the very peak of humanity, a man with knowledge of many things, yet wisdom of none. The red-eyed lad put his hand on the intangible white circle.
"Right, what do we have here?" Keyaruga started commenting on his own actions. When nobody was watching him, that helped to keep focus. "A complicated system, yet man-made. Maybe a god was involved, but that makes no difference. So, an absorption spell feeds the barrier. With all that rusty junk, I can’t break it quietly. But what was once created by a man can be changed by a man. And I’m an expert in alteration." With his immense knowledge of conjuring, the hero started dissecting and analyze the spell. And even for him, it took an entire half an hour to get everything right. With one little variable slightly rewritten, the entire structure has turned into a death trap for those who thought that they were safe. They would burn inside, their bodies would dry out; and their souls would fall into the deepest pits of hell. It was much, but still hadn’t guaranteed a promised victory. For now, though, it was enough.
"Well, time to get back home, then. I hope Freia didn’t do anything reckless." The healer mumbled, casting a veil of shadows once again. The spell was a peak of conjuring ingenuity, so nobody expected it to get cracked, so no one would check it properly, for that required an entire council of qualified wizards.
You may set a trap when hunting a predator, but one should be careful not to get caught in their own snare.
As Keyaruga climbed a great staircase toward the colosseum on the mountain on the southern part of the middle city of Ranalitta, armed with poisoned knives and needles instead of the bulat saber, alloyed with adamantine, he thought about Norn. Again, he valued her, treasured their precious memories, but at the end of the day: `Next time we meet, we’ll be enemies`.
The pink-haired puppeteer had already commenced the hunt. The mighty armies and powerful individuals barely scared the young man, but them being led by a competent strategist? That drastically complicated things. That is why he preferred to keep his full arsenal secret, so that the genius wouldn’t find a way around his powers. With Kureha out of the town, Keyaruga forbade his other two companions to commit any more raids. The healer even had Freia and Setsuna exhausted with unrelenting sex, so they would get asleep before going out. The whole Ranalitta had been buzzing about the girls’ feats. Some were filled with awe, while others were filled with disgust and frustration over lost income, but both groups drew unwanted attention. Like a man that was waiting at the peak of the stairs.
"I beg your pardon, good sir. Are you the one I am looking for?" It was a knight in full plate armor. Alone at midnight under the light of the lamps along the way.. "Keya-?.." He didn’t finish, as the lad dashed forward and pointed a sharp needle through his helm’s visor. It stopped a few millimeters from the eye.
"What’s it for you?" The hero asked. The ironclad held his hands raised, not attempting to call for reinforcements or draw his blade.
"M-my name is Buck Tarwill. If you allow me, I… wish to speak eye to eye." The knight spoke, tapping his helm. First, Keyaruga glanced around. He let his weapon down only when he realized it was not a trap or ambush of any sort. "Thank you for your trust! Now, excuse me…" It took the man some time and clanking, but in the end, with the helm and padded cap out of the way, he revealed his young face and pointy dark hair. "I would…"
"No-no-no-no." The hero deprecatingly shook his head, placing his left hand on Buck’s temple. "Be still." The lad never needed invocations for his power; magicians asked for wonders, while healers drew them from their own reserves. It’s for the best. I can’t imagine myself running around and screaming: "Heal" like an idiot. Either way, when the dim green light subdued and the hero absorbed yet another set of memories (Buck was mostly a pampered child with an underwhelming level of fourteen, so glancing through his life turned out quite painless, too painless for the avenger’s taste), he viciously grinned.
"Hmm… I see." An idealistic moron, eager to betray his kingdom for some pretentious justice. Just what we needed. "So, what’s your deal with me?" The hero inquired, trying to hide the fact that he knew everything about that man-child and his aspirations.
"I know about your heroic deeds! You and Her Highness have been saving demi-humans from their wretched fate, and now you have come to rescue your people! I could not stand aside! My only wish is to offer my help to you!" From his pompous speech, the red-haired cynic was ready to vomit. That righteous boy, blunt as a brick, pure as spring water, reminded him too much of his own past self.
"Get the fuck out." Keyaruga replied, once again raising a poisoned needle.
"W-what?.." Buck stumbled, barely expecting such a reaction. "But I…"
"…chose the worst place possible, moron!" The healer smacked the back of knight’s head, like an unsatisfied teacher would do to his nasty students. "Saturday, Jester’s gold. Come alone, and we will see what you can offer us."
"T-thank you! Your…"
"Get. The fuck. Out." The man gritted his teeth, trying not to scream, for that would endanger his infiltration. Either way, Buck Tarwill offered a series of quick nods before finally running down the stairs. He was so fast, he almost sprained his ankle on the descent.
"What a dork." Keyaruga deadpanned, resuming his silent march to the Colosseum. What he failed to notice, though, was a crimson eye, watching from a living stain of blood nearby.
With the distraction out of the way, Keyaruga could get back to his thoughts. He aimed to save his fellow villagers right before the execution. He only faced two issues with that. First, the pit had only two exits, and both would be blocked by thick gates of cast iron. Melting them with alchemy would take too much time. Second was the source of Kureha’s worries — a magic barrier, a dome of death capable of holding everyone inside. Or murdering them in a matter of seconds. Only someone with decent firepower could break through it, like Bullet, armed with his Taslam, or Flare with her overwhelming magic capabilities. The main issue, though, would be the obstacle’s offensive capabilities. The barrier fed on mana and the blood of its prisoners. Normally, it was only a small hindrance for those fighting in the pit, but should the absorption rate rise, nobody could survive for long. Except for those who carried special ruby amulets made for the guardsmen.
