Smiling brightly, Vidění said with a light chuckle.
"Why, of course not. You know how it is. Business this, manage that. Ever since the Purple Night, he, too, had switched over to the rather bland side of things, leaving his successors to deal with the outer trouble.
"Nevertheless, I can't say I'm not impressed. More resources is always welcome."
Taking a deep breath, Zolovat looked down and sighed. It was true, this was normal.
Still, the fact that his recent defeat hadn't been informed to the main head is a problem of its own; somebody was deliberately blocking the information.
And that somebody was likely right in front of him.
After a long silence, Scorpio looked up and saw his brother, Videni off, who was smiling brightly the entire time.
Alone in the room once again, thoughts raced through his mind.
'The head still doesn't know of my defeat and loss of proof of participation. Somebody is intentionally blocking the information.'
'But why? Why would they do that? This isn't some trivial matter than can just be slid under the rug, this is very serious! What reason could Videni have for doing this?'
'This can't just be the work of one person… several accomplices are involved. Exaggerating things by a bit, I should include several key figures in the investigation teams and other outside sources. But not too much.'
'Too much broth spoils the stew. The more people are involved, the easier it is for the information to be leaked or bribed from a tattletale. So, at most, maybe around ten to twelve people… twenty at most, if I exaggerate things a bit.'
'Back to the motive… is he planning on blackmailing me? But that's pointless: the more time passes, the more inevitable it is that my defeat would reach the ears of the main head.'
'…Could something have happened while I was out? Something big and surprising. I've already ascertained the existence of the giant avian creature wreaking havoc in the more rural parts of the city. Anybody with eyes can see that. The problem lies in what else could have happened during the small time frame while I was unconscious, which is around five to six hours.'
'My butler doesn't seem to be here, too… well, it's not like I knew him well. We just met a few days prior to the battle at Eavesdrop. I didn't know him that well other than his weird eccentricities. It's unlikely he'd the reason.'
'Then, could it be Aries? Did something happen to him?'
'…But as much as I hate say it, he still won. And he certainly would have had the chance to escape once the reinforcements I called mid-battle with his proof of participation. He's small and has obfuscation magic. In a runaway scenario, the chances of him getting away is high.'
'Then, maybe, possibly, inconceivably… did something else significant happen?'
'Did… did another group or faction appear in the middle or afterwards he was dealing with the reinforcements I called, which caused great trouble?'
'…It sounds possible, but I don't have enough proof. I need more information.'
Recalling that his brother, Videni, had his own number of people in the intel team, Zolovat couldn't help but bite his fingernails in frustration. He grunted in annoyance.
"Ugh, I'm too tired of this." With only the moonlight illuminating the room, and his own figure covered in a veil of shadows, Zolovat lay his back on his uber-soft bed and sighed.
'…Might as well try, since there's nothing else for me to do with these injuries.'
With a deep breath, he reached out to the earth—scanning the grand mansion of Mocný—and spread his consciousness with a deep exhale.
As soon as he did, his lucidity dropped to almost zero levels, then flickered, sensing two figures pass his room and deeper into the halls, just before he reached his limit.
The next second, he was fast asleep like a toddler.
◇◆◇◆◇
Passing by Zolovat Mocný's chambers with silent footsteps. While the temptation of fathering information from the Scorpio candidate himself was deeply enticing, they ultimately decided against it.
The teenager was injured, confused, and enraged. Mentioning other competing candidates would most likely set him off.
'Just like dynamite.' Sherlock suppressed a grin and kept a vigilant gaze, trekking the hall with caution.
'Also, I don't think a "guard" has a high enough status to talk with such important figure.' He added, rounding a corner.
The two kept their uniform and weapons, wishing to keep the ploy of two guards on their way to their own quarters.
On the way, Sherlock periodically placed his hand on the walls for a minute or two, then signaled meaningfully to Sherlock. After a while, they stopped before the sleeping quarters of the original guards they had replaced.
A leisurely conversation
"Those two are taking an awful lot of time, aren't they? You think we should take a look?"
"No, it's fine. They probably just made a stop at the kitchen for a midnight snack or something. If not, then they're probably just flirting with the maids again."
"Lucky bastards."
Laughter erupted from the other side of the door, and James nodded to Sherlock. Without another word, the two turned and left the guard's quarter's door.
That place was not their goal.
Turning right, the two stuck close to the shadows as they went around the entire place, as if in search of something.
…Half an hour later, the two aged detectives stopped before a pair of double doors. It looked unsuspecting and mundane, with no unique characteristic whatsoever.
Igniting Manavision, James Moriarty's red eyes glowed a dim red. He whispered under his breath:
"This is it: the record room. There's an insane amount of seals on it, unnecessarily so. Whoever manages this place must be a real wizard."
Nodding to his partner, Sherlock placer his hand on the wall across the door, staying cautious and careful. Even the slightest touch could set off a hidden alarm.
Stretching his consciousness, Sherlock scanned the inner workings of the door and its seals in a roundabout way, so as to bypass its sensory and alarm mechanisms. After a solid minute of emitting his mana in a unique rhythm, he sighed and muttered under his breath:
"Two north northwest, three directly south, and one at the very center. In that order." He said to his partner, James, and the fellow aged detective nodded.
Cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders, James Moriarty took a deep breath, then pushed his right arm into the door slightly, just deep enough for his hand to go through.
Using his partner's rough coordinates as reference, he pushed certain points in the door's inner workings.
Twice north northwest. Thrice directly south. Once at the very center. In that order.
Five minutes later, the door opened with a resounding click, and the two deftly slipped inside, closing it immediately behind them.
