Hikma followed Rem’s footstep and doped his brain.
The talk with Melody gave him an idea. Like her, Hikma didn’t fully grasp the finer make up of [Conceptual Seal]. At first, he believed the symbol to be useless. Then the discovery of Arcane revealed the True Magic’s potential, catapulting him beyond the realm any mage dared to dream.
The recent event gave Hikma a new perspective on his approach — namely, the procedural he cast an Arcane.
Unlike traditional spells and magical technique, Arcane required not visualization nor mathematical-base formula but surfing the current of the Astral Realm. The user must act as a channel to guide the memories of the phenomenon to reality. Catalyst such as elemental affinity acted as a rod for such movement.
Like any information, Arcane’s property can be tampered. Took [Holy Force] for example. The Arcane true property was a grand smiting light from heaven that dealt extra damage to unholy beings, but both Rem and Hikma opted to tamper with the memory’s composition, since its original form is too inflexible. They could fire the Arcane as a concentrated laser of various sizes, or detonate the light like holy hand grenade. And that wasn’t counting other options the duo often improvised when they hit the wall.
Like any action, it consumed a vast amount of stamina to channel the Arcane. Hikma’s Mana might stay constant, but the strain of creating [Conceptual Seal], guiding, and modifying the Arcane immensely taxed his stamina. The repeated usage of Arcane would eventually result in his eventual incapacitation as shown during the battle to secure the Wind-quarter.
Hikma must invent an alternative way to use for his True Magic to stand tall against enemies numbered in thousands.
Melody gave him an idea.
Your power works decently well with enchantment. Oh, you want me to explain enchantment?
Hikma sat cross-legged and meditate.
Enchantment is spell-formulas inscribes into a weapon or tool to use the spell power. The more Mana-rich the material, the higher the number of enchantments we can carve and the higher its power output. My mother even developed a technique to fuse a foreign characteristic in Mana, enchanting and forging to create an even more powerful equipment, but learning about that technique is beyond even the most advance inscription. For now, the basic should clear your plan.
Hikma was far from a combat prodigy like Luxinna and Melody. He lacked the Rem’s tactical prowess and creativity. He would never trump Cytortia’s medical mastery in this lifetime.
What he had was a knowledge and Arcane, so he needed to push that expertise beyond humanity’s conceivable imagination. He needed to exploit the realization that only dawned on him a few minutes ago.
Unless he wished for it — [Conceptual Seal] would not disappear. It took zero effort to maintain the sigils.
…
Words
The ancient inscribed them in stone to record their history. Civilization rose on the back of the ability to communicate using message. Words were the cornerstone of humanity.
But words alone were useless. They needed context and sentence structured to generate the power that brought forth civilization.
[Conceptual Seal] was a phrase. Hikma needed to establish verb and context around it to create a sentence. And the tool he used to do that was Rem’s [Mentalism].
Hikma dove deeper into his Mana Core and forged his new weapons.
…
In the broken ancient temple, Hikma sat contemplating the Astral Realm. The world of his Mana Core took the form of the archaeological dig-site his father often took him in the past. It was a reflection into the heart of the boy who found himself more at peace with forgotten culture than the present civilization.
The [Conceptual Seal] of [Holy] floated in front of him. Hikma’s [Mentalism] activated and changed how his mind perceived his True Magic. Hikma applied the brief lesson Melody gave him and added something more to the [Seal]. An enchantment line connecting several phrases as [Unbreakable] and [Protect] in a ring around [Holy]. Hikma then added the [Seal] for [Enhance] and [Restoration] to connect the two rings together. He didn’t know whether this would work, but he fancied to try.
Hikma De Darwin activated his invention — the [Conceptual Construct]. The project glowed with intensity, and from it, he unleashed a torrent of light. He huffed.
[Holy Armor] + [Barrier]
The shield glowed as the defensive Arcane activated. Hikma made some mental notes and attached a [Storage] [Conceptual Seal] to his creation. While most Arcane needed stamina to funnel it. This Arcane to turn an object into magical battery — a phenomenon to awaken the object of non-living potential as a container. As a seal representing containment and preservation, the [Storage] rune act as the world's most efficient and largest capacity.
Hikma experimented with his new toys. He made some minor change from further testing, but he believed he succeeded. Hikma De Darwin transformed a simple seal into a more useful enchantment capable of defending himself. A quick mental math showed his major expenditure of stamina originated from creating the seal and using the Arcane. By making the [Seal] into a more useful [Construct] that could hang around forever, he completely cut that expenditure from the equation in a prolong fight. Several minor adjustments, setbacks and downright failures later turned [Storage] into a valuable energy bank capable of storing excess energy gleamed from his Mana during his channeling or chargeable battery.
