Corvis Eralith
Each of the Djinn souls inhabiting the ancient Ontic Circuit of Xyrus burned brightly one final time before being restituted to the Truce-Waters.
They, who had once been a proud part of the great Folk of Calm Currents, joined forces one last time in the desperate struggle to achieve Peace.
My mana core violently trembled.
My physical body shivered uncontrollably, and I could feel imperceptible, hairline cracks beginning to form on the smooth silver surface of the magical organ resting in my solar plexus; fundamental to the power of every mage.
Endure, Corvis, I begged myself, leaning heavily onto the scarred wooden table of Xyrus Academy's library where Fatima and I had just reawakened the island's dormant Ontic Circuit.
'Justiciar? Can you hold it?' Fatima asked, her voice laced with genuine concern.
Yes—yes, I can, I insisted, forcing my eyes open and stubbornly balancing myself back onto my own two feet. Continue to manage the Ontic Circuit. We cannot afford to waste a single ounce of the help your kin are giving us.
'Of course, Justiciar,' Fatima said softly. 'As long as you can withstand the crushing physical burden.'
I looked around the dusty library, and my vision shifted. Reality itself had taken on an entirely new, ethereal quality.
As my gaze swept across the towering bookshelves, I beheld countless, brilliant and double-stranded golden threads of Peace curling and rippling through the stagnant air.
Their cosmic currents were completely imperceptible to all but Fate's Arbiter—or Peace's Justiciar, or whatever other grand title my creator and my role had borne throughout existence.
It was as if Peace's golden storm was momentarily invading the waking world directly from the eternal river of time.
Just as Alacrya had violently dared to invade Focularsa, now Peace had come to aggressively correct this outrageous violation.
Like the painted, towering waves of the Earthen master Hokusai, the glowing strings of Peace, double-helical thanks to my unique Insight, swelled, crested, and broke in magnificent succession.
Their golden currents washed over Xyrus Academy, spilled heavily across the ruined city, and rolled endlessly beyond the floating island's churning seas of clouds.
They surged and receded, intertwined and diverged, perfectly tracing invisible currents through the very fabric of existence.
Every single strand carried the heavy weight of a possibility, every crest the shining promise of a future, every ebb the lingering echo of a past already set in stone.
High above the devastation wrought by Agrona's thralls, a breathtaking tapestry of golden currents unfurled around Xyrus.
It was a boundless, terrifying testament to Peace's omnipotence, stretching across the horizon like a vast, boiling ocean whose tides I alone had been granted the sight to behold.
Fatima, I need to keep you here, I told the Ancient Mage resting within the red Vaultlamp. I have places to be.
'Understood, Justiciar,' Fatima replied immediately. 'I will continue to manage the Ontic Circuit until I hear more from you.'
I nodded, even though Fatima could not see it, and cupped my hands, ready to physically summon a Portal Frog directly from the river itself.
"Wait! W-what just happened?!" Emily Watsken stuttered from the corner. Right. Her.
I snatched up my Shell-Radio and issued a rapid, clipped command: "Cynthia, I need someone to come to Xyrus Academy's library immediately. There is a student here who needs to be evacuated."
I instantly closed off the communication channel as a second-generation Portal Frog materialised from the river of time right into my cupped hands.
It had effortlessly travelled through the fourth dimension, entirely bypassing standard teleportation limits now that the Ontic Circuit of Xyrus granted me absolute, god-like control over space on the floating island.
I was just about to order the croaking Portal Frog to take me directly to Tessia when I suddenly felt a horrific, tearing sensation in the fabric of reality.
Dozens of new Tempus Warps were aggressively attempting to invade Focularsa and flood the island with fresh waves of Alacryan attackers.
No. No, Agrona, I snarled in my head. I gritted my teeth and clamped my eyes shut, forcefully ignoring the awful, tearing strain this act was putting directly onto my silver mana core. I hold absolute authority over the Edict of Spatium here. Nothing enters Xyrus without my explicit consent.
Through a terrifying sixth sense granted to me by the Ontic Circuit, I felt dozens of massive, oval portals violently shimmering into reality across the Magic Capital of the World.
And I felt the hundreds of heavily armed soldiers waiting eagerly on the other side; not seeing them, not hearing them, but perceiving them through an indescribable spatial awareness that was just as reliable as my five canonical senses.
