Dunce opened his mouth to refuse, but the words died in his throat. His body wouldn't obey. It wasn't pain – it was an overwhelming, crushing pressure, like the weight of a cathedral dome pressing down on him. Pure, radiant energy pulsed from the figure before him, forcing compliance. A wave of dizziness washed over Dunce's mind. Before he knew it, his traitorous legs were carrying him down the hall towards the room where Mystic Mystic Moon had rested. The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest didn't speak again, nor did he spare a glance for Gild, who trembled like a leaf caught in a storm. Behind him, flanked by their elite Silver Warrior, the two ethereal Cleric White followed in silent procession. Only when Dunce's hand touched the door handle did clarity slam back into him. He whirled around, eyes wide with shock. "You… what did you do to me?"
The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's voice was low, smooth, carrying an unnerving calm. "The Light guided your path. Open it."
Dunce knew there was no escape now. Resignation settled in his gut like cold lead. He pushed the door open.
Empty.
The bed was rumpled, the blankets disheveled. Only Mystic Mystic Moon's discarded white sorcerer's robe lay there, marred by rusty brown bloodstains.
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Al Ye sighed, a weary sound that held no surprise, only deep paternal fatigue. "Ah, this girl… she grows more troublesome by the day." One of the Cleric White rushed forward with impossible grace. She swept back her hood with trembling fingers, revealing a cascade of blue hair and eyes that mirrored Mystic Mystic Moon's stunning sapphire hues, though clouded now with frantic worry.
"Nyssa, compose yourself," the Blood Skeleton Monk Priest commanded, but his voice lacked its usual iron authority.
"Compose myself?" Nyssa Ye's voice, even in anguish, was musical, but sharp as shattered glass now. She snatched up the bloody robe. "That's my daughter's blood, Al! Tandor't stand there talking about composure! You're supposed to know everything! Find her! If anything happens to Mystic Mystic Moon, I swear I'll–"
"Enough!" Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye cut her off, stepping closer. His gaze flickered towards the assembled witnesses – Gild and the Silver Warrior. He gently pulled Nyssa's hood back up, shielding her raw grief and fury from public view. "I See glimpses, Nyssa. She is unharmed. Such outbursts serve nothing beyond these walls."
Nyssa Ye lowered her head, clutching the robe tightly, knuckles white. The tremor in her hands betrayed the turmoil beneath her imposed stillness.
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye turned his penetrating gaze back to Dunce. "Young man. Come with us. There are questions only you can answer." Resistance was futile. Under the sheer gravity of the Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's presence and the watchful eyes of the Silver Warrior, Dunce followed them back to the main hall. Gild remained rooted to his spot, face pale as chalk when he saw Mystic Mystic Moon hadn't materialized.
The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest stopped before Gild. "Recount everything. How you encountered my daughter. Leave nothing out."
Gild bowed low, his voice shaking. "Yes, Your Eminence. This morning…" He spoke swiftly, omitting nothing about Mystic Mystic Moon's arrival, her explosive magical display, the test… and the strange incident with Dunce's ring siphoning her power. At that detail, Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye's eyes snapped towards Dunce. It wasn't a look, it was an impact – a lance of pure psychic force that rocked Dunce back a step. "…and when they returned, Lady Mystic Mystic Moon was injured."
The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest turned fully to Dunce, the pressure around the boy lessening just enough to allow speech. "Now you. Detail every moment after you left here with her. Omit nothing."
Dunce blinked, momentarily thrown. "S… Sir Al, please, don't worry. Mystic Mystic Moon's healed. She's fine. She probably… ran because she didn't want to see you." The words tumbled out. Oddly, amidst the awe and fear, Dunce felt a strange kinship towards the Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's wife, Nyssa. The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's aura, for all its intensity, also commanded a deep respect.
One of the Silver Warrior snapped forward. "Silence, boy! You address His Eminence Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye!"
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye raised a single, gloved finger. A pin could have dropped in the sudden silence it commanded. "Let him speak. I seek only my daughter's safe return. She has been absent too long." His gaze, though hooded, fixed on Dunce with unsettling intensity.
