"And who would you be?" the void demanded from Zoltan—or rather, an old man's choked voice from behind. He spun around to realise he wasn't alone in this nothingness.
The first thing he saw was the staff pointing at him.
An old, gnarled poplar branch with bright mana-particles dancing around it.
The man holding it looked ancient, too, and in many regards, resembled his own master.
But his garbs—a long, ornate cloak and a pointy hat—were all grey and silver.
Which could only mean one thing.
"T-the Silver Mage," Zoltan muttered, his mouth agape.
Not that they have ever met.
But there wasn't a wizard or apprentice in Kasserlane who hadn't heard of this legend.
One of Kasserlane's three great wizards, court magician, royal guardian, and—
An old man who didn't seem happy with his assessment.
"Nonsense," he noted, pausing for a shallow, dry cough. "That's me. I'm asking, who are you?"
He was holding onto his staff to keep his balance, looking frail and old, but no less angry.
"And what is this cursed plane of existence? Where is his majesty, and what did you do to him?!"
He had a lot of questions—and Zoltan even more—but not a single answer to give.
"The king?" he took a step back, confused.
Right. It was the Silver Mage's job to keep him safe from magic.
His master was his peer, and—was that a dream, or had he seen the Green Mage, too, after so long? Only for a moment, and only to then find himself in this empty void, which—
No, well, it wasn't exactly empty now.
Shaking his head, he tried to calm the chaos inside.
"I'm Zoltan Sudberg," he said, bowing to the greater wizard. "It is an honour to meet you."
Another cough, and a scoff.
"Are you mocking me, child?!" the Silver Mage retorted, his bushy grey brows furrowed. "It is not the time for—who were you again? And what is this place? Answer me, now."
He would if he could, but Zoltan was as confused as the old man seemed to be.
"I'm sorry, my lord, I'm—I was—"
It was hard to think when one of the most powerful weapons a mage could hold was pointing at him. Not that this situation made the slightest sense to him, either.
"The Green Mage," he blurted out after much stuttering. "I was in Eytjangard, then—"
"So I wasn't imagining things," the old wizard noted, stopping for another shallow cough. "That child had so much ambition—but didn't he disappear? The Church said—"
He couldn't finish.
He doubled over, wheezing, slamming his knees and leaning on his gnarled staff.
Zoltan's first thought was to rush in and help him stand, but the poplar staff kept him at bay.
Calling the Green Mage a child—he was already old when he first met him, and now?
These wizards were all ancient and powerful.
And yet, the Silver Mage seemed as clueless as Zoltan felt.
"What is even happening?" he muttered, looking around in the vast emptiness.
"That's my question," the wizard noted, aiming his staff at Zoltan again. "Tell me everything you remember. And make it quick. We don't know what the Mad Caster might be planning."
***
Konrad didn't move from his place on the grandstand, but his mind was already elsewhere.
Miles away in the woodlands, where he'd set up his adamantite spying-orbs.
He saw everything from many different angles—all at once.
For someone who hated multitasking, this was akin to torture. His head was spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then he had to select the best images to broadcast.
All this across many miles, through relays and cosmic noise, and so many distractions.
'No sign of the king,' Maple reported in via telepathy. 'Which road should I look at?'
'If I knew—' Konrad groaned inward, his actual eyes blind to his surroundings.
He had no idea if the princess was still behind him, nor the mental capacity to check.
'Everything's fine on my end,' Lily joined in, another distraction—albeit a sweet one—in his mind. 'The woods are quiet, apart from the men-at-arms preparing for battle.'
She must've teleported again, because minutes ago, she was still lazing around in the arena.
Now, she was in the northern woodlands, not far from where the greater dungeon opened months ago. The abandoned fortress where Konrad's bout was to take place was to the east.
A little closer, but once he ended the broadcast, he'd still have to hurry to get there in time.
What was he thinking when he greenlit this tight schedule?
It was the first day of the tournament, but things were already falling apart.
No sign of Kasserlane's king; Zoltan refused to help, and then he also disappeared—
"Should we cancel?" Konrad muttered. It was equal parts to himself and to Gabrielle, whose presence was impossible to miss. "There are too many things going on that I can't explain."
"No, no, go ahead and begin the next fight," Helena replied instead.
He couldn't see her, but her voice was anything but calm.
"I'm sure it's fine," she added, squeezing Konrad's shoulder from behind. "And even if it wasn't—causing panic would be the worst we could do. Let's give the people what they came for."
He let out a long sigh.
So it wasn't his paranoia. There was a reason to panic.
But he still didn't know what it was.
"All right then, someone give them the sign to begin," he said, focusing on the broadcast.
The added distance and the larger battlefield made it much more difficult to sort things out.
While the fight happened within the arena, he didn't even have to concentrate, but now?
He found Vargas with the long pike again, but seeing him from different angles at once made his head spin. His enemies advanced in a loose formation, using the terrain to their advantage.
He heard the crowd's cheering when the illusion screens came to life.
But his mind was too much of a mess to make sense of the scene as a whole.
And this is why he had Eyna stand by, her voice also broadcast loud and clear in the arena.
"The second bout of the Ducal Tournament is already on its way," she assumed the job of a sports commentator. "This time, it's the Aset Defenders, and the Silver Bears of Nitra."
Konrad learned more from the girl than from the chaotic images he was broadcasting.
"The Defender's loadout might be surprising, taking long pikes into a dense forest—"
And then a sudden silence.
"Here I wondered where your favourite purple-eyed puppy went," Gabrielle whispered.
Konrad could even feel her breath on his ear, and the world seemed to have stopped. Again.
He opened his eyes, his illusions hanging frozen in the air.
The archangel circled him with a stoic face, the arena lost in a strange fog behind her.
"What is going on?" Konrad demanded, his head throbbing from the sudden change in—well, time. "Does it have something to do with Zoltan and the king's disappearance?"
"It does," Gabrielle said without any urgency. "Things happened faster than I had expected."
"Summary?" he asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.
When was the last time he saw the archangel look this serious?
"Maou Midori is here," she claimed, sitting down on his lap as if that was the most natural thing to do. It wasn't; not in this situation. "I hope you're ready, because things will turn ugly soon."