Corvis Eralith
As Nabyun Asclepius Navafarethra of Focularsa, Highprince of the Asclepius Clan and Justiciar of Peace, I sat at the large table of the Parliament Threatre.
Seated around me was the first true war council of my life, the gathering where the strategy to liberate Dicathen from the Vritra's grip would be forged.
Only this morning, Solleandro had delivered his full intelligence report on House Wykes. The board was set, the pieces were primed, and the hour had finally arrived for Dicathen to strike back against Alacrya.
"In two days, in the countryside of Sapin, there will be a meeting in the dungeons of the Wykes villa between the forces of spymaster Draneeve," I informed, repeating the information I discovered from Kai Crestless and that Solleandro confirmed. "Useless to say: that night all those who sided with the Vritra regime will perish."
I said "Vritra regime" instead of Alacryans because of Cylrit's presence, other than it being the correct definition obviously.
Despite the former Retainer not having any form of true loyalty to other Alacryans, he still dreamt of a free Alacrya—the same dream of Scythe Seris and as thus his current goal.
Other than Cylrit seating at the long table were Chul, Avicenna, Fatima, Evascir, Soleil and Alea, the elven Lance feeling quite out of place within the Hearth, but I needed her for the second part of my plan.
"I've spent the last month and a half preparing myself," I said.
Ever since returning from the Hearth that first time, ever since ascending as Highprince and thwarting the Legacy's reincarnation, I had been preparing.
My Awareroom, the Throneholder trials alongside my operations across Vildorial, Burim, and Pitrah, assuming the guise of Leòn Leurenzian, my summit with Cynthia Goodsky, consulting with Gideon, and perfecting both the Portal Frogs and the Manacites—everything had been calibrated for this singular objective: purging Agrona's influence from Dicathen once and for all.
"Both the Caduchicil and the Vritra's spy network are our objectives. By the dawn of the thirteenth day of Winter, they will all be pruned from Dicathian soil." I declared. "Here's the plan."
—
Twilight bathed the Sapinese countryside orange, the setting Mordain, symbol of Peace, casting its last warm rays over the old villa of Fiery House Wykes, a noble family that I have been dealing with for most of my life.
Magnus Redson, former guildmaster of the Adventurer's Guild in Zestier before the organization leaving Elenoir had been the first person I have had trouble dealing with in my life.
In a way it was in spite of that man, and of House Wykes, that I had collaborated with Elder Rahdeas for one of my most important projects: the Unraveler's Company.
Moreover from what I gathered during my first trip to Azellio Magnus Redson was now a slave master employed by the Wykes.
Sebastian Wykes, court magician of Royal House Glayder and former master of the Red Gorge dungeon, had been the first occasion a person I couldn't touch wronged me: making the Red Gorge explode.
The flock of Phoenix Wyrms Soleil spent centuries caring after disappearing after what Sebastian had done.
And finally I discovered from Kai Crestless that the Wykes were supporting Draneeve, an Alacryan terrorist, a man who was Fated to die tonight.
I wrenched Fiorwato free from Kai Crestless' torso, ending the Alacryan spy once and for all as I crouched atop a low hill overlooking the target estate. His limp body collapsed into the grass, and with a flick of fire magic, I cremated the remains.
Maroon plumes of the Flame of Sapin—the deviant fire art belonging to Leòn Leurenzian, whose guise I currently wore—engulfed the corpse until nothing was left.
I have followed the Alacryan spy since he left Xyrus City, using REmould to continuously change appearance until he took a carriage meant to take him to his meeting with Draneeve.
Avier and Cynthia Goodsky eliminated the carriage while I took care of Kai, a fast and silent work.
An expansive Bubblespell, inscribed with numerous Articles and reinforced by sound magic, shielded me from unwanted eyes.
A subtle matrix of sound magic woven directly into the sphere's surface suppressed all interior noise, preventing even a whisper from leaking out, while fire magic rendered the barrier entirely invisible.
How? The mechanism was straightforward enough.
Through precise manipulation of heat differentials, I had discovered that one could bend light around a reflective surface (the teal Trucewater forming the perimeter of the sphere in my case).
Working both elements in seamless tandem effectively cloaked anyone within the boundary from outside observation.
Anchoring the technique with the Articles of Balance and Freedom, I stabilised this pocket of complete concealment directly adjacent to the Wykes family's ancestral estate.
We were east of the human city of Marlow, not far from the Sapinese side of the Grand Mountains which were visible in the distance, a titanic background to the villa of Fiery House Wykes, one kf the many estates owned by the family throughout the Kingdom of Sapin.
"Uncle," I turned at the familiar voice.
Chul, using his elven Narmanakaya, settled in a crouch beside me and Berna, Suncrusher resting on his back as he prepared to wage the Warrant of War against Draneeve and his underlings.
"That is our target?" He asked pointing at the villa, the usual wonder he had for everything outside of the Hearth replaced by alertness and concentration. "Where our enemies are?"