They were preparing to completely crush all our desperate attempts to win this battle.
The Djinnic souls burned out one after another in rapid succession to fuel the Ontic Circuit's massive power demand. I did my absolute best to let REtrocurrent gently accompany each fading soul to the peaceful rest of the Truce-Waters.
Visualising myself holding a gigantic, golden needle high above all of Xyrus City, I aggressively ordered the spatial tears that formed the Tempus Warps to be sewed shut.
The massive waves of golden threads obeyed my will, violently mending the fabric of reality and entirely blocking the Alacryan invasion before a single soldier could step through.
I sighed heavily, leaning against the table. My hot breath instantly fogged into... teal mist?
A thick cloud of nebulised Trucewater escaped my lips from the sheer, overwhelming physical strain.
Even Inner Current was having an incredibly hard time maintaining my lesser, ten-year-old body operative under such an apocalyptic burden, despite all of Fatima's direct help managing the Ontic Circuit.
I looked at the Portal Frog sitting on my flesh palm and at the same time snapped the malachite fingers of my Servo-Hand and returned Corvis Eralith.
"Cylrit. Chul," I called into the Shell-Radio, snatching the device from my belt in a single, rapid motion. "What is the situation on your ends?"
The soothing lull of the Truce-Waters flowed from the nautilus-shaped receiver before Alea's frantic voice broke through.
"Luchen has defeated the Scythe..." she panted, raw worry bleeding into her tone. "I managed to arrive just in time to catch him before he plummeted into the streets, but he is badly injured."
"Take him directly to the Emitter's Guild!" I ordered.
Avicenna, I called mentally, utilising the Shell-Radios' ability to bridge telepathic conversations between Vaultlamps. Patch me through to the Emitters. Alice Leywin should be among them.
The Emitter's Guild—human mages with strong, latent Djinnic ancestry granting them miraculous healing capabilities—had been one of Cynthia's primary targets to draft into the Chain of Solidarity.
It didn't take a tactical genius to understand that combat medics were a strict priority in a war.
I heard the Shell-Radio frequency shift fluidly as Avicenna executed the command.
"A top-priority wounded mage is being transported to you by Alea Triscan. Give him absolutely everything you have," I ordered, immediately closing the channel.
Hopefully, the Emitters would be able to keep Cylrit stable just long enough for Soleil to take a look at h—
I violently groaned in pain. The sixth sense granted by the Ontic Circuit suddenly burned like white-hot iron. Fresh, aggressive attempts at breaching Xyrus City's spatial locks were being made.
"I! Said! No!"
I roared, exhaling another thick torrent of teal mist.
The vapour spilled from my lips like the rattling last breath of a dying elf. A sharp, sickening fracture violently split across the surface of my silver mana core, the physical crack reverberating through my very being.
Somewhere within the vast Ontic Circuit weaving above Xyrus City, more souls of the Folk of Calm Currents shrivelled and burned. Their fading lights extinguished one after another as they willingly slipped beyond the veil and into the peaceful rest of the Truce-Waters.
"Chul," I breathed into the radio, my voice ragged. "What about you?"
"I am fine, Uncle!" Chul shouted back, though he immediately descended into a wet, rattling cough, as if something corrosive was violently scratching at his lungs. "The hunt has been a complete success."
A chaotic chorus of proud, triumphant bird noises erupted over Chul's channel. At least the flock seemed to have handled their targets efficiently.
I gently squeezed the dark Prussian teal Portal Frog resting patiently in my palm, its occasional, innocent croaks the only sign it was still anchored to reality. I was in horrifying shape, but I still had to fight.
"Soleil..." I gasped, clamping my eyes shut as I violently forced another cluster of Tempus Warps closed. (Weren't these portals supposed to be an incredibly scarce, elite resource?!) "How is... Tessia?"
My legs gave out. I collapsed heavily to the library floor, my damned, infantile ten-year-old body rapidly approaching its absolute physical limit.
"Milord?!" Soleil chirped from the other side.
Her voice, only slightly altered while in her robin disguise, bounced sharply against my eardrums like a gunshot.
"What did I ask?" I murmured stubbornly into the Shell-Radio.
Out of the corner of my blurred vision, I saw Emily Watsken (undoubtedly questioning her own sanity by this point) hesitantly reaching out to help me.