Hikma even further restructured his psyche to associate the entire construct with [Holy Force] and [Holy Armor]. While this would hamper its flexibility, it greatly reduced the casting speed and improved the Arcane efficiency of his technique.
Hikma smiled at his new creation.
“Let call you [Aegis],” Hikma grinned. “Next, flight improvement, more offensive [Construct] and some more crowd-control.” Hikma flinched from the previous carnage. “Yeah, more battle-field control is a must.”
Hikma renewed his creative vigor and got to work.
…
Orwell Mehest slammed his fist down on his black Spiritium throne.
How did the pendulum swing this harshly? Hours ago, he was on the verge of crushing the Wind-quarter’s meager resistance. Then one coin-flip later, the board reversed. A barrier emerged from a middle of nowhere and tore apart his Amalgam. The resistance on the verge of defeat recovered and counter-attacked with morale of a fanatic.
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To make the matter worse was the fact the barrier’s range also extended to the spying Amalgam he planted in its vicinity. All the protective spells and concealment abilities he piled into the artificial souls failed to deter the all-healing light from decomposing it back to its original component.
Although, Wind-quarter was a major setback. The child of Deathless Clan still maintained his edge. The barrier expansion was decelerating. He was firmly in control of the Earth-quarter and Fire-quarter. Once the number of deaths hit five-million, he would gather enough life-energy and Mana to transplant a part of the World Enemy into himself and ascend as a god.
Then he felt it.
A foreign component lurking inside the Spiritium crystal in Fire-quarter hit the detectable mass. Orwell did not understand where this mysterious development originated from. It was impossible for him to slip-up. Those crystal mass-produced and supplied the Amalgam in his army. Its vitality in his operation pushed him to do a check-up in hour-basis. Orwell was certain nothing could slip past his meticulous check-up unless…
He glared at the Dark One. The slumbering Primordial World Enemy whose power he was borrowing.
Unless the mastermind’s essence formed an integral part of the system. Orwell stifled a curse. He might employ the abundant Leyline to run the system, but the World Enemy still covered the start-up cost. With its essence forming the integral part of the system, no wonder it was to sneak a trick past his security.
Orwell typically looked down on speculation and gambling, but he would firmly toss half his net worth to bet nothing positive was in store for them.
Orwell glanced at the pit where Wayward had been.
With Samael Wayward removed from the battlefield after he hit S-rank from the ritual, the surest redundancies to the chaos disappeared. Orwell facepalmed. Why? Just Why did lord broken picked this moment of all space-time to ascend beyond the barrier ability to contain him.
…
Rem’s [Clairvoyance] also detected the change.
No mistake, every equation without Horizon Dawn as a variable dictated of Fire-quarter becoming a living-hell before it got better. But last time Rem checked the future, there was no festival of derange monster stacking the heads for dead men into a giant arch and row of woman crying tears of blood as their swollen womb spawned the monster forcefully impregnated into them.
Rem barely kept his stomach in line. What the fuck? Those degenerate human-cattle, mind-cancer of a hentai was too out of character for Orwell Mehest. The perp had zombie’s army and soul-construct as his calling card, not these scums of the earth decadence. As a nightmare whispered amongst the cartel of Mexico and legend of the Yakuza, Samadi of Argentum was far from squeamish, but the sheer inhumanity he witnessed in his vision made him hurl inside.
Rem swallowed his bile. He went through a mental-checklist of anyone with enough mental sickness and resource to cause his vision. The late Illma Zoldia Road came to mind, but he squashed the possibility. Yes, that bitch had an omega-level sadism, but she turned the children into a cyborg army, not chaining them like a dog while mutating their innards. No, this was far from enjoying pain. The user wanted attention for his depravity. He lived for the glory of doing the most heinous act while nobody could stop him.
Another familiar name surfaced in Rem’s mind. The paladin of Cytortia growled. How? Wayward burned him to ash. How could the dead return to life? Unless…
Rem looked at the eldritch moon and groaned.
That was where the monster came from. The Primordial probably snagged that maniac’s soul and weaponized it for shit and giggled.
Rem stumbled to the window and yelled.
“Red alert. Sol Grandy is about to return in Fire-quarter. Start full preparation! All members of our order assemble! We have a massacre to stop! I repeat! We have a red alert!”
…
Luxinna and Melody stopped arguing about their projectiles planning and kicked off into a sprint.
…
Hikma opened his eyes from deep construction of his newest construct.
Around him various half-formed constructs floated around him. Hikma meticulously created several more [Construct] during his meditation.
[Surt] — a fire-base spherical enchantment capable at high-speed travelled size manipulation and enchantment disintegration — much easier to build compare to other [Construct].
