"It was an explicit order from the venerated Grace of Blossoms, Honored One," the guard spoke frankly. "She dismissed two-thirds of the Gilded Watch stationed here. I have no idea why, however."
Laemno's mind froze for a second. He sheepishly nodded before going back inside, unable to make sense of what was happening.
Why did she reduce the number of guards? He paced back and forth in his room. Is she taunting me? Telling me that she doesn't need all these people to keep me in check? Damn this woman. She underestimates me.
Laemno gritted his teeth as he stopped in the middle of his chamber, taking a specific amphora out of his garment's inner pockets.
Right now, I'm blind—blind to everything that's happening around me. I don't even stand on the same plane of reality as my captors, but that's not a reason to give up.
He raised the small amphora above his right eye, tapping its back with his finger. Slowly but surely, a droplet of gray liquid slid down the makeshift vial.
I need to see. I need to perceive the same things they do; otherwise, I won't be able to escape. The Grace warned me that the flow of Mana inside my room was heavily monitored, but that's after the fact that I disturbed it while crafting my artifacts. She purposefully let me keep them, meaning she didn't care whether I used spellcraft or not.
Moreover, she doesn't seem to have spoken to Lyra or Stolos about any of this. I didn't notice any change in their behavior earlier. I assume she hasn't told anyone about me for some obscure reason. Maybe she's overconfident? It doesn't matter. I'm going to make her regret it.
As soon as the droplet landed on Laemno's eye, heat swept his wits in a painful wave. Every optical nerve on that side of his face started burning as if he had just plunged head-first into magma.
His vision immediately changed, with contrast heightening as the world turned black and white.
Tendrils of grayscale lights suddenly appeared from each corner, seething and slithering across the walls, on the ground, and even on the ceiling. A few coalesced into dark spots that throbbed akin to a beating heart, oozing a black miasma that spread like poison in the air.
This... What is this?
Past the pounding agony in his eye, Laemno could feel an intuitive sense of dread settling in.
His breathing got uneven, his limbs started trembling, and his thoughts became erratic. A weight, not physical, but mental, pressed on his skull and attempted to intrude in his mind with every passing second.
He felt the gaze of countless beings pierce through the thin fabric of reality, staring at him from an unfathomable plane of existence.
The Mana's corruption. So this is the Sea of Malice? I— ... I can't...
That mere droplet, a product of occultism lower than even basic magecraft, spread its influence like wildfire to Laemno's brain. Soon, he could smell the thick aroma of malevolence, hear strange calls from beyond, and taste intense hatred directed at the world itself.
The fear of what lay behind that black and white curtain, the realization of how fragile the layer that separated them was, and the depth of depravity bubbling on the other side broke his resolve.
"This world... I—... I don't want to live here. Please... Please... someone... anyone! Save me!"
Those words caught in his throat, and only muffled, barely audible pleas escaped his mouth. He didn't dare to move, remaining still while staring at the endlessly growing tendrils as they invested his room.
"I am going to die," he whispered to himself. "No..."
Half his face twisted into a smile. "We are all going to die. It's only a matter of time."
The other half curved downwards, despair etched on it. "They see us. They're watching us. They're only biding their time."
"Hehe... How funny." He broke into a maddened laugh. "How hysterical. How hilarious. How humorous."
Laemno suddenly slapped himself.
This senseless action, likely a subconscious attempt to contain the spread of madness, jolted him awake. He immediately retracted his gaze from the tendrils, focusing on the marble table.
The pain. I must focus on the pain. That's the only way not to lose my mind.
He bit into his lower lip, drawing a trickle of blood, though it felt inconsequential compared to the searing pain from his right eye.
This spell lasts only for about forty seconds. How much time has it been? I can't waste it.
Regaining a semblance of clarity, he started by inspecting the surface on which he had crafted his artifacts.
A shimmering, colorless cloud, comparable to a heat haze, was slowly coming out of the exact spots where Laemno had processed the ingredients. They were followed by a quiet buzzing and vibrations that ran through his entire body as if all his senses were warning him of their presence.
Barely perceptible... I guess because it's been a while, or maybe due to the weakness of spellcraft.
After that, Laemno quickly took out an amphora containing the tar-like substance for the hypnosis spell, another holding the liquid for the perception spell, and a black stick carrying the enhancement spell.
He placed them side by side, then put the triangular mirror and the worn-out notebook on opposite corners.
Finally, he retreated a few steps to observe them.
As I thought. Finished products affect the flow of Mana differently, but some are extremely odd.
The tendrils and miasma grew thick when they approached the black sticks, danced when touching the tar-like substance, and became transparent when moving near the gray liquid.
However, they avoided contact with the notebook and phased dully through the triangular mirror, like any ordinary object.
The flow of Mana completely shuns the notebook. The tendrils shrink away whenever I bring it close. On the other hand, the mirror is perceived as an ordinary, non-mystical object. What if...
Praying that he had enough time left for a last experiment, Laemno brought the black stick next to the triangular mirror, then put the two remaining vials atop the notebook.
As if duped by his action, the flow of Mana shifted its behavior towards them. It phased through the black stick as it did with the mirror and began avoiding the amphoras as it had with the notebook.
Their influence spreads by proximity! Although through different means, both objects seem to be shrouded from the flow of Mana. If any other occult artifact comes close to them, it'll be hidden too. That's why no one found out about their hiding spot!
A rumble rang in Laemno's ears, and the black-and-white world disappeared from his sight, leaving him with a head-splitting migraine. He still felt the pressure on his right eye, as well as occasional throbs of pain. One look in the mirror showed him his sclera was nearly all red from burst blood vessels.
He had gambled a lot on this attempt, nearly succumbing to madness and getting caught, but the results were worth it.
Now I know why Lyra Elcmene didn't spot anything strange with me the first time we met. The mirror and notebook were shrouding me. She must've dug out the broken table mirror because I had separated it from the triangular mirror, making it visible through perception magecraft.
I also understand why the Grace of Blossoms alluded to the disturbances in my room as "residuals of the spellcrafting process."
She could only locate the faint remnants of the processing but not the actual artifacts themselves. No matter its power, a mystical object will always interact in one way or another with the flow of Mana.
That's its "presence." Someone as confident as the Grace of Blossoms most likely relied on her mystical senses to search for such objects.
She didn't think I could hide them from her. Unbeknownst to both of us, two of the artifacts I possessed could do just that, albeit in different ways. I was lucky, I guess...
Still, I can't help but feel exhilarated. It's a major win against that damned woman, and I can't wait to rub it in her face. In time, though... In time.
Laemno cleaned up the objects on the table, pondering the ramifications of his discovery.
So long as I keep either the notebook or the mirror with me, it's likely that using spellcraft won't leave residuals in my room. With that cleared up, one thing remains...
He slumped on his bed, letting out a deep sigh.
What's going on with the guards? Why did the Grace dismiss most of them? I already found it strange that she didn't reveal my behavior or use of spellcraft to the Temple of Stars. Now it's downright suspicious.
Laemno glanced at the night sky through his floor-to-ceiling window. As he silently admired its starry vastness, something occurred to him.
The guards seemed pretty relaxed compared to before. It wasn't simply an order to reduce their numbers. They lessened their vigilance altogether. Aside from me, who would benefit most from this?
He thought about this for long, excruciating seconds before it finally clicked. Sweat slid down his forehead, and he realized his heart was beating faster than before.
The assassin! She's setting me up to be killed before the Sacrificial Ceremony!
Just when he arrived at that conclusion, slow, resounding knocks came from his bedroom door.