"A-aren't you far too young to be a s-soldier?" Emily asked, her voice wavering in terror. "Maybe you should just wait here for the Director's help with me..."
"I am Peace's Justiciar," I hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring the agonising, spreading cracks in my mana core. "Not some schoolboy who needs nursing."
I brought the receiver back to my mouth and shouted: "Soleil!"
Where were King Grey and Nico Sever? I asked myself, cold dread pooling in my stomach. The terrifying thought of having done all of this—of having miraculously succeeded in making all of Xyrus City safe from invasion—only to fail at saving my own twin sister entirely eclipsed the agonising pain my body was going through.
"Lady Tessia and Alwyn are galloping on her highcolt's back through the city's streets," Soleil reported over the din of hooves. "We are liberating the outer neighbourhoods."
The two reincarnates have yet to make their move, then, I reasoned with a surge of desperate hope. Perfect.
"Do you have a Portal Frog stationed with you?" I asked Soleil, my breathing growing dangerously shallow.
"Yes, milord," Soleil chirped back. "But what ab—"
Violent static instantly shattered the soothing accord of the Truce-Waters, completely severing Soleil's voice.
Wow, impeccable timing as always, Peace, I remarked sarcastically in my mind, forcefully drawing even more power from Inner Current to stay conscious.
"Swallow me," I commanded the Portal Frog.
Its shadowy tongue darted out, violently wrapping around my body as REtrocurrent instantly activated to drag me through the river of time.
—
The world had me returned to it as the Portal Frog vomited me back into Focularsa after my short, violent transit through the river of time; and what I was met with was devastation.
I stood in a semicircular avenue, vaguely reminiscent of an ancient Roman forum.
From the edge of my peripheral vision, REtrocurrent washed the detailed map of Xyrus City onto the shores of my mind—the exact layout I had memorised the first time I visited the Magic Capital of the World.
Conjurers' Venue, in the heart of the Earth Ward, was burning.
A towering Elderwood Guardian, its vaguely humanoid frame grown from a thousand thick, gnarled grapevines and shrouded in a mantle of jagged pine needles, came crashing down upon a row of buildings.
Its beanpole bulk splintered rooftops and crushed walls beneath it, while its ancient, resin-rich wood fed the ravenous flames, sending new fresh torrents of fire licking towards the smoke-choked sky.
And as the theatre of war unfolded before my eyes, the intricate, luminous matrix of golden threads that composed the Ontic Circuit providing an elaborate mise-en-scène for this momentous chapter of Focularsan history, I finally caught sight of them.
King Grey, looking no older than me, yet certainly not younger, swung his sword brutally through the abdomen of the fallen Elderwood Guardian, stepping callously atop his defeated foe.
I recognised him immediately. That short, wheat-blond hair; those dead, apathetic eyes. He looked exactly as Arthur Leywin had during his previous life on Earth: when he had ruled as the tyrannical King Grey.
The only difference was the pair of jet-black horns, shaped like sharp twin swords, protruding fiercely from the sides of his forehead like a physical declaration of war against the world itself.
And at his side, looking exactly as he had been described in The Beginning After The End, but years younger, stood Nico Sever: the best friend of the boy who had once been just Grey.
For the two of them to be working together so seamlessly... just how agonizingly deep did Agrona's control run?
They were about this age when, in the canon timeline, Arthur Leywin and Elijah Knight had defeated an Elderwood Guardian, but that almost cost them and the other Adventurers alongside them, their lives.
And now, I had just watched them reap another of those S-Class mana beast as if it was nothing, their weapons sweeping through its bark like a scythe through a golden field of wheat.
"Corvis!"
The voice of my twin sister, mixed tightly with that of my best friend—who shouted my name that loudly perhaps for the very first time in my life—resounded across the ruined expanse of Conjurers' Venue.
They were riding on Hoofy's back; Tessia was desperately waving her grassword above her head like the frantic conductor of an orchestra, having likely just called this now-slain Elderwood Guardian to their aid right before the two reincarnates butchered it.
The resplendent, pristine white armour of Tessia and her matching cloak were heavily stained with black soot from the fires, acidic bodily fluids from slain Alacryan beasts, and the grim debris of the ruined city.
Alwyn, sitting tightly behind her, was in a similarly battered condition, the padded training uniform beneath his torn clothes having seen much better days.