At his question I whistled, casting a wind spell to call for our own counterspy. The yellow canary that was Solleandro Asclepius' Sambhogakaya glided toward our position, piercing the veil of my Bubblespell.
"Solleandro, report," I said when the canary settled on Chul. "How many people are inside?"
From our vantage point on a nearby hill, hidden between the trees and cloaked by my Bubblespell we could spot the gate surrounding the estate as well as the sparse Wykes' bodyguards.
"A hundred Dicathians in total work inside, my Highprince," Solleandro said. "Twenty-one are mages employed as guards. Ten are mages of House Wykes proper; Otis Wykes counted."
"What about Draneeve and his lackeys?" I asked.
"They usually hide themselves as staff of the estate," Solleandro informed. "As for the lesser known as Draneeve he is preparing the monthly meeting with his most important spies through Sapin. There are probably forty Alacryans in the villa as of now."
"Where Kai was supposed to be participating," I murmured.
"Uncle what do you want to do?" Chul asked, his fists trembling in anticipation. "Do we barge in? Delivering Justice to what was lost?"
I smirked. "You really liked the Warrant of War, huh?" I joked. "But no. I will enter disguised as Kai Crestless; I have the same uniform as him and know enough how he behaves."
One thing I noticed was that Kai Crestless didn't wear many clothes, he oftenly decided to use the uniform of Xyrus Academy in most contexts—probably because it avoided most questions given the status that uniform symbolised, not only in Xyrus, but in all of Sapin too.
But using REmould to wear the face of a dead man? I didn't know if I liked it. No, I hated it, but I couldn't deny its usefulness.
Hopefully it would be the last time I was going to do it.
"You want to go inside alone?" Chul asked, gritting his teeth and I nodded. "When do I need to intervene?"
I retrieved from my storage ring the Tempus Warp Fatima and Avicenna, through Evascir's expert hands, managed to make using the fragments of the shattered artifact Cylrit used to arrive in the Hearth.
"We are going to use this," I said showing Chul the anvil-shaped object. "Once I am inside and I am sure everyone has arrived I activate it and you... deliver Justice to all that was lost. Okay?"
"Yes!" Chul confirmed. "I won't let you down Uncle!"
"I know you won't," I said, turning one last time to Solleandro. "There is one last thing. What about Bairon Wykes?"
"The human is in Etitsin," Solleandro reported. "He serves King Glayder directly as commander of the royal garrison there. He returns to his family only when explicitly summoned by his father—a summons that hasn't happened once since you entrusted me with this assignment, my Highprince."
Which meant if we were fast we wouldn't need to worry about Bairon Wykes. From Solleandro's previous reports I was optimistic that Bairon had no idea about his family working for the Vritra.
In fact, Otis Wykes kept his own heir in the dark about all his decisions regarding the family's politics. To the Lord of House Wykes his son was just a living prize, a source of prestige and influence due to his strength and role as Lance.
"Capture," I declared, rising to my feet. A teal Bubblespell imploded inward against my core as I firmly anchored this precise instant within the currents of the river of time.
REmould made me look like Kai Crestless—only in appearance, it was more similar to Leòn Leurenzian wearing a costume than a true new identity, but for this? It was perfect.
I approached the estate of House Wykes.
Cylrit
In Alacrya, I had never had a single day I remembered when I had been at "Peace."
But since I came here to Dicathen, I had not known war, only serenity. The Kingdom of Elenoir was a paradise compared to even the most forgiving of Alacryan dominions: Sehz-Clar; at least before my Scythe died and was replaced by her fake, beginning all those purges of our former allies.
To continue experiencing this, the closest thing to Seris' dream I had ever known, I would comply with the orders of the Justiciar.
Erasing the Caduchicil, that was the objective.
It was the insidious Vritra cult Sovereign Exeges had planted within the elven nation decades ago, made to funnel fresh elven specimens into his twisted experiments—to forge an entirely new race bearing Vritra blood within their veins, mirroring humanity in Alacrya.
"Luchen... Cylrit... however you want to be called," the elf, Alea Triscan, said. "Why are you obeying His Highness?"
We were flying over the green expanse that was the elven forest of Dicathen, a large woodland that sprawled across much of the Dicathian north.
Triscan Alea was one of the few white-core mages of this continent—a Lance. A mage empowered through an artifact that the Indrath Clan had given the monarchs of Dicathen many centuries past, in response to the High Sovereign's own experiments over the Alacryan population.
Master Seris had spent much time studying the Lances before she was... murdered and substituted.
My Scythe's plan had always been that of building a resistance against the Asuras using the most prominent mages of both continents, and the Dicathian Lances could have been heroes of that resistance.
"Prince Corvis can help me with my goals," I replied. "Moreover, I am already the enemy of one Clan of Asuras. If I want to achieve my objectives, I can't afford to become enemy of the Asclepius too."
"That's... very pragmatic of you," Alea Triscan said.
This woman was surprising. As far as I knew, she possessed no hidden lineage—she was not the reincarnation of an Asclepius like Prince Corvis, nor anything of the sort.