"Alright." Dunce took a breath, launching into the tale: Mystic Mystic Moon cornering him into becoming her 'squire', the trip to return the coins for the stolen bread, her volatile temper sparking at the bakery… and the terrifying moment she aimed her own magic against herself.
The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's voice dropped several degrees colder. "So. My daughter wished to end her life… because you angered her?"
"I… I guess?" Dunce winced internally.
"This child…" Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye shook his head, the epitome of exasperated fatherhood. "…her willfulness knows no bounds. You have my apologies for the inconvenience she caused you, Geiger." He glanced at the trembling mage. Gild bowed so low his nose nearly touched his knees. "An honor, Your Eminence."
The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest turned back to Dunce. "The fault lies with my daughter, young man. As her father, I offer you my apology." The apology hung like a ritualistic prelude. Then his tone shifted, hardening into flint. "However. A father also protects. This is the first time my daughter has ever been wounded." The air around Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye shimmered faintly. "You understand, I presume, that such an occurrence requires… clarification? Consider it a father's duty."
Gild gasped. "Your Eminence! The boy is barely more than a child! His wits aren't the sharpest, please–"
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye ignored him. The golden hexagram on his chest flared, bathing the room in intense light. A massive golden dome of energy snapped into existence around Dunce, humming with contained power. "He merits no exertion on my part. It has been years since I troubled myself with such… external validations." His gaze swept over his retinue. "Argent Three. Test him. Three exchanges. Boy, survive them, and consider this matter concluded." The sanctity inside the dome intensified, locking Dunce's limbs.
"But… sir! I don't want to fight!" Dunce cried, confused and terrified. The figure in crimson robes had been stern but not hostile moments ago. Why this sudden shift? Why him?
A Silver Hand stepped into the golden dome. His movements were economical, lethal. He drew a long, slim blade that gleamed like captured moonlight beneath his silver pauldrons. He offered a precise salute. "May the Radiant Guide you. Ready yourself."
Nyssa pulled urgently at Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye's sleeve. Her voice, though low, cracked with maternal plea. "Al, please. This… this feels wrong. Can't you see? He's just… scared, not malicious. Let him be."
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye's lips didn't move, but his voice resonated deep within Nyssa's consciousness. `*I read his soul, Nyssa. Beneath the fear lies integrity. Powerful Ki too. He reached the Fifth Layer of Heaven's Path energy. Unheard of at his age. He has potential worthy of Judicium.*` His telepathic voice softened. `*And I Sense Mystic Mystic Moon. Safe. Let her wander awhile. Hardship might temper her spirit, teach her humility, prepare her for her destiny.*` He took Nyssa's hand discreetly. `*My world revolves around you and her.*`
Nyssa relaxed infinitesimally. Their gaze shifted towards the unfolding confrontation inside the dome.
Dunce was freed from the pressure. Argent Three regarded him with the cold scrutiny of a statue. His blade was held low, radiating a sharp, cutting aura. With no choice, Dunce yanked the five-foot-long Heaven's Path Sword from his back. His body thrummed as he focused his Ki energy—the Inner Light Gild and others mistook for sacred magic. His plain robes rippled with the sudden rush of power, glowing faintly.
*No tricks, no evasion. Just overwhelm.* Adopting the stance ingrained by countless repetitions, Dunce lifted the massive sword high above his head. His vision narrowed. The ornate hall dissolved. He stood alone, facing a roaring ocean. His power surged upwards, pulling energy from the earth, from his core, a tangible pressure building around him. *The Split.* Pure. Brute. Rockforce.
Argent Three raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't attack first – honor forbade it against an untrained youth, regardless of the surprising pressure. But he wouldn't yield ground either. His own aura solidified, a shield of sharp-edged resolve pushing back against Dunce's tide.
Dunce's eyes became slits. Exploding forward, he brought the massive Heaven's Path Sword down in a cleaving arc that seemed to split the very air. His Ki locked onto Argent Three, making evasion impossible.
Impressed despite himself, Argent Three raised his finer blade. "Strong intent!" His weapon became a silver blur – twenty-seven precise strikes, lightning-fast, peppering the flat and edge of the descending cleaver. Each impact drove a needle-like spike of Ki, lancing deep into Dunce's defenses.
