When one heard about Vel Ayala, most people from the Arkhan Republic would first think something along the lines of how they'd never been there.
Then they would think of how they wanted to go at least once before they died. And then, they would think of a particular building that towered over most mountains, even managing to pierce the clouds.
That building was the Spirit Tower.
In the distant past, it was the place where a number of small nations, who had just awakened to democracy, united to become one of the three continental powerhouses of today.
It was, for many, where everything began.
Sadly, it was also a place that most would never step foot in. Acceptance of this fact was perhaps the leading factor as to the innate interest just about every Arkhanian held for the tower. It was a wondrous and mysterious place, standing tall and unyielding for centuries. Every inch of the towering structure was etched with history itself, and while all things were temporary, the Tower, for many, was eternal.
Of course, some things were already well-known about it, despite the mystique surrounding its existence, such as how it held the greatest collection of grimoires in the world — which made sense since it was the place where the tomes were written. In addition, there were numerous researchers inside, racing against each other to birth the next great invention, thereby propelling the republic into the next age.
Last but not least, the Tower was also the gathering point of countless sorcerers, serving as the only educational facility for the most powerful force the republic had at its disposal — battlemages.
There were only benefits to be found when thinking of the Tower, and it was all thanks to one person: The Sage King, Antonnel.
“Hah…”
At the top floor of Vel Ayala’s tallest structure, in a simple undecorated bedroom, an old man of incredibly advanced age gently laid himself down atop a chair made of soft velvet, and rightfully so, seeing as his limbs resembled gnarled twigs so much that they might snap from just a little force. But few who knew him would make the mistake of thinking he was as fragile as he seemed.
For his name was Antonnel, and he was the Transcendent living at the top of the Spirit Tower.
Or rather, he didn't really live on the top floor. He merely existed there.
Antonnel's bright purple eyes stared blankly into the air, looking at nothing but seeing everything. His willowy hands, riddled with age spots, caressed the velvet fondly, savoring the pleasantness that assaulted his fingers. It was, he deemed, the comfiest one he’d ever sat on and he’d been using it for years.
Just like the body he was currently residing in.
“Master. Are you busy? I hope not. I'm coming in either way.”
Antonnel looked up in a daze, discovering someone familiar. “You’re…”
“You forgot my name again?”
“Hm.” Antonnel didn’t much like the insolent man’s tone, but he truly couldn’t remember. Humans all had such useless names, with not a speck of power behind them. Why even have names if they were that useless?
He never truly understood, and his previous contractor never managed to explain it well enough before death separated them.
The disrespectful man sighed, gesturing at his robes, which were purple with golden threads forming extravagant decorations along the hems. “Just call me Gold, like you usually do. It’s about time I changed my name anyway. I’ve used it a few too many times lately. Same with my body.”
“Very well, Gold.” Antonnel nodded, gesturing for one of the nearby chairs. “Why have you come here?”
“Incidents have occurred. And a few general updates to matters you’re interested in, in case you forgot a few of those as well.”
“Speak.”
Gold clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. “First, the matters you left for me. I’ve spoken with the elves, and they’re fine with raising the number of orbs they supply us yearly. This year marks the first. We got a hundred, and will continue to get the same amount consistently. This means we can use our own yearly supply for other endeavors.”
Antonnel nodded, he’d expected as much. The elves weren't fools, after all. “Good.”
“Unfortunately, we still haven’t figured out how they make them.”
“As long as they keep trading it to us, then it doesn’t matter.”
Gold grunted, finally growing tired of pacing and procuring a chair from out of nowhere to sit on. “We still can’t quite pinpoint the rogue sorcerer you wanted us to find.”
‘Incompetent…’
Antonnel wanted to grimace but his control of this vessel was slowly deteriorating over time. Humans, he found, were needlessly complex. Their faces even more so. “I’ve already told you where to look.”
“You told me the general location. And it’s an ocean. We’ve scoured it and still can’t find her. The only place we haven’t checked is underwater.”
“Then check.”
“Your great sageliness…” Gold massaged the bridge of his nose. “I am quite sure that, at some point, I told you how the sea is actually quite a dangerous place for people other than yourself. Monsters were a big problem during your time, right? Well, there are monsters at sea too, except they actually had the time to do whatever they wanted all these centuries since humans aren’t very good swimmers. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if there are a few Transcendents swimming around down there.”