By all rights, she ought to have been thoroughly shaken in my presence; disgusted or afraid, both even.
Yet, Alea Triscan received these revelations with startling calm. She trusted her liege implicitly, and solely on that faith, she was willing to collaborate with a former soldier of Agrona Vritra.
I could respect that; in fact, I saw a reflection of myself in her. Replace Prince Corvis Eralith with Scythe Seris Vritra, and our positions were identical: an extension of our master's will.
"People have told me that already," I said.
"The Vritra's cell you call Caduchicil keeps their connection with Alacrya in a hidden dungeon of the Beast Glades near the Elshire Forest, as far as my information goes," I continued.
Before being discovered, and long before Cynthia Goodsky's defection from Alacrya, Master Seris had served as the appointed spymaster over Dicathen.
Under the direct mandate of the High Sovereign, she held catalogued oversight of every Alacryan asset seeded across the continent. Nothing escaped her knowledge, not even the clandestine side projects of rival Sovereigns, such as Exeges and his Caduchicil.
"The Caduchicil was born because of the aftermath of the First War against Sapin. How can an event so ancient be related to all of this?" Alea Triscan naively asked.
"All conflicts in Dicathen have been engineered by the High Sovereign, Alea," I said grimly. "He has been plotting to wage war in Dicathen for millennia, and he has already done so in many different ways. We are simply getting closer to the final act."
"So many of my people died because of one single... Basilisk?" Alea Triscan asked. "Is that what Agrona Vritra is, right?"
"Yes and yes," I replied. "My master always used to make this analogy: Dicathen is hot iron beneath the Vritra's hammer, struck again and again until it finally yields. Alacrya, on the other hand, is the anvil upon which those blows reverberate."
We flew east, toward the secret dungeon of the Caduchicil. In the High Sovereign's plan, it was meant to be one of the bridgeheads for the eventual Alacryan invasion of this continent, where hundreds of mutated and corrupted mana beasts would have swarmed the nations of Sapin and Darv from the Dicathian Beast Glades.
That, too, seemed to be known by Prince Corvis, just as most of my information regarding Alacrya—secrets that had cost my master her life.
The All-Knowledgeable One... I shook my head, renouncing the comparison between Corvis Eralith and Almighty Vritra himself.
"What should we expect?" Alea Triscan asked. "Last time I fought the Caduchicil, I had to fell a strange mana beast. It was feral beyond anything we have ever seen. His Highness called it a 'mutant'—a corrupted mana beast."
"That's correct," I replied. "One of the weapons the High Sovereign wants to use against this continent are hordes of native mana beasts tainted by Vritra's magic."
I knew all too well about the alchemical draughts forced upon the mana beasts—vile combat concoctions synthesized to artificially bloat their physical strength and reinforce their bodies.
Sovereign Kiros had overseen their production, and I had witnessed far too many of my peers within the Court of Basilisks wither and perish under their ruinous toll. Uto and I were among the few who had survived them.
"Other than that..." I started. "We might find ourselves fighting Alacryans. Back in my birth continent, news of my survival and escape must have reached the Sovereigns already. I wouldn't be surprised if they were expecting to be struck, but they won't imagine me coming accompanied."
I heard Alea Triscan gulp behind me, hearing she might be fighting people.
"Have you ever killed someone?" I asked, surprised.
"I work as a maid," the elf replied sarcastically, but she was clearly nervous. "I don't usually kill. No. I have never killed someone."
This was another cultural shock I had experienced since coming to Dicathen. Murder was so rare here...
In Alacrya, other than Retainers or Scythes like me and my master, raised to kill for our gods since birth, it wasn't rare for the common people to have killed at least once in their lifetime.
Ascenders in the Relictombs murdered each other everyday to steal accolades from their colleagues. Assassinations in high Alacryan society were so common that every scion of a Highblood was taught to kill before puberty.
The unads, the lowliest of Alacryans, were slaughtered like cattle. Everyone in Alacrya had seen someone die, be killed, or have taken a life themselves.
"We should be here," I said, halting myself and hovering above a section of the elven forest.
"I don't see anything," Alea Triscan observed at first sight, but then she squinted her eyes, noticing what was veiled beneath: a classic Alacryan war camp. "Wait... illusion magic? This is why we have never been able to permanently erase the Caduchicil."
"In the past there was a tradition in Alacrya, before the war preparation was shifted to Dicathen," I started. "Bloodwars. Once every decade, one of our Sovereigns would declare war on another, sparking a true conflict between two Dominions. To avoid spell bombardment, Alacryan Instillers—our artificers, if you will—developed advanced cloaking devices."
"They declared war on each other every decade?" Alea Triscan echoed, horrified. "For what?"
"To never let us lessers forget what we were made for," I sighed.
"And no one ever tried to rebel?"
"No," I said sternly. "And those who tried have been erased from history, like my master, transformed into a shade of her former self."
Alea Triscan unsheathed her sword: a Courtblade.
"Let's put an end to this."