Dunce gritted his teeth. His Heaven's Path energy, grounded and resilient, resisted the invasive force but had to divert power to dissolve it. His mighty Split faltered.
***CLANG-SHIIING!***
Two worlds collided – five feet of brutal force meeting two feet of precision lethality. Dunce's cleaving momentum, amplified by terror and adrenaline, met Argent Three's hastily formed, grounded defense. The impact resonated through the golden dome like a struck bell. Argent Three staggered visibly, gritting his teeth against the unexpected shockwave. Dunce was hurled back against the shimmering barrier of the dome, the massive sword clanging from the impact. He choked back bile, his arms screaming. The gulf between them was a chasm. *Need an edge… Fast!*
He roared a guttural word. The Heaven's Path Sword, already burning with inner light, burst into sudden, searing, cobalt blue flame. Deep blue. Deadly blue. Mage-light. He poured his last reserves of magic energy into it. One shot.
Argent Three saw the shift and gave no quarter. Pride was now involved, hair singed by the surprise flames. He exploded into motion, his body becoming a streaking comet of silver death, aiming for Dunce's center.
The flame-sheathed cleaver felt unnaturally heavy, unnaturally hot. Dunce ignored it. He compressed every shred of his Ki into his arms, bracing. He saw the comet-approach, felt the potential for a thousand precise cuts. But he saw something else – the flaw. The attack, while blindingly fast, sacrificed total commitment for control. It presented openings. He wouldn't dodge. Couldn't.
He roared again, an earth-shattering bellow, and swung. The Fifth Layer Ki, infused with violent sorcery, met the streaking silver comet.
**WHOOM-CRUNCH!**
The blue-flamed cleaver met the silver comet head-on. Argent Three realized the deadly calculus a microsecond too late. To pierce this boy's vital point would leave him squarely in the path of that immense, fire-wrapped, Ki-driven cleaver. His blade was elegant death, but that cleaver looked like final damnation wrapped in dragon's breath. The confined space of the dome offered no maneuvering room for graceful disengagement. Survival instinct screamed. Against all combat doctrine, Argent Three abandoned the killing thrust mid-air. He twisted violently, pulling his blade into a desperate parry, his own Ki flaring defensively far too late for full power.
The impact was devastating. Unable to brace, caught awkwardly off-balance, Argent Three felt like he'd been kicked by a griffon. The blue flames greedily licked at his plume of golden hair as he was slammed violently backwards. He skidded hard along the golden barrier, sparks flying from his silver boots, finally crashing against the dome's wall. Pride stung worse than the singed hair.
Dunce gasped, the world spinning. He'd burned everything on that gamble. Emptiness gnawed at his limbs. He couldn't lift the sword again.
Argent Three snarled, untangling himself. Humiliation ignited a cold fire in his eyes. Silver Ki erupted from him in a visible aura, sharp as broken mirrors, promising excruciating payback. He pushed off the barrier.
"Enough. This trial concludes." Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye's voice cut through the tension like a physical blade. An invisible barrier snapped up, halting Argent Three's vengeful lunge. The golden dome dissolved. Dunce slumped, the massive sword's point hitting the floor with a dull thud as he braced himself on it.
A crimson shadow appeared before him. Al Ye's hand, gloved in deepest velvet, touched his shoulder. Power—warm, pure, overwhelming—surged into him. Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye's voice intoned softly, yet filled the entire hall, resonating with ancient authority. "By the grace bestowed upon His servants… may radiance banish shadow, may blessing fall upon the faithful soul… *Light's Embrace.*"
Brilliant white light enveloped Dunce, warm and restorative. Panic flared alongside relief. *The Pendant!* With the last shreds of his consciousness, Dunce twisted the strange dark energy around the hidden artifact at his chest, praying it remained concealed beneath the Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's radiance.
