Behind her thick, round glasses, Selen Votum observed, analyzed, and masterfully digested the information provided by the blind monk's mana waves, using her extended knowledge of magic to accurately judge the components of the cylindrical barrier—then break it down to its core.
What the blind monk couldn't see with her vision, the temperamental sage more than provided!
Raising her staff, she began muttering a few words…
At this moment—no, since the very beginning when they entered the desecrated room the Mad Hatter resided in, Mysta had been doing her best to stave off the Manipulation powers the madman likely possessed by countering it with her own.
Using her blood-red strings as a deterrence, she attached these to her compatriots' spinal cords, and used the subsequent connection as a "shield" or barrier for any other Accomplice threatening their mental safety.
Even then, she still had her doubts.
'I'm only level three… and my battle experience is subpar compared to even venerable Zolovat. I can only stay at the back of the line and provide passive support. Should anything too unexpected happen, I'll tell them to run away or blow up the entire place. It would damage the Cane of Sagittarius, but its better than losing too many high-level compatriots.'
'Venerable Zolovat, on the other hand… By now, Aries's "Aegis" should have locked onto his position through their ligature. We just have to bide enough time for them to escape. At least, we'll deal a sizeable blow to Sagittarius before our escape.'
As she conjured even more blood red strings from the center of her palm, Mysta held her mouth shut to expedite the procedure. She was using a restriction to make up for her lack of external mana control.
Behind her, Zolovat raised his hand and Manipulated the earth below him to take the shape of a crude spear. With the abundant waves of mana suffusing from the blind monk enriching the earth at his feet, his grip over the land had been strengthened, allowing for more robust constructions.
Of course, he didn't focus on quality at the moment. Quantity was the way to go!
"Hmph!" With a grunt, he sent heat to his raised arm and hurled the spear to a nearby rising suit of armor.
Despite the strenuous waves of mana sent out by the blind monk, the Hatter's powers as an Accomplice still triumphed. Minutes after the altercation started, his goons were rising from their slumber once again, and wit each second, they neared full awakening.
What's more was that their body, unlike regular humans, were powerful and exceeded mundane durability.
Conjuring another earthen spear, Zolovat Manipulated the ground to shift and rise into a long pole with a pointed tip, then grabbed it instantly, conjuring a few more at the same time. He Enhanced his physique, even exceeding his limits by using his mana in successive bursts, and threw the spears at dangerously fast speed.
Since the spears were made of condensed earth, their weight surely couldn't have been low. Combined with his strength, the amount of the damage they suffused were comparable to a cannon.
Zolovat couldn't help but frown.
And yet, the statues still stood.
To be more precise, they never yielded. Even after suffering such devastating blows, the rusting metal husks that served as their vessel was still intact. The next moment, they would rise again, bearing their rusted weapons gripped in their steel gauntlets.
But he didn't give up. He couldn't give up.
Zolovat needed to be as sturdy as the earth if he wanted to regain his honor in the family.
Reaching for the shaft of a protruding spear after he threw another, he suddenly reeled over. His head throbbed with pain as his body fell to the ground, and he almost lost his bearing in reality as another will—a greater will—overtook his own.
"Whoa…"
It was noble; it was beautiful; it was retching; it was falling… It was the greatest thing—the worst thing he had ever experienced.
But then, suddenly, the feeling was gone.
"What… what…"
Instead, only calmness and refinement replaced his mind. He felt sharp, polished, and sublime, as if he stood at the highest peak… but just fell short the whole way up. He was looking at somebody else—somebody more sharp, polished, and sublime than him… and that person was looking up at somebody else, and that person, too, was looking up at somebody else. The imaginary scene stretched with no end in sight.
And then, he was awake again. Sounds of an ensuing filled Zolovat's ears, and he got up with a moan. His limbs felt like they had been bent and broken many times, and his brain was like a mixed, churned soup of confusion, anxiety, and frustration.
Opening his eyes, he immediately recalled his current situation!
Calling upon the faint vestiges of lucidity he still had, he conjured an earthen spear from the ground and held it with skill, the hours of continuous hard work naturally fixing him into a defensive stance. With a frown, the scene in front of him cleared up like fog lifting.
The scenery left him shocked.
…At some point in time, the cylindrical barrier guarding the Mad Hatter had been broken, and the blind monk and tall giant charged at him with fervor, but a dozen suits of armor—whose steel carcasses were rusty and cracked, stood in their way.
The tall giant used his shadow to immobilize the suits of armor, but his size and natural build prevented him from drawing closer and landing a defensive blow. Likewise, the blind monk used her superior agility to weave in between the gaps in their formation—gaps that not even Zolovat saw, but still fell short. Whenever she was close enough to the madman wearing suit and holding a deep black cane, the air around him would suddenly turn opaque and distort his figure, blocking any meaningful blow that the blind monk could probably deliver.
And even then, she would have extricate herself and regroup, using the explosive blows of the tall giant to slip in between and do it all over again.
Throughout it all, the temperamental sage used her numerous elemental spells in conjunction with Vesba's surprise attack to create holes in the suits of armor's formation, allowing the monk to slip in and attack.