And then, they got to their main jobs: finding and recording sensitive information about the Mocný family, as well as the background and abilities of its representative, Scorpio.
The night drew on, and by the coming sunrise, the two aged detectives left the grand mansion with a deft escape, with nobody the wiser.
News of their exploit didn't reach the higher-ups until the morning after.
◇◆◇◆◇
Waking up in a sunken stupor, Lieren grimaced as he felt his body groan in pain, feeling the weight of the world much more. It was a testament to how much weaker he had grown.
Instinctively, he circulated wild mana to his body and limbs, but immediately stopped.
'…Right, how can I forget…' Recalling the mana-draining chains shackling his wrists, Lieren winced as another wave of pain washed over his body.
Trying to take in a deep breath, he grimaced again, the putrid smell of blood, grime, and pus mixed in the air assaulted his nostrils. Closing his right hand, he made sure that it was still there.
The left one, too.
Then, he called upon his Resistance, willing it to thicken. Not even a fraction of a second later, it was already twice the density he usually kept it at—the state at which he can passively absorb mana. Looking down, he could almost feel something move in the deep dark shadows.
The next second, the remnant sense of rationality slapped him with the dire truth:
He was beginning to hallucinate.
'Ugh, that can't be good. I need to busy myself, or else I "might" just die a crazy guy. Or worse, bored.' Slowly opening his hands and closing them into fists over and over, he decided to do something to keep his mind occupied.
One…
Two…
Three…
Seconds bled into minutes, and after a while, he finally remembered the task he had set to himself before he fell unconscious from the immolating pain.
…His Resistance squirmed.
The milky-white aura—which only he could see—suddenly came to life at his behest. For some reason, it seemed more lively at this very moment that all the previous tines he had called for it—second only to the time he defended against the crushing divine weight during his fight with Scorpio.
It was almost as if his mysterious ability was pitying him.
Gritting his teeth at the thought, Lieren tried to manipulate his Resistance in a certain way, shaping it into something precise.
He failed.
'Yeah, this isn't going to be easy.' Other than the density of his ability, he couldn't tap much into its potential. 'But that won't stop me!'
Resolving himself for an arduous, mountainous task, Lieren shouted in his heart with gusto, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, he tried to concentrate, feeling the scorched skin and exposed flesh expand and contract as his ribcage moved.
For a while, he thought he was breathing pure fire. It was only when he opened his eyes to the sound of echoing footsteps did he finally realize that it was just his burns marks.
Creak! The metal-barred door opened with grating sound. A tall man entered, carrying a brightly glowing rod with him.
Closing his eyes, Lieren silently cursed something no ten-year-old boy should ever say.
And the next moment, scorching pain washed over his entire body again.
…And when he woke up, the process would repeat itself again.
His hoarse, agonized screams echoed in the shadowed room.
Pain.
An indeterminate amount of time later, he woke up, feeling even more burn marks and several bruises appear on his body with an even deeper grimace than before.
"What are they doing this for?" He muttered unconsciously, then looked back up, expecting something to have changed by this time.
Nothing did, and it was starting to feel like the norm.
"Hagh!" Drawing a hoarse breath, he quivered, suddenly feeling colder than before. Only the new burn marks om his body reminded him what heat even was.
Closing his eyes, he went back to opening and closing his hands to keep himself focused, then, he began taking deep but painful breaths, feeling each burn light up his body somewhat.
Then, he turned back to his Resistance, noticing that it was the same as he had left it: at twice the density he usually keeps it at.
Mana regeneration was useless right now, as it would only get sucked up by the mana-draining shackles wrapped around his wrists. Moreover, with his Resistance reducing his passive mana intake significantly lower than that of a recently Adorned mage, any mana that he theoretically absorbed from the atmosphere would always be slower than the rate at which the shackles drains his mana.
In other words, it was better to be frugal with his reserves and keep his expenditure on the down low until he managed to find a way to block out the mana-draining effects of the rune-inscribed shackles.
Which was exactly what he was doing right now!
Turning his attention inwards, he studied his channels. These were the quintessential, near invisible veins carved in his very body and soul, coursing through his entire body like blood vessels, acting as the delivery system for magical functions.
A regular, recently-Adorned budding mage, with nothing special about them, had immature, uneven, and rough channels. It needed to be tempered, cleaned, purified, and improved on through increasingly advanced manipulation of mana and energy, the two basic lifeblood of a mage. Meditation is key to this step.
Next is efficiency. This includes expenditure and regeneration. Lesser is better for the former; the opposite the latter. Currently, Lieren was extremely efficient with his mana, with next-to-none excess whatsoever—all thanks to his Resistance preventing all unconscious leakage at all times. It was by the same reason that his mana regeneration was significantly lower than what it should have been.
A discrepancy was made from two aspects of Lieren's biology: his expenditure and channel quality were too disparate from each other. The former was simply too good, while the latter was too bad.
As much as he had refrained from digesting the issue, he still couldn't help but sigh. With the ever-reliable aid of time as his partner, he had originally hoped to temper and improve his channels to gradually improve his channels.
With the rate of how often he gets into trouble, and has to use magic on an almost daily basis, he half-expected his channels to be of a much higher quality than normal… which wasn't false, not by a long shot!
Still, though, compared to his mana expenditure and spell strength, his channels horribly paled in comparison. It was like a worker bee looking at a mundane guard, far beneath it, almost like an infant. The disparity was to such a degree that Lieren only felt like he was punishing himself every time the intrusive thought came to mind.
And so, after what felt like an eternity of thinking, he turned his focus to the well of power inside himself, and let out a deep breath.
In order to take the first step to freeing himself from his current predicament—the mana-draining shackles—he needed to better use his channels first.