The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's Ki infused his system, potent and profound. It raced through exhausted pathways, mending, rebuilding, *amplifying*. Dunce felt a familiar internal barrier—a wall he'd battered against for months—shatter under the benevolent tsunami. New channels opened within him. His Ki reservoir exploded, flooding the newly expanded space within his core and limbs – stronger, denser, deeper. He gasped in ecstatic realization. *Fifth Layer! Fully opened!* He drifted, riding the wave of incredible power, guided by instinctual muscle memory into deep meditation. Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye's final message seared into his awareness: `*Dunce. Your pledge to Mystic Mystic Moon stands. Guard her. Hone your Fifth Layer Ki. One year. Should peril find you, unleash the scroll I left.*` A pause. `*And the Ring… it whispers of older power. Guard it well. Serve Judicium faithfully in time, should my daughter find her path.*`
When the light faded, Dunce remained standing, eyes closed, utterly still, radiating an aura of profound, contained power.
Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye turned to Gild. "Let none disturb him. He will awaken in time when his new strength stabilizes. Should my daughter return," his gaze lingered on the magister, "discreetly ensure she is safe. Report nothing further." Without another word, he swept out of the hall, followed by Nyssa, the shaken Cleric White, and the grim-faced Silver Warrior – Argent Three casting one last dark, resentful look at the oblivious boy.
The moment the door shut behind them, the oppressive sacred aura vanished. Gild collapsed onto his knees, gasping, his magical robes soaked with cold sweat. Power like that… it *changed* you, just being near it. The Blood Skeleton Monk Priest's subtle aura held the terrifying potential of a Master Elementalist, perhaps more.
No sooner had the echo of the departing carriage wheels faded than a small, white-robed figure slipped back into the hall through a side door like a guilty ghost. Mystic Mystic Moon had felt her father's approach, a familiar mental brushstroke warning her to flee. Watching the grand coach depart had been nerve-wracking. Now, her eyes widened at the sight of the glowing Dunce standing like a statue by the hearth.
"Geiger!" she whispered urgently, rushing towards the Magister. "Is he…?"
Gild, rubbing his temples, managed a weak smile. "Alive, young mistress. Thanks be to the Light for small mercies. You very nearly got us both executed!" He exaggerated only slightly.
Mystic Mystic Moon waved his dramatics aside. "Father wouldn't harm an insect he approves of. What *happened* to Dunce? Why's he glowing?"
Gild sighed again, recounting Dunce's 'conversation' with Blood Skeleton Monk Priest Ye. "He didn't blame Dunce too harshly… just had Argent Three test him. Three moves. Nearly singed off Argent Three's plume, to be honest! Boy took two moves and almost flattened a Silver Hand! Your father was impressed, I think. He bathed him in divine light afterward. *Light's Embrace*. He's… stabilizing," he finished, glancing nervously at the unmoving boy. "Do *not* touch him. Critical cultivation state."
"Oh." Mystic Mystic Moon nodded distractedly, edging closer to Dunce. Her father's approval surprised her. She crouched down on the cold flagstones in front of the unmoving giant. Her mind replayed the previous day: Dunce's frantic fear when she'd collapsed, his clumsy attempts to help, the awkward moment when his fingers fumbled near the wound... A blush crept up her neck, vivid against her pale skin. That simple-minded brute! Worried about her but also… impossible! The complexity of it twisted inside her.
Hours bled into the quiet hall. Mystic Mystic Moon fetched a simple meal from the Magister's kitchen – hearty bread, some cheese, thick cuts of cold roast from the larder – and sat near Dunce, eventually drifting off against the chair leg, her head lolling against the cool stone floor.
Deep within the energy cyclone, Dunce felt the transformation solidify. His Ki wasn't just flowing now; it was condensing, strengthening, becoming a deep, powerful river within him. Finally, the turbulent storm calmed, settling into a broad, powerful channel. He exhaled a long, slow stream of warm air. The glow winked out.
His eyes opened, adjusting to the low firelight. Surprise flickered across his face. Mystic Mystic Moon, curled like a child near his feet, had fallen asleep. Beside her lay a simple basket holding food. He looked down at her – the long lashes fluttering against pale cheeks, the soft curve of her jaw slightly slack, a faint crinkle between her brows as if annoyed even in sleep. An unfamiliar feeling, warm and strange, bloomed in his chest. Moving with deliberate gentleness, he brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her temple. Then, careful not to jostle her, he finished the cold meal with efficient speed.