Antonnel silently thought for a bit before shaking his head. “The sorcerer is there. I can sense them. A spirit king has Ascended there.”
“Yes, yes, I know. You’re very good at knowing where all the spirit king seeds are. But see, the spirit king may have Ascended where you felt it, but they didn’t need to stay there, right? You should consider the possibility they’re not there anymore.”
“They’re there. Right now.”
“Yes, well, about that. We’ve already looked around there. I just said so, no?”
“Look harder. Look under.”
Gold, his face a mask of steel, paused to look the old man in the eye. “We’ve lost many men on this search. And we didn't even come close to the great depths.”
“With no results to show, perhaps you haven’t lost enough.”
“But—”
Antonnel didn’t move, but an overwhelming pressure bore down on Gold, and even space itself started to tremble under his gaze. “Do not forget the purpose of this place. Bring me whoever that spirit beast is contracted with. Negotiate or do it by force, I care not for the method.”
Gold nodded reluctantly and the pressure on him promptly vanished. He’d grown used to it by now though, so he was barely affected — except for a slight ache everywhere all at once.
The old man stared at Gold, waiting for an answer. Instead, he simply heard the man mutter something in a language he couldn't understand. "Fucking old man.", "One of these days...", and "Piece of shit" were just a few of the words Antonnel caught. But humans were troublesome creatures that didn't just speak a single language. Annoying. Antonnel didn't want to learn another one. It already took so much effort to learn how to speak one.
"Speak clearly. Stop muttering."
“I said that we shall do our utmost, master.”
“Make sure that the killing blow is dealt by… whoever the Ascendant Spirit King is now.”
“It’s Dalamar Harkon. My son.”
Antonnel paused to scan Gold’s face before asking. “He knows what must be done?”
Gold nodded blankly, rolling his eyes. It was a gesture Antonnel couldn't replicate or understand the meaning of. "He has known from the start. His spirit beast knows it as well and is eager for the opportunity to challenge you."
“Good. How many seeds does he need to Transcend?”
“Three. We had this conversation a few years ago, can you please stop forgetting things?” Gold chuckled wryly. “If we manage to catch the one you sensed somewhere in the southern sea, then we only need two more.”
Antonnel went quiet, his face unmoving as his mind spun rapidly. Three was a lot, and two was not much different considering they needed Ascendant spirit kings. Those didn’t appear often and raising one from the ground up was equally difficult, because he needed mortal spirit king seeds.
“Are there any candidates?” he asked Gold.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“We can probably have a few if we war with the elves. Surely, they’ll have a few spirit kings.”
“No.” Antonnel shot the idea down without even a second thought. “The Elven Court is too strong and is united as a race. Attacking them in their home ground is the height of foolishness. And there is nothing in the world that can lure them out."
"I expected that answer."
"Are there any others?”
Gold combed back his slightly graying hair and nodded. “There's a recruit from last year that came back from the sanctuary with a spirit king seed. But before coming here, she already had a spirit bond. Remember her?”
“I remember..." Antonnel graveled, his voice fading. "Protect her for now. She can’t die from any of those nonsense missions you fools give out.”
“Of course. We have someone guarding her at all times. And please don't call them nonsense when you languish here and do nothing. We're actually trying pretty hard to keep everything together, you know?"
Antonnel ignored the man's continued insolence. It would be hard to find a replacement, after all. Talking more had reminded Antonnel of who Gold actually was and what he'd done.
'He's always been this way. I remember now.'
Fingers drummed against his armchair, Antonnel's thoughts returned to the girl. “The girl. What is her temperament like?”
Gold pressed his tongue against the insides of his cheek as he thought about the question. “Well, she’s quite frankly a genius at all things related to sorcery. I can't even understand half of what she spouts, but oddly enough, it works for her. Charismatic as well as a good leader when she has to be."
“What else?”
“If I had to say anything bad, then it would be that she lacks ambition. And she's a slacker. Irredeemably lazy to boot. I don't think there's a way to fix her at this point, unless something drastic happens to her.”
Antonnel nodded. “Then she’s perfect. We’ll make her bond the next Ascendant Spirit King.”
“We don’t have seeds to feed her spirit beast, so that’ll have to wait.”
