Deremiah was not particularly surprised by that notification, but he was disappointed. After all, it had taken him all of his courage to muster an attack against that ferocious monster.
All in all, missing the rewards he could have gotten from killing it — though it stung — was undeniably his own fault.
Deremiah had only a single Mark. Mirroring his potential or his sustainability for a particular energy type, this limitation meant that his Soul Core was incapable of holding substantial amounts of energy, whether it was Aether or Void.
Therefore, he also could not claim rewards such as Artifacts and Elixirs that required high amounts of energy to use.
Deremiah also brought this upon himself. By demanding a Void Path rather than Aether, he had aligned his Soul Core on a Path much more stronger than it.
Assuming he had stuck with the Aether Path like the Inquisitor had suggested, his Path's Threat Level would have remained fairly low, fitting his potential, which would in turn would have lowered the Rank of the Paragon in the lava, and which in turn would have allowed him to claim the rewards of killing it.
Threat Levels were extremely important in that manner. In fact, it was well debated amongst Mancers about which was the most important property; Technique, Discipline or Path's Threat Level.
Threat Levels were informative in the sense that they offered Mancers insight into the challenges they would face on their path of growth. They adjusted and influenced the trajectory of their day to day life.
For Mancers with high Threat Levels, they were to expect Paragon Beasts of higher Echelons ranging from Corrupted to Abyssal.
To manage this risk and tilt the odds in their favor, high-ranked Mancers often brought lower-ranked Mancers along on missions and Gate Breaks.
By doing so, the low Threat Levels of the weaker Mancers would counterbalance the high Threat Levels of the stronger ones, creating an average difficulty that the stronger Mancers could handle more effectively.
Ultimately, the rules were the same for all Mancers. Everything was connected, and one thing couldn't happen without the other.
Or at least, it shouldn't.
The number of Marks equals the potential of the Mancer, and the Mancer's potential creates their Path and its Threat Level.
In essence, more Marks equals higher Threat Levels. However, in Deremiah's case, by asking the Inquisitor to align his Core with the Void Energy, he'd created an anomaly.
Deremiah had a single Mark, the lowest possible for a Mancer, and yet had a Threat Level of [15], the highest possible for a Mancer.
This put him in a very complicated and precarious situation. As his Path was going to be extremely difficult, as difficult as it could be for the most powerful potential Mancers.
And yet, even if he somehow overcame the monumental challenges of his Path, he would be unable to claim the rewards that stronger Mancers with higher Marks would typically earn.
Without these rewards, such as Gate Tokens and Elixirs, Deremiah would not be able to upgrade his Attributes, Physical Technique or any Artifacts if he was ever able to claim one.
He would simply remain stagnant until the challenges of his Path eventually killed him.
That being said, it did seem odd that Deremiah would just make a decision like this, knowing this was the consequence.
The reason was however simple.
No one was feared more than Voidmancers in the entirety of Uxetor. They were more powerful, scaling in the Echelons of Radiant, Transcendent and Celestial.
Deremiah knew that having the power of Void energy, life in the world his novel that he had been thrusted into would be much easier to navigate.
Had he remained aligned with Aether, the odds would have been far less certain. Being powerful wasn't guaranteed at all with Aether like it was with Void.
And as a man who lived his life on probabilities, that was Deremiah's thought process before demanding to be aligned in the Void Path.
Having only a single Mark was a problem of course. But that could be fixed. As the author, Deremiah knew there were two well known ways to increase a person's number of Marks:
One could either eat the liver of a Forsaken-Ranked Paragon, or they could kill a participant with more Marks than they have.
And ever since he stepped into the Gates, there was one participant that he'd had his eyes on. Knowing she had a total of nine Marks, Deremiah had decided that she was the perfect candidate.
By the way, she was going to waste her life by sacrificing it for the MC's sake. Killing her and claiming her Marks was a much better use of her life in Deremiah's opinion.
☆ ☆ ☆
Feeling a painful sting in his skull, Deremiah squinted his eyes. Slowly, he fluttered it open when the pain subsided, and the haze of vision cleared.
Once again, he woke up to Alfis kneeling over him, but this time, there was something clutched in the noble's hands. It was a dagger, raised high and about to be swung down on him.
Deremiah panicked, but responding to this sense of urgency was the Writhe of Command. A wave of purple goo shot out Deremiah's chest and struck Alfis in a rough collision.
"Ow!" he cried, flying backwards and crashing jaw first on the ground.
Quickly, Deremiah got on his feet, looking around. He saw Pallock lying on the ground in a defeated manner.
"I tried to stop him," the boy said, exempting himself from whatever rage Deremiah was about to unleash.
Deremiah looked away from him and returned his focus to Alfis, Paragon blood dripping from his body as he zeroed his eyes at the noble.