Raising an earthen spear in one hand and flooding his muscles with mana, Zolovat threw his doubts and unnecessary thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the matter at hand.
◇◆◇◆◇
"You can let me down now."
Harita glanced at Lieren, his face a judging mask, and lowered the boy down. The rest of the group didn't pay him any attention, and after checking his bearings, he sauntered over to Umbra.
"Thanks, by the way."
She gave him a sideward glance. "Don't worry about it."
"Did you find your earring? The one you lost?"
Umbra paused.
"No. Apparently, the vault that looked like it might have it was blown up."
Lieren laughed weakly and struggled to keep pace. Umbra walked so confidently, as if she right where she was going even without even looking. Every step was taken into account, and the rest followed.
"Still, did you get any clues? I'll… I'll help you find them, if you did."
"And get yourself captured again?"
Lieren paused.
"Hit the nail on the head, huh?" Umbra cast her gaze forward.
By now, they were out of the wicked dungeon and spilled out into the slums. Lieren hadn't heard much about this place, and the books he often read never detailed such horrid conditions.
Upon the ones he often immersed in while in solidarity were ones that told the tales of legendary heroes—the kind that told of a destined being making his way up in the world by making friends and beating enemies, and making the enemies into friends, only for them to die and be replaced soon after. Still, they were his favorite—mostly for the express purpose of having nothing else to read.
The moon hung high in the stellar sky above, and Lieren winced when he heard a shrill cry, reaching for his mana and regretting the apparent drain of his reserves. He had almost ran out.
"Harita?" He looked to his Aegis, whose eyes turned especially sharp.
Something about the situation felt odd.
'But what?'
Raising his head, he looked to the skies, just as everybody else did. That was when it happened.
A large bird of prey, with yellow and sapphire feathers and intelligent, golden eyes soared high into the air, blocking out the light of the moon with its titanic wingspan… mostly.
There were holes in its wings—obvious ones. Light seeped through them, spilling into the slums, casting moonlight. Belatedly, he recognized ripped flesh and dried blood, as well as some burnt, frozen, tangled, and wet feathers on the creature's torso. Its beak was battered and shattered, the meat inside visible even from a distance. One of its eyes had been punctured with something, and blood flowed out of it like a waterfall. Its talons were broken and segmented, dull and chipped.
The creature must have looked majestic once, maybe, but its current form suggested otherwise. Lieren couldn't see it as anything more than a broken, battered carcass of a hideous monster.
Laughter boomed.
Whipping his head in panic, Lieren crouched and reached for his blade. It was gone.
He looked to his Aegis and found it strapped on his person, and he quietly reached for it, drawing the brilliant dagger with an otherworldly sheen.
Harita did not resist and looked around, then realized that he was looking at the shadows.
"…?" Tilting his head—gazed stopped at a certain black patch—he saw mask with a morbid expression on it.
It looked so lonely, so sad, so… depressing. It was empty, cold, and lacking something. For a moment, Lieren thought that he had what that something was.
But then, the feeling broke. His desire to pick up the mask fell like the shattered fragments of a broken memory.
Blinking, he realized that he was but a step before the mask, a hand on his shoulder from a rather lean man. Harita. Blinking again, he noticed other men beside him. They has dreamy expressions on their faces, some warped and some confused.
"…What happened?" Lieren asked.
"I don't know. You just started walking there, muttering sweet confirmations to yourself. The others followed, but theirs varied. Some were wishing, and others simply cried."
Switching his attention to the sad mask, Harita's eyes glinted and he frowned, still holding Lieren by the shoulder.
The sad mask trembled, clattering as the darkness around it moved like ocean waves. The it stopped, falling tranquil.
'What was that?' Lieren thought, taking a step back. Harita interjected and stood in front of him.
His Aegis held a watersteel dagger in one hand—his only hand. Lieren grimaced.
"Wait! Stop!"
Suddenly, one the members—a Squire—walked forward and donned the mask, standing straight as an arrow.
"It's done," the Squire said, his voice hollow. Then, he limped and fell like a marionette that had its strings cut.
"Owens!" somebody said, but Lieren was more focused on the mask in question.
On the inner side, countless runes were scratched into the bone-like material in a hurry, forming a crude and disorderly mess of words he didn't recognize.
"What does it say?" Lieren's inquisitiveness urged him to ask the question, if just to make himself give up.
Unexpectedly, an answer came.
"It's a cry for help," Umbra said. "I can't read it, but I can tell from the handwriting. The person who wrote this was in deep pain. They're dead now, most likely. Otherwise the runes would have been complete."
Lieren scrutinized the thought before his gaze fell on a empty spot on the mask. It had been purposely left out, as if somebody had intended to finish carving the runes there.
'Odd. Very odd,' he suspected some things, but nothing too conclusive. Lieren did not know enough about the matter to make guesses. Narrowing his gaze, he fell into deep thought.
His trance, however, was broken when Harita walked passed and picked up the mask. He stared at it for a second before pocketing it.
Under the moonlight, countless screams resounded as a giant bird of prey fell from the heavens.