Loup, Alwyn's newly gifted canine bond, snarled viciously at Nico Sever and King Grey, his hackles raised as if the two boys were a personal insult to whatever natural purpose the Sapsal-looking mana beast existed for.
I violently flinched in pain. The Ontic Circuit lashed out across the skies above Xyrus like an anomalous tidal wave as more Djinnic souls forcefully burned themselves out to maintain the floating island's lockdown.
It was then, through narrowed eyes, gritted teeth, and the agonising sensation of my silver mana core physically cracking, that the reincarnates attacked.
Nico Sever swept his hands upward.
From the ground beneath me, Alwyn and Tessia, a brutal barrage of massive geometrical constructs forged from a dark, shining metal—Blood Iron!—burst to life.
Tetrahedrons, cubes, octahedrons, dodecahedrons, and icosahedrons made of that foul decay deviant erupted from the cobblestones, forming a nightmarish arena that completely isolated Conjurers' Venue from the rest of the Magic Capital of the World.
It was a suffocating battlefield boxed in by black walls many metres high, with jagged, lethal spikes covering the entire perimeter.
Nico never did something like this in the novel, I realised in a spike of raw panic. What on Peace has Agrona given them?!
I couldn't observe the towering Platonic solids for more than a heartbeat before King Grey materialised directly in front of me with frightening speed. His sword blurred in my peripheral vision, aiming straight for my neck.
I raised Fiorwato to block the incoming strike, the viridian blade catching the pale winter light and the orange glow of the burning battlefield.
But twisting flawlessly on his heel, King Grey feinted, entirely reversing his momentum to strike brutally from the opposite side.
I stomped hard on the cracked earth. Both Greatrunes on my lower back flared to life as I instantly conjured a dense pillar of pure, solidified earth mana to intercept his blade.
The sheer speed and nature of the creation-type magic seemed to actually surprise King Grey: an almost invisible twitch registering on his brow at seeing a lesser wield mana like an Asura.
Pouring raw mana into my blade, then, I made it violently vibrate and sing with high-frequency sound magic.
I desperately drove Fiorwato against King Grey's sword, the two weapons clashing in a deafening din; Fiorwato's shrieking, magical music grinding aggressively against the warmongering ring of Grey's steel.
I was pushed violently backward by the sheer recoil, my collapsing, ten-year-old body completely betraying me under the impossible strain.
"Soleil!" I screamed over the din of battle. The small robin, Coco, flew rapidly toward me: a bright streak of autumn colours cutting through the ash and smoke of the battlefield. "Heal me!"
Tessia and Alwyn undeniably needed Soleil's help far more than I did to survive Nico's Blood Iron and whatever other magic he had; but King Grey was a thousand times more lethal a threat than his friend.
I could only hope Tessia and Alwyn were skilled enough to resist Nico's onslaught until I could somehow defeat the reincarnated king.
Perching firmly in my gunmetal hair, Soleil immediately transformed into a second sun.
Rohavala, the Healing Flame of Samsara, ignited in a blinding, pure blaze, illuminating the entire ruined avenue like a beacon resting directly on top of my head.
"An Asura?" Grey murmured, his dead eyes finally widening a fraction as he effortlessly dodged my attempt to grab him and stepped cautiously backward.
The incredibly dense, rich mana of a fully accomplished Asura such as Soleil Asclepius flowed violently into my mana veins and channels.
Miraculously, the cool Trucewater already flowing within me gladly welcomed the volatile new influx of magical resources without resistance.
The raw, unfiltered mana of an Asura flowing directly into a lesser's body should have instantly scorched me from within, resulting in immediate, fatal mana poisoning, an explosive mana overdose, or a catastrophic mana-shock.
And yet, I felt entirely reborn.
Soleil's overwhelming mana felt no different from normal atmospheric mana now.
I was perfectly able to control the raging inferno, and as REmould subconsciously triggered to briefly shift me to Nabyun Asclepius to handle the load, I levelled Fiorwato directly at my two opponents.
"Nico Sever. King Grey," I declared coldly.
I deliberately wove sound magic into my voice, projecting it with the unyielding authority of a god. The united Flames of Elenoir, Darv, Sapin, and of Dicathen raged within my eyes' pupils behind my green-tinted lenses.
"Your Fate has run out of threads."
High above the Blood Iron arena, the golden threads of the reforged Ontic Circuit swirled and flared in violent agreement, the ancient network echoing my absolute declaration across the entirety of the floating island.