“Did we get nothing from this year’s recruits as well?”
“None from the seventy-four that survived…” Gold sighed. “On that note, there are a few isolated incidents that I believe you should know. The first of which being that twenty-six people died in the sanctuary.”
Antonnel frowned, the first expression he had managed to make throughout the entire conversation. “What a waste. But we can use their orbs for next year’s batch.”
“Yes, well, about that… we can’t retrieve the orbs. We’ve tried everything.”
Unconsciously, Antonnel felt his fingers clench the armrest, almost shattering it. But he caught himself on time and stopped. It would be a waste to destroy such a good chair. “What do you mean you can’t retrieve the orbs? The function to do so was created by me. It's perfect.”
Gold shrugged. “Exactly what I said. We can’t retrieve them. I suppose the retrieval function isn't as perfect as you think, hm?”
“Did you try—”
“I believe I just said that we’ve tried everything." Gold cut him off, waving a hand in dismissal. "The only thing we haven’t tried doing is forcing our way into the sanctuary to take a look inside. Do you want us to proceed with that?”
“Don’t.” Antonnel didn’t even hesitate.
Losing twenty-six orbs to some mysterious phenomenon was certainly undesirable, but it was an insignificant blow. A mere inconvenience at worst.
The sanctuary's destruction, on the other hand, would be a setback he couldn’t recover from.
It took decades of painstaking labor to rip out a portion of the spirit world and turn it into something so stable, especially when he was banished from it. The rules and laws that bound the sanctuary, though inconvenient in many ways, were what stabilized it in the first place — while also creating the perfect conditions to foster spirit king seeds.
Modifying those rules was no longer possible and even he, its creator, couldn’t flout it.
Strictly speaking, he could scry the sanctuary’s insides, but that would carry an enormous risk. A risk he wasn’t willing to take.
“Enough with this matter,” Antonnel commanded in a tone that brook no argument. “Cease anything that risks the sanctuary’s stability. The lost orbs don’t matter now.”
“I was more concerned with all the dead kids and what explanation I'll be giving their parents, but sure. I will follow your orders. That wasn’t all I had to report though.”
“What else is there? So far, I have heard one good thing and only bad things.”
Gold chuckled wryly, crossing his arms across his chest. "This next one isn’t anyone’s fault. We actually aren’t sure how to react.”
“Speak quickly.”
“We have reports of Mordred lurking around Vel Ayala. We know because she’s the only one capable of completely crippling perception over such a large area.”
“...Mordred? Who is that?”
“Ah, of course, you'd forget. She’s that crazy bitch who charged deep into Argonian territory and practically lived there for a few years, assassinating generation after generation of Grandmasters.”
Antonnel rubbed the tips of his fingers against the velvet as he tried to search his memories of this Mordred that Gold seemed to think was important. But even after a few heartbeats that may have been years for a Transcendent, Antonnel gave up. “Why is that relevant?”
Gold scratched his head and sighed. “She’s also the one who killed two Ascendant Spirit Kings. And one of them already had a kill too. Remember? It was the biggest setback to your plans. Ever. She did it quite near where you were at the time, guarding the border against the War God. Remember now?”
Antonnel clenched his fists. Now he remembered who she was.
‘That little girl…’
Or rather, she just looked like a little lady. It was a terribly disarming appearance for someone with such a penchant for lopping off heads. And he had never known greater anger than when she escaped as easily as she'd appeared.
“What has she done this time?”
“She forcefully detained one of our silver cloaks for a few minutes on suspicion of spying on one of the train stations. She even cut off all perception in the entire city. Even our sensory magic items were disabled somehow.”
Antonnel’s eyes narrowed. “Well? Was the silver cloak spying?”
Gold was about to answer but he paused. “I can’t actually be sure. Some curious things are happening with the trains and the Star of Fortune, so the Capitol has asked us to investigate. I highly doubt there was anything worth sending her to guard in that station though. That wasn't our agent’s purpose there in the first place.”
“What was it?”
“Shadowing one of the recruits.”
Antonnel frowned as the wrinkles on his forehead deepened. “A recruit? Has it already been more than a month since their oath-taking?”
“That’s the case, yes.”
“Then why are you still wasting resources having them followed? Instead of following around some brat, then just send the agent to search the southern sea.”