Not only will I be shut down, my strength will be depleted, with enemies remaining strong. Yeah, let's barge in, let’s make a fun suicide, Keyaruga chuckled, thinking about his perspectives. With but a few dozen meters to the entrance, the red-haired lad approached the half-open steel gates.
"Hey, yo-" The only sentry around fell silent. With a needle in his throat, the soldier’s body started to wriggle in convulsions, but in the end, he would be fine. With the little spike removed, that man would awaken in an hour or two. The Hero of Healing didn’t want to leave more casualties than necessary, and also, corpses wouldn’t answer his questions.
"Now, let’s see…" The lad laid his hands upon the body. "Heh, now that’s interesting." Keyaruga smirked, looking through the memories of a poor sentry. No, he was not qualified enough to tinker with the barrier, yet he knew that the spell was too complex to be sustained only by magic scribbles. It involved machinery with some sort of a processing box to operate it. Either way, after the man hid the unconscious warden, he quickly made his way forward, seeking the priceless trinkets.
With nobody but a few sleepy tinheads to guard the inner sanctum, Keyaruga faced no real difficulties with getting inside. Of course, there was always a risk of being spotted. If that happened, then even with the healer emerging victorious, the missing amulet wouldn’t help much with the enemy (particularly Norn) knowing about his involvement. Such an outcome threatened to compromise the entire operation.
Wait, why am I even bothering?
*"*Ventura patronum." A whisper raised a quiet whirlwind and covered the hero, reflecting the light off of his body. That… helped little in half-darkened silent rooms, so he still had to keep crouching. Fortunately, with a brand-new heat-scanning spell, keeping all guards in the field of "view" turned out to be even easier than expected. That power demanded little and gave many. Its only downside remained the necessity for a vocalized incantation. It was a short one, but even a second is worth a lot during combat.
In the end, though, with three columned corridors passed and a few careless dullards behind, the man finally reached the stockpile. With a lock picked, the healer entered a wide premise, filled with cheap mass-produced weapons and armor, crates of potions, and bitter but nutritious rations. Yet, what the lad really wanted was a small chest on an inconspicuous table. Inside…
Hm, that brings me back. Flare put it on me before kicking me inside to fight some sabertooth beasts. The idea was Blade’s. Yeah, right, as if the junkie you made me into could actually learn how to fight instead of yelling and running around.
"Now, what should I do? Keep one for myself and break the others? But what about the people of Alban? No, I have to find another way."
…
Leaving a room with amulets behind, the hero reached deeper. Intentionally avoiding the prison rooms, Keyaruga arrived at the heart of the colosseum — a vast machinery filled with tubes and valves. Complex mechanisms pumped blood from the void below a barred hole. Monsters, humans, demons, demi-humans — their deformed bodies were pressed to drain their remaining liquids. But, at the end of the day, that was only a reserve power source. The Hero of Healing reached the brain of that entire structure — a relatively small metal box. And when he opened it…
"Oh...A magic circle? Hmm, a fresh one. School of Rapmantas, I believe." The man sneered, recognizing the work of the protégées of the western university of magic. With all that progress humanity had been making, the magic arts slowly deteriorated, leaving space for more practical and sophisticated use of Enoa’s wonders. While being vastly alien to this antique technology, the modern conjuring circle was more than enough to maintain that thing. Constructing another one? No, only the first Children of Enuas knew how to produce such wonders, and they were gone. Or degraded to small tribes.
Either way, the control schemes were familiar to the man, and thus exploitable. "Draining not only those within but also outside? Now that’s curious." As it turned out, the barrier absorbed the audience’s mana, which seemed both ridiculously cruel and wonderfully advanced. Every living being radiated a small amount of magic energy. Wild mana, it was called. The world had plenty of it, and casters all over the continent dreamt of conquering this force of nature for its destructive capabilities. Yet, only one reached success without breaking a single wand, scepter or limb, toying with that volatile energy. Although to repeat that feat, the young progeny had to reacquire her legendary staff, Vanargand. But Flare, Freia — she was a god-chosen champion of Marduk, a great exception. The others had to suffice with long and tiring rituals to utilize at least a portion of that potency. But that was a story for another day.
"This entire colosseum is one big relic of the past." Keyaruga deadpanned, although he held no reverence for those who built it. They were just as cruel as humans of the modern era, and however much Freia pitied them now, the demi-humans would gladly become merciless slavers if given a chance. That conflict was not about a good race or a bad one. Still, in no way did it excuse Jioral’s ruthlessness.
And there he was, the very peak of humanity, a man with knowledge of many things, yet wisdom of none. The red-eyed lad put his hand on the intangible white circle.
"Right, what do we have here?" Keyaruga started commenting on his own actions. When nobody was watching him, that helped to keep focus. "A complicated system, yet man-made. Maybe a god was involved, but that makes no difference. So, an absorption spell feeds the barrier. With all that rusty junk, I can’t break it quietly. But what was once created by a man can be changed by a man. And I’m an expert in alteration." With his immense knowledge of conjuring, the hero started dissecting and analyze the spell. And even for him, it took an entire half an hour to get everything right. With one little variable slightly rewritten, the entire structure has turned into a death trap for those who thought that they were safe. They would burn inside, their bodies would dry out; and their souls would fall into the deepest pits of hell. It was much, but still hadn’t guaranteed a promised victory. For now, though, it was enough.
"Well, time to get back home, then. I hope Freia didn’t do anything reckless." The healer mumbled, casting a veil of shadows once again. The spell was a peak of conjuring ingenuity, so nobody expected it to get cracked, so no one would check it properly, for that required an entire council of qualified wizards.
You may set a trap when hunting a predator, but one should be careful not to get caught in their own snare.