Immediately, I capitalized on the distance between us and unleashed a rapid-fire flurry of Bubblespells directly at the reincarnated king.
Each one of these compressed spheres of water mana held a furiously spinning fireball, continuously accelerated by a vortex of wind and sound magic.
The sheer potential energy trapped within each sphere was more than capable of levelling an entire building to the ground.
I fired the deadly projectiles from my flesh hand, aggressively strafing around Grey's position to keep him firmly in my sights.
My spells violently impacted the towering walls of the Blood Iron arena, detonating into a myriad of blinding, contained eruptions. But not a single one hit its mark.
The reincarnate either effortlessly dodged or cleanly deflected my Bubblespells with the flat of his weapon. His swordplay was so absurdly refined that the liquid, economic movements of his simple blade seemed to actively hypnotise my aim.
A warrior trained to fight and deflect modern fireweapons, right, I cursed in my head, remembering exactly who King Grey had been on his Earth:
He wasn't just an elite gladiator in the Paragon Duels; he had been a true, living weapon designed to be unleashed upon entire modern armies.
King Grey closed the distance with terrifying speed. I braced myself to engage him in close combat again, but then I suddenly felt a deep, crushing pressure radiating from the reincarnated king.
King's Force? I asked myself, genuinely shocked as I felt an oppressive power similar to Lord Evascir's own weaponised mana signature wash over me; but from behind my green-tinted lenses, REmould diagnosed the truth: it wasn't true King's Force. It was a rune.
A unique, Regalia-tier Alacryan rune belonging to the Article of Freedom.
Grey leapt into the air, vile black flames of Soulfire instantly coating the jagged edge of his sword, and brought the blade crashing down on me.
I gritted my teeth against the suffocating pressure of his artificial aura and swung a Balance-infused Fiorwato up to meet him.
Once again, our weapons violently clashed—my singing viridian blade against the deafening din of his steel. I fully expected his rune to aggressively fail and shatter, exactly as the spellforms of the other Alacryans had when striking my Balance magic, but nothing happened.
Grey's dead eyes remained entirely unfazed and ruthlessly battle-focused. Then, his body was suddenly cloaked by his own Soulfire.
His mana signature, his aura, or whatever grotesque amalgamation it had become, seamlessly melded with that imitation of King's Force.
The fusion formed a subtle, shadowy stratum of absolute power that permeated his entire being, amplifying every movement with an almost imperceptible yet staggering degree of force.
Fiorwato and Grey's sword clashed again. Then again. And again.
The sheer skill and combat experience of this damned reincarnate! I slurred inwardly, hopelessly locked in a lethal, close-quarters duel with the boy who had been king; someone who was possibly the greatest swordsman in this entire world already.
My defence lacked on nearly every front.
Grey's sword effortlessly penetrated my guard multiple times, ruthlessly slashing through my clothes and deep into the flesh beneath.
He covered me in a dozen lethal injuries, but they were instantaneously healed by Soleil's Rohavala (a divine flame that felt more akin to a warm, motherly embrace) closing the gashes even before my own Trucewater could flood the wounds to mend them.
I desperately attempted to cast spells to gain distance, but King Grey was ruthless in his relentless pressure. He didn't give me the time to breathe, let alone the fraction of a second required to cast.
He knew perfectly well that if I dropped my guard to gather mana for even a microsecond, he could exploit the opening and take my head.
How can I possibly defeat this freak in this state?! I asked myself in rising panic as Grey's blade missed my neck by a single millimetre. He wasn't even casting any spells; he was relying entirely on his monstrous physical augmentation and peerless technique!
Berna! I need you! I cried out from the very depths of my mana core. The silver organ was now riddled with ugly scars and deep, jagged cracks. It was being kept whole only by Soleil's bottomless reserves of mana forcefully compressing it together, acting like a tourniquet forged from pure Asuran fire.
High above, the double-stranded golden strings of the reforged Ontic Circuit violently revolted against the sky. The massive network demanded even more from me and REtrocurrent to safely guide the burning Djinnic souls to their deserved afterlife.
Not this too, I lamented, feeling the apocalyptic strain tearing at every fibre of my being just to keep the island's spatial lockdown active.