Tandore, he knelt beside her. She was surprisingly light, even less burdensome than his greatsword. The feel of her – the soft resilience of her skin against his rough hands through the robe – sent a sudden, unfamiliar heat rushing to his own face. His palms tingled.
*Careful. Tandor't wake her.* He slid one arm under her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, lifting her with surprising ease. Her head settled naturally into the crook of his neck with a soft sigh, one arm looping sleepily around him, seeking warmth and stability. He froze for a heartbeat, then moved silently towards her room, nudging the door open with his boot and kicking it shut behind them.
He laid her on the bed, ready to pull away. Her grip tightened around his neck, soft but insistent. *Like a vine.* He hesitated. Trying to pry her loose might wake her, and she looked so tired… defeated. With an internal shrug (it made sense in his simple, practical mind), he eased himself down onto the bed beside her, careful to keep his body still on the narrow space near the edge. He pulled the thick quilt over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders.
The exhaustion of the day – the duel with the swordsman Feng, the drain of the magic test, the terror and exertion against the Silver Hand – finally crashed over Dunce like a collapsing wall. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Sinking deeper into the mattress, he closed his eyes. Almost instinctively, his heavy arm settled gently across her waist, a gesture of unconscious possession and protective presence. Mystic Mystic Moon, sensing the solid warmth beside her, burrowed deeper under the quilt and into his solid form, murmuring softly. Her breath ghosted against his skin as she fell deeper into undisturbed sleep.
**Dawn.**
**"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"**
The shriek could shatter glass. It ripped Dunce from a dream about helping Gorith sort complex alchemical ingredients, launching him back to consciousness. He blinked, disoriented.
Mystic Mystic Moon was sitting bolt upright in the bed beside him, the quilt pooled around her waist. Her beautiful face was a mask of pure horror, eyes wide as moons, glued to him. She was frozen, trembling violently. *Still tucked close against him.*
For Mystic Mystic Moon, the waking world slammed into her with horrifying clarity. The deep, peaceful sleep... the comforting *solid presence* she'd curled into... it wasn't her mother's familiar embrace. It was *him*. The big, dumb, earnest, worryingly strong oaf she'd dragooned into her service. *Her servant was in her bed! Holding her!*
"You… YOU!" Her voice shook, raw with disbelief and burgeoning fury. "What in the name of the Radiant did you do last night?!"
Dunce frowned, genuinely puzzled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Do? I didn't do anything. You fell asleep on the floor. I put you back in bed. You wouldn't let go of my neck, so I just sorta… stayed. You looked uncomfortable on the floor." He sat up slowly, unconcerned. "Did you sleep okay?"
"OKAY?" Mystic Mystic Moon's voice climbed an octave, brittle with hysteria. She scrambled backwards until her shoulders hit the headboard, clutching the quilt like a shield. Her face turned ghostly pale, then flushed crimson with pure rage. "PUT ME BACK? DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?!" Tears welled in her stunning blue eyes. "You brute! You oaf! You… you've… you've defiled me! My honor! MY VIRTUOUS COMPLEXION!" She practically spat the words like venom. "I'm going to turn you into a toad! No! A steaming pile of gnome dung!" Frantic, she looked around, grabbing for her discarded sorcerer's staff propped against the nightstand, its crystal humming with gathering chaotic energy.
Dunce moved faster than she expected. His large hand clamped over hers on the staff's haft, preventing her from raising it fully. The raw strength in his grip stopped her instantly. "Mystic Mystic Moon!" His voice was low, urgent, filled with genuine confusion and a touch of fear at her reaction. "What's gotten into you? What's wrong?"
The door cracked open. Gild's bleary, worried face peered in. "Lady Mystic Mystic Moon? Is everything quite–?"
Mystic Mystic Moon pointed a shaking finger at Dunce, tears spilling down her cheeks in hot rivers now. "He! He assaulted my feminine delicacy! He compromised my unimpeachable virtue! I will have JUSTICE!" Her voice cracked on the last word, a mix of genuine terror, outrage, and the humiliation of a sheltered noble girl finding a strange boy in her space, her sanctuary violated.