Within Athelei's mental library, a book was being updated as he mumbled.
"There should be a high likelihood that my fog form and my physical human body have different classifications... I was afflicted with that [Mark] while I was in my human body, and yet from how Sir Jack was behaving, I can assume his special vow doesn't see me as human if a large portion of my body is in fog form...
"Appearing with only the outer shell of my body was definitely a good idea... But I still need more tests to be sure— I can try taking control of a Mechanical Prototype while in fog form next."
Athelei was currently sitting at the very centre of the now-empty coliseum. He rested himself where the spider image once was, slightly peeved by the fact that all the secrets he wanted to uncover had disappeared when Jack did.
He wasn't given a chance to dive into that Circle of Knowledge Concealment and make attempts to dismantle it despite his humble Artist rank.
"It seems like I must enhance my capabilities even further." He spoke to himself. "The relationship between information and one's ability is rather... vital, now that I think about it a bit more."
Athelei was growing increasingly familiar with the fact that access to information had requirements in skill. If he wasn't good enough, he would have no right to know of certain things.
After all, Inspect wasn't useful when it came to things Athelei had no access to in the first place.
"It only makes sense," Athelei stood up, "The ability to draw desired information from an object at a glance should be highly sought-after by itself... right?"
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Meanwhile, Southern Illyas, underground.
A young woman was seated on a throne made for giants. She appeared to be surveying her new environment, pondering about what was to come.
"So this is the [First Kingdom]," She muttered, leaning back on her cold backrest.
Her throne was carved from stone, and engraved with many geometrical patterns. It had a dwarven air about it as if the Ogres who crafted it had somehow been inspired by those bearded creatures of fantasy.
"Assault Leader Claire,"
At some point in time, a man clad in green robes appeared at the entrance of the throne room. He stood directly in the line of sight of anyone who sat on the throne, allowing him to meet the young woman's eyes the moment he called out her name.
"Spiritualist Mavis," Claire slowly straightened herself up and stood atop the giant throne.
She dusted off her flowing robes with her left hand— the only hand she had left after Gusche's midnight visit.
"Have you finished cleaning up? How's the treasury? Did the Ogres do anything other than waste away in their constructs and carvings?" Her melodic voice sounded like a song in the spacious throne room.
"We have finished up on the tasks assigned to us." Spiritualist Mavis was numb to the music playing in his ears. "Our foundation is solid. We are ready for the next steps..."
Mavis pursed his lips in slight hesitation, "...Of course, that is after another week of rest. Many Nightwalkers had to explode more than once in the span of a few days. Any more and their minds would simply collapse."
"Those Ogres were really something, weren't they?" Claire chuckled wryly. Even dead, her own sword could not pierce through an Ogre's thick skin. Rank 3 physiques were no joke.
"Is there any possibility that we could be diplomatic with them?"
Mavis' lips twitched, "You know that we will not consider such an option. Illum would appreciate it if Madame Assault Leader were to belay such ideas going forward."
A flash of hostility passed through Mavis' eyes but was quickly snuffed out. The Spiritualist kept his business-like demeanour up.
"I'm joking, I'm joking." Claire laughed out loud as she leapt down her throne, "I know what I signed up for."
Grey energy flowed out of Claire's robed body. Her mood swung from genial to bloodthirsty.
"Hear me, my battalion. We're moving out!" As she spoke, she had walked past the Spiritualist who stood in her way. Her voice extended to all her subordinates, causing all of them to stiffen up.
'I will show them all that my choice is not a dead end.'
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In a once-lively kingdom-city, another throne room lay.
Gusche was panting as he stood before the corpse of an Orc Chieftain.
The One-Eyed Harbinger had not expected the masterful nature of the Orcs to allow them to match and even outclass himself. The swordsmanship of the Orc Chieftain in particular surpassed what was imaginable for humanity.
Match that with an Orc's naturally superior physique, Gusche had to trade wound for wound.
All for the sake of victory.
"A few plans need to be readjusted," He muttered to himself in annoyance as he fixed the bandages on his bloody hands. "I also need time to heal before my next task."
Gusche produced a few colourful concoctions from within his cloak's pockets. The bottles were just about the size of a finger, but they radiated a Mystic Energy in pulses. It was as if they each had their own heartbeat.
The One-Eyed Harbinger then downed these potions one by one in a systematic manner. Some potions he only had a sip at first. He then had to wait a few moments in motionlessness before first drinking another potion. Only when he downed the second potion completely could he finish the first.
When all these potions were consumed, Gusche laid down to rest.
He had been executing tasks tirelessly for the past months. His body was pushed way past the limit multiple times, bringing him more harm than good.
But Gusche did not care about such things.
He feared the crack of the whip.
He wished for recognition.
And thus, he would complete his tasks with grace and poise, no matter the cost. If he was killed in action...
"Then... so be it..." Gusche mumbled as he inevitably fell into slumber.
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{[ Arabi, First Kingdom, Oxhor ]}
Hilvar was getting ready to move out with his army of Orcs. Standing behind him were the many High Orcs who had evolved with him. There were hundreds of such figures, emanating an aura of superior beings.
Refined muscles and agile bodies. Shining tusks and eyes that glimmered with wisdom.
The High Orcs were beginning yet another march. Another Greater Goblin settlement was their prey and goal. The third one out of five targets.
"MY MEN!" Hilvar let loose a bellow that shook the ground beneath him. "MARCH!"
The reply of hundreds of High Orcs would then bring about an earthquake.
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{[ Harmonic Knight Camp, First Kingdom, Oxhor ]}
Call it coincidence, call it fate... Or maybe call it the Will of the heavens.
Irene was also preparing to leave.
She donned a Cloak of Tranquility and pulled the hood over her head. In her bag were treasures aplenty— the ones she had amassed throughout her endless journey and fed to her growing golden wings.
She wielded no visible weapon, but just the pressure she could emanate with a simple glance could cause the weaker-willed to shiver.
Fwoosh!
The flutter of wide grey wings could be heard.
Behind her were the Harmonic Knights led by Thallium Yan. They looked at Irene's wings in awe and intrigue.
Meanwhile, Thallium Yan only had a simple smile on her face.
"Take care," The Knight Captain waved.
"You too," Irene replied simply with a nod of her own. "We'll have Salintere Tea next time alright? I don't know how you drink those salty ones... It makes no sense to me."
Thallium Yan laughed when she heard this, "I keep telling you, you'll learn to love it in time. But alright... As long as you prepare the leaves."
"I'll hold you up to that," Irene said, and with a powerful flap of her wings, she took off into the darkness.
Seeing Irene leave, Thallium Yan turned to a small party of Adventurers.
"Will you lot be willing to take on a job for me?"
Cammille stepped up, "What kind?"
Thallium Yan handed a scroll to the young Adventurer, "Information gathering."