Without warning, King Grey lunged. His Soulfire-coated sword drove brutally into my flank, piercing straight through my right lung. It missed my heart only thanks to a desperate, last-second twist of my torso, but the impact drove my nervous system absolutely crazy with blinding pain.
I snarled like a cornered beast and drove my fist straight down onto the flat of Grey's weapon, violently shattering the metal and leaving the reincarnated king momentarily unarmed.
The clinging Soulfire, tho, violently clashed with Soleil's Rohavala. The Vritra-cursed flames actively nullified the divine fire of the Phoenix, completely halting her precious healing magic from closing the fatal lung wound.
And yet, I did not die. The catastrophic tissue damage was simply being... unmade?
My eyes widened in sudden realisation as REtrocurrent flooded my mind with Insight.
From my shattered core, a warm, reassuring presence growled to life, the bond I shared with my Guardian Bear: Berna's half of the Re-Construction Greatrune! I did not understand the mechanics of how it was helping me, but it was working!
I clicked the malachite fingers of my Servo-Hand and stared Grey dead in his apathetic eyes before REmould made me Finn Warend.
"You can crawl back to your High Sovereign, reincarnate," I hissed, my body that of my dwarven self now.
Massbinding, the Acquire Phase of Berna's Beast Will, flared blindingly on the back of my right hand, which was now flesh since my malachite limb had shifted into a Servo-Foot.
This might cost me another hand... I thought grimly.
I drove my fist, coated in the slate-coloured Flame of Darv, forward with every ounce of strength I possessed.
Massbinding aggressively rewrote the local rules of physics around my arm, compounding its gravity and acceleration to propel my strike far faster and heavier than biologically possible; with or without mana.
My knuckles connected squarely with Grey's jaw. I felt the incredibly satisfying, sickening crunch of his facial bones fracturing as the reincarnated king was launched completely off his feet.
He was sent rocketing backward through the air like a cannonball, flying across the entire length of the arena until he violently smashed into the jagged Blood Iron walls constructed by Nico Sever.
My hand bleeding and the bones completely pulverised, I was finally afforded a relative moment of Peace to catch my breath and prepare for the next move.
I shifted back to Nabyun Asclepius in the blink of an eye, and Soleil instantly resumed healing my broken body; the mangled hand miraculously knitting itself back together under her divine flames.
"Milord!" Soleil urged.
"Keep going," I ground out, steadying myself. "We are not done yet."
My eyes immediately searched for my sister, and my heart plummeted. I saw her and Alwyn desperately fighting for their lives against Nico Sever.
"No!" I screamed, pure, undiluted rage flooding my veins.
Gripping Fiorwato like a javelin, I launched my weapon directly at Nico. The viridian blade sang through the air as it rotated, a miniature tornado aimed to impale the other reincarnate.
Nico Sever turned, his face bleaching as he moved his arms in a frantic choreography to conjure Platonic solids of Blood Iron. Dozens of black constructs erupted from the ruined street of Conjurers' Venue, forming a picturesque, jagged wall for his protection.
Fiorwato drilled straight through the Blood Iron, continuing its trajectory unimpeded until it hit him dead in the chest.
The reincarnate spat a mouthful of blood and thrashed desperately against my blade, struggling to wrench himself free.
But the Article of Freedom, meticulously engraved into the viridian gemsteel of my faithful wand-cane-sword, had already taken effect.
I channelled my magic through the weapon, unleashing a barrage of inaudible infrasounds that rippled through the air and struck Nico.. His muscles seized, his movements faltered, and his desperate struggle was violently cut short.
Along the length of my weapon, a myriad of tiny Bubblespells blossomed into existence, each water spell trembling with its own minute vibration.
They pulsed in rapid succession, overlapping their oscillations into a disorienting symphony of Fiorwato's sensory-depriving music. The sound: a succession of invisible waves that invaded the senses, drowned Nico's perception beneath a cacophony of magical reverberations.
He could struggle all he wanted; but his body refused to obey.
With my magic in place, I walked toward Nico Sever, seamlessly returning to my Corvis Eralith form.
"Soleil, go to Tessia," I ordered, and the robin obeyed.
The second the Asura hopped from my head, the infinite recoil of all my recklessness hit me all at once like a runaway train, but I forced myself to endure it.
"Nico!" Grey shouted as he emerged from the rubble, his Soulfire slowly knitting his half-exposed skull back together.