[Yotun] — the hardest creation for Hikma. It took one and a half hours of tinkering and brainstorming to find the most efficient crowd control. Hikma combined [Ice] with [Golem] with a measure of reinforcement, self-restoration and internal battery. [Yotun] functioned in both a meat-shield golem and a self-growing glacier for crowd control.
[Nimbus] — Hikma’s newest hoverboard based from his pre-existing flight [Arcane]. Hikma added some stealth and healing ability. He spent vast times fine-tuning its maneuverability and speed. Sad to say, Hikma could only add further tuning after a test-run.
Hikma was on the verge of drafting his fifth construct when Rem sounded the alarm bells.
…
Strategists on both sides of the fence had a fair ground for their concern. Inside an abandoned building — surrounded by an army of Orwell’s spawn — the black Spiritium crystal glowed blood red.
An inhuman voice echoed from the crimson crystal. The sound not produced by a voice-box, but a shriek of vibrating metal.
“WAYWARD!” The crystal screamed. “MEHEST!”
The black object screeched before exploding into a cloud of red mist. The red mist swallowed Orwell army whole, consuming a vast amount of Spiritium and organic material in a feast of savage crunch and twist. From the blood cloud birthed a monster. Crimson Amalgamic dust formed its flesh, Spiritium its bone, calcium and mineral built its shell.
The monster resembled a massive torso connected to a bony tree root. It towered over the height of 20 meters. Giant tendrils of energy snaked out of its back, ending in malformed mouths filled with a black void. Its bony torso opened to bellow out a laugher. Malformed swarm of flaming eyes blinked and rolled in fast, critter-like speed.
A screech bellowed from the jaw of void.
“Wayward! Mehest! You belief you see the last of me? Do you think I will die that easily?”
The abomination’s name was World Enemy Sol Grandy.
Sol’s rejoice last approximately ten seconds until it noticed a prey.
…
All jokes aside, the crown for today’s biggest loser undoubtably dropped on the Vice-Captain of royal-mages and royal-knights. In less than twenty-four hours both Kruger and Chamomile lost all their colleagues, got their ass stomp by the man they deluded themselves into thinking as an equal co-worker, left to wander in the ruin of their home with surviving nobles from the Central Palace to babysit.
Kruger wanted to yell Orwell’s name at the skies. That bastard threw him into a nightmare. Then he tossed him the responsibility of taking care of these morons. Maybe it was a part of Orwell’s machination to prevent them from becoming a threat.
“Vice-Captain Kruger!” One pompous noble shouted at the Vice-Captain. “I demand you secure my safety and retake the city back from Orwell Mehest at—ack!”
Kruger punted the noble in the face with his remaining hand and turned toward the crowd of survivors gathering around him.
“I will repeat this only once,” he addressed the nobles. “All our facilities are down. Our troops and garrisons are dead. There are no general in Venistalis. The chance of us doing anything is pretty much zero.”
A girl in a tattered dress that was once a high-grade ball-gown walked out.
“You mean we are going to die?”
Kruger opened his mouth, but it was his comrade who answered the question.
“We are going to die!” Chamomile raved. “Don’t you get it? Orwell loath us! That guys spare you to punish me with an extra mile to suffer!” Chamomile let out a stressful laugher. “Let me get one thing off my chest as a dead man. I wish you never made it out alive, Andries. You and the rest of your noble cliques can drop dead for all I care.”
The girl, Andries, blinked, flabbergasted by the Vice-Captain’s venomous resentment. The rest of the noble retreated from the enormous killing intent radiating from Chamomile.
“Why? What?” The young duchess’s daughter Andries watched the long-time family friend exploded.
“Do you know how many documents your father force me to falsify, Andries? It a struggle to stop myself from losing it at your family’s dinner. You got enjoy to those luxuries and parties. Meanwhile, I slave away from morning to midnight dealing with your garbage. The radiant daughter of a respected duke? That sham image wants to make me puke.”
With the prospect of certain death on a horizon, the fragile dam called Chamomile no longer had her career to worry for.
“Orwell is right. You all should die painfully. A bunch of morons sitting on the throne of decadence, leaving your mess for me to clean. I don’t even get a thank — not a single request for me to take a break — and you expect me to die for you? It just one mission after another to help inflate your ego. I am done! You are going to die. I am going to die. Happy now! No wonder Wayward-“
Smack!
Chamomile barely saw Kruger’s palm smacking her face.
“Enough!” Kruger shared her feeling, but he refused to give in. He owed that demoness who saved his life.
Then they heard a bellowing.
“What is that?” Andries whispered.
A screech resounded. The crimson World Enemy rose to the sky and trained its eyes at the survivors.