Gold truly looked like he wanted to curse in a language the Sage King could understand, but he’d been at this job for centuries, and so, he was able to barely hold it in by cursing in English instead. With a sigh that hopefully contained all his pent-up frustration, he began to explain.
“Clover Salwyn was under suspicion for a while. By order of Dalamar, who — in case you've forgotten — is my son and the current Ascendant Spirit King. He was the one who facilitated the recruit's oath-taking. The oath ended up not killing him despite more than a month passing, which should have proved his innocence a little, but we’re just trying to make sure. Others have found ways to flout the oath, so he's under observation until we can be sure.”
“So you are wasting resources.”
“No, I just ex—”
“Quiet. I am aware that the oaths aren’t absolute, but all the methods to get out of them safely aren’t things some ordinary people have access to. And wasn’t he observed for every second during the initial month?”
Gold was about to nod, but then also frowned. “Actually, no. There were blanks due to an incident with a particularly tricky monster infestation. But Salwyn’s actions were mostly accounted for.”
“Oh, so there are witnesses?”
“He was with another recruit who he only met on the way to Vel Ayala and a letter from one of the Star of Fortune’s custodians — both of whom are dead now though. But a squad of battlemages followed his trail and scryed his entire ordeal.”
“I see. Then he’s innocent. Let him be. If you have excess men to spare, send them to the south sea to look for the damned rogue.”
Gold shook his head. “No, we’re no longer observing him due to just suspicion, but rather, because we think he’ll serve an important role once nurtured. He performed splendidly under pressure during the incident. While we're still open to the possibility of him being a spy, if he's not a spy, then we must nurture him. In both cases, a watcher is necessary.”
Antonnel paused to think about it before shaking his head. “Then attach a guard if you want. Just not a silver cloak. Send all those to the sea to help the search. Don’t waste so much time on some boy, Gold. He’s not going to win us the world — but producing another Transcendent Spirit King will. And we need three Ascendants for that.”
After a bit of hesitation, Gold nodded. “Understood, master. We’ll get right to it. I’ll even go there myself.”
“Very good.” Antonnel cracked a smile, his fist clenched as he leaned forward with great difficulty. “I just need one more, Gold. One more — and everything will become trivial.”
The Sword Star, The War God, The Pope of Sormon, The Gladiator King, even the Elven Court… none of them would matter.
Just one more.
Just one more Transcendent Spirit King, and the world would belong to him by default.
Just one more and he would become the strongest being in existence, something that this world had never even seen before.
Something beyond a Transcendent.
‘I'm so close.’
Antonnel had waited patiently for centuries, waiting and waiting and waiting for the humans in his tower to continuously build up a supply of seeds. During that long wait, he taught them sorcery, protected them, and helped them in many other ways.
It was what Antonnel’s original contractor wanted, but that man was gone now — taken from him by the cursed power that brought sorcery to the world.
Now all that was left was a dream.
Their dream.
A foolish dream that Antonnel never believed would come true, but worked hard to fulfill since it was what his human always wanted.
A foolish dream where everyone lived in peace and prosperity.
Antonnel was very old. And that was why he knew quite a bit about humans. He knew that there was no way they would ever stop fighting each other. It was simply in their nature. No matter how tall and magnificent the structures they built were, no matter how well they hid their savagery behind culture and etiquette — Antonnel knew.
Humans were animals.
They weren’t all that different from spirit beasts. Conflict was part of their nature and satisfaction was a temporary concept.
Despite knowing this, Antonnel still wanted his original contractor’s dream to come true. It may have been a foolish dream, something a child would have come up with. But it was a beautiful dream, and Antonnel thought it was worth existing for.
Worth suffering for.
‘Peace.’
Antonnel had always known what was required to achieve it.
It was power.
Power and the threat of its use were the simplest solutions to most problems. Not the democracy that his original contractor fell in love with. Not civilized conversation. And most certainly not conceding to one’s enemies in the hopes they would feel grateful for your benevolence.
No.
He knew that true peace could only be achieved when an immortal entity with absolute authority enforced that peace. And he decided that he would become that entity. He would make the fool’s dream come true.
Antonnel the Silver Owl would bring peace to the world.
With a power like nothing anyone had ever seen before.