Alfis sat on the ground and began to move backwards, fear in his eyes. "Hey, hey. Stay back! Stay back!" He pointed his dagger at Deremiah.
It however seemed like Deremiah was only interested in doing the opposite of that, as he continued to approach Alfis who fearfully retreated.
Deremiah's eyes flashed with anger. "You were trying to kill me." He opened his palm and his sword was summoned to his grasp.
"Okay, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Alfis yelled, now shielding his face with his palm, holding the dagger with just a thumb. "Please..." he began to sob. "Please spare me. Whoever you are."
Deremiah halted, suddenly feeling uncertain of himself. He wasn't really going to kill him, was he? He'd literally just puked some minutes ago after killing a monster, how would he expect his body to react if he killed a person?
He looked at Alfis. Especially someone who was subdued and pleading for mercy.
Unfortunately, Deremiah didn't think so. Something like that required some level of apathy and savagery that he had not yet attained.
A pulsing sound hummed some distance in front of him and the portal burst into existence, notifying that it was time to leave the Corridor and enter the next.
Deremiah looked down at Alfis, ultimately deciding to let him go as killing him wasn't something he could bring his mind to do.
Not just that; if Alfis decided to fight back, Deremiah could end up being the one dying.
Having the Writhe of Command didn't make him all powerful, he still had to learn to control it, and Alfis was a much better fighter than him.
Using the fear factor to keep Alfis in check was a safe move, because if he forced the noble to fight for survival, things could possibly take a different route.
Deremiah pushed away his excessive mathematical overthinking and walked towards the dead Moltenshark.
Taking one fleeting glance at its ugly face, he stabbed its chest, making a squelching sound as the molten scales gave away, and then he carved open that region.
The glowing soul core of the beast shone inside, and Deremiah retrieved it after a moment's breath. He examined it for a moment before sinking it into his pants' pocket.
Then, as Alfis and Pallock watched, he began to make his way towards the portal, desperate to leave the ruins and the chasm behind.
He had barely taken a few steps when Pallock suddenly obstructed him, falling to his knees and bowing. "Please, Mister Deremiah, I beg you to take me under your wing!"
Deremiah raised a brow. 'Huh?'
"Please take me with you to the next Lobby. Allow me to remain by your side! I will do anything you ask of me — anything at all — if you let me follow you and learn from you! You saved my life twice, please let me repay you by being your personal courier!" Pallock declared.
"I beg you, Master Deremiah!"
Deremiah couldn't believe his ears nor his eyes. 'Master?!' A furrow appeared between his brows as he struggled to comprehend the situation.
"Uh, hey. Aren't you a noble?" he asked the boy. "Don't you think it's kind of inappropriate to kneel before me and call me 'Master'? I'm a slummer, or have you forgotten?"
Pallock's voice grew more fervent. "It doesn't matter! All of that doesn't matter inside this damned place! Let me be your disciple, Master Deremiah, and I'll serve you with all of my strength."
Deremiah narrowed his eyes at him. 'But there's not quite much of that now, is there?'
He tried to analyze the situation, and in every aspect that he looked at it, and even probability that he calculated, taking Pallock under his wing was a disadvantage.
Not only would the noble slow him down, but he would also put Deremiah's life in danger since Pallock didn't even know how to defend himself.
Granted that his low Threat Level could possibly lessen Deremiah's high one, Deremiah was already planning to latch himself to another team.
So, in every way, bringing Pallock along didn't offer any real advantage.
In fact, it felt more like he was helping Pallock than using him. And at this point, Deremiah couldn't bring himself to care for anyone enough to drag them through the Gates.
He tilted his head, frowning as he began to give Pallock his decision. "Look..."
Pallock's eyes turned soulful as he begged. "Please. I don't know what else to do. I will die here and... because of you... I don't want to die here anymore. Because of what you said."
Deremiah clenched his teeth. What a dilemma! Surviving the Gates was his top priority, and he didn't want anything jeopardizing that. Yet, despite himself, he just couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy.
He had to help him somehow.
After a moment, Deremiah closed his eyes and breathed out, opening it after. "You can't come with me," he said.
Pallock's eyes showed his heart breaking as his shoulder slumped in disappointment.
"But if you want to survive the next Trial then listen to me."
The boy's eyes glistened once again. "What?"
"Don't let any of the reflections get to you," Deremiah said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They are all just manifestations of your emotions trying to get you to react irrationally. Just ignore them completely and they will weaken. Giving into them will only make them more powerful."
Pallock knelt there, dumbfounded and confused. "I don't... I don't understand."
Deremiah walked past him and headed for the portal. "Just do as I said and you'll survive the Third Trial. You're on your own after that."
Still at a loss for words, Pallock turned around just in time to see Deremiah step into the portal and leave the Corridor.