I punched Nico Sever directly in the neck, sending the reincarnate slamming onto the ruined cobblestones, his face grinding into the dirt beneath.
"Make another move, and not even Agrona will be able to reincarnate your puny friend again, King Grey," I hissed.
I should just kill them... I told myself.
But something within me still felt a lingering compassion for these two; a part of me wanted to spare these characters I had read about in a life that might have never even existed. A part of me pitied their former lives, and another desperately wanted to give them a much better chance than Agrona ever could.
And... I thought of Cecilia. Caera was the entire reason Xyrus was still standing, and she considered Cecilia a true friend. I couldn't execute the only two people Cecilia had genuinely cared about during her previous, short-lived life.
King Grey gripped a spare weapon, his fighting spirit far from extinguished.
"Drop your weapon," I commanded. "I am sparing you only out of mercy. Test my clemency, and you shall regret it."
"We are here on a mission from the High Sovereign, Eralith," King Grey spat. Was he serious? "This ends with you dead."
I narrowed my eyes. If he wanted to play hard, unfortunately for him, I knew exactly which strings to pull.
"You are being manipulated by Agrona Vritra just as you were manipulated by Vera Warbridge, Grey," I said coldly. Even the half-unconscious Nico tensed at the mention of a name no one in this world should know.
"You do not know what you are talking about!" Grey snapped, absolute anger bleeding into his voice. "We are not being manipulated! This is the only thing we can do!"
"It is about Cecilia, right?" I asked, the name acting like a binding spell.
If Vera Warbridge evoked ire from Grey and shock from Nico, Cecilia only caused... fear? A very well-masked fear for their friend, now a prisoner of Agrona Vritra on the other side of the ocean.
I let go of Nico's neck, allowing him to gasp for breath.
"I see..." I murmured. "Cecilia will be safe. She is with the Legacy right now. The new one. Not her. Hers got removed—by me."
"You were the one to thwart Agrona's plan," Grey accused, his grip on his sword twitching. "Cecilia almost got killed because of you!"
"T-Thank you," Nico Sever breathed. His voice was a mess: both physically, due to my less-than-gentle approach, and emotionally, as if a heavy knot had formed in his throat.
Grey looked at his friend with wild eyes, and Nico answered with a steady, exhausted glance.
There was not the manic hatred I expected to see, just... profound disappointment. Was their life on Earth different from the novel too? Or had Agrona tampered with their emotions in a completely different way?
"Cecilia would much prefer death over... over being the Legacy," Nico choked out, the words clearly agonising for him to say aloud.
Contemplating Cecilia being dead? That was something the Nico Sever I knew from the novel would never say. To that Nico, with or without Agrona's influence, everything was worth it as long as Cecilia lived. He simply couldn't let her go, no matter what. Even if she was a slave. Even if both of them were slaves.
Are these people even remotely similar to the ones I read about? I asked myself, just as another brutal backlash from the Ontic Circuit ravaged my nervous system.
"Corvis!" Tessia shouted, and I heard her rushing up behind me.
"Your Highness!" Alwyn echoed my twin sister. The two of them flanked me, desiring nothing more than to stand between me and the enemy.
I gasped for air, nebulised Trucewater escaping my lips in copious teal clouds. My mana core gave another sickening sign of failure, and I looked at the two reincarnates—the only other reincarnates besides me in this entire world—through collapsing eyes.
"We... we had better go, Grey..." Nico pleaded, hesitating as the former king weighed their impossible odds.
"You can't..." I breathed. "Seris Vritra is dead. And so are the Wraiths, and all the other Alacryans who dared to set foot on Dicathen today. You have nowhere to go."
What are you trying to accomplish, Corvis? I asked myself. I am trying to give them the true second chance of Arthur Leywin and Elijah Knight.
"Staying here in Dicathen is the only chance you have at surviving right now," I told them, my voice heavy with exhaustion. "And you know that too. Cynthia Goodsky—maybe you researched her before invading my home, but either way, she is an Alacryan too. She will help you."
The desperate attempts at breaching Xyrus spatially were long gone now. Either the Alacryan forces deployable for this invasion had exhausted their teleporting artifacts, or the Chain of Solidarity had finished purging Xyrus City of the remaining invaders.
The chaotic sounds of hard battle were already fading into a quiet memory. Other than the majestic golden waves of threads visible only to me, no spellfire broke the winter air.
We... we had won.