Winston closed his eyes and remembered, not his past as the Archmage, but the ghostly image of a young elf staring right back at him. She wore nothing and had no genitals; probably because she was a ghost or something. He was sure she was instrumental to his memories returning back to him. Who was she? Or better yet, what was she?
He sighed, shaking his head.
It's best not to dwell on the past. It had all happened eleven months ago. Why the memory still bothered him he did not know. Probably because it made him doubt his sanity. But whatever. He needed to focus on regaining his lost puissance.
Recently, he had been working with Sashaiuin, running various errands for her, such as killing monsters and spying on people who least expected a human doing subterfuge. Mostly, he was doing the latter, which was honestly boring work, but if he wanted to buy his freedom back, this was the way.
He walked through the corridors of the mansion, bounding confidently and casually. He could still remember the look on Soreith's face when Soreith saw him return (safe and sound) after Soreith had literally tied him to a tree to be food for the local monsters. A dick move even for an A-hole. At least he got a stupid, panicked reaction for it. He was never outing Soreith for that; he wanted the man to seethe at his resurrection, to feel like he had been done a favor by Winston for not exposing him to Sashaiuin. It seemed to be working, as every time they would meet, Soreith would always glare daggers at him. Sucks to be you, A-hole.
Sashaiuin's surprise when she learned he could now do proper magic was also worthwhile. She basically exploded into gleeful cursing after he had shown her his abilities. She promised then that if he helped her straighten out some loose ends in Kirisal, she would grant him freedom, and all the resources he needed to grow more powerful. He asked if he could also take Merlion with him, and she said yes. But when he asked Merlion about it, he simply said that he did want to be free, but he wanted to keep working for Sashaiuin afterwards. Alright, he wasn't going to be a bitch and stand between Merlion and his plans, so he supported his decision.
His gains for the last few months, while fickle, still motivated him to do more. His mana reserves for example jumped from a thousand to a thousand and three hundred and ninety eight. That growth was faster than his past record. He had originally grown his mana reserves by incrementally siphoning mana from the environment, which was very thin on Earth, causing him to reach the pinnacle only after a hundred and fifty-six years had passed since his first foray into magic. Here though? With all the thick mana surrounding him (probably because Mundus was several times larger than Earth), he bet he could do it much faster.
Anyhow, those thoughts were for another time, he had reached his destination: Sashaiuin's office.
Winston had barely touched the wooden door to knock when he heard a voice call out to him.
“Come in,” a hoarse and scraggy voice said.
Winston promptly entered the room and Sashaiuin glanced at him with hopeful eyes.
“How did it go?” The question sounded like that of an exasperated slave, hoping against hope that everything would turn out great after she'd worked hard for many days and nights just to make things great.
“Bad….” Winston grimaced. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news but it is.”
Sashaiuin face-palmed.
“How bad is it?”
“Five battleships are in the process of being built. Would take a year to finish, since they're pouring all the elf and technology they could get on this project.”
“Damn, I thought those propagandists could rally the people to sue for peace. Damn, damn, damn it. I'm guessing they won't even admit they're building those ships?”
Winston moved to sit on the chair in front of Sashaiuin's table.
“Worse, they won't even admit they're suing for war. Just saying it's contingency for when worse comes to worst. But the ships are an open secret by now. Everyone who knows anyone already gets the gist of it. Kirisal is preparing for war.”
“How about the soldiers?” Sashaiuin said, placing her head on her hand. “Don't tell me they've amassed tons of manpower in so little time?”
“Actually,” Winston paused, trying to think how to word this properly. “The amount of men getting drafted has just slightly increased, just goes to show that even with the increase in pay, people don't want to be risking their lives. But…”
This was the hardest to convey to her; she was kinda sensitive for the weak. Personally, it did not affect Winston by so much, but he wasn't a total jerk so as to just outright blurt out this info without caring for how Sashaiuin might take it.
“But what!?” She practically screamed. “Out with it boy.”
“They’re arming the slaves for war, putting them into the military in droves, so much so that they'd make up at least ten percent of the military by the end of this month.”
Sashaiuin burst into colorful language, sometimes slamming the table.
“Curse that Saioumon and Metrisqion. How low are they going to make Kirisal?”
Winston had known by now that those two names represented the other two persons leading the Triumvirate.
Sashaiuin massaged her temples, trying to relax herself.
“You've done well,” she said, calming down and looking Winston dead in the eye. “They're certainly milking the situation for all it's worth. They're using it to hush opposition and to allay the populace that the government is simply doing what's best for everyone. What little force I can eke out to oppose them just keeps getting shrugged off by the fact that two thirds of our petrolisiom wells are swarming with monsters. They’ve practically gained the perfect excuse for plans that are years in the making.”
“I wish I could help more,” Winston cut in, “but all I could ever do is eavesdrop on important conversations and ask around, then report.”
Sapphire gave him a look as if she'd just said something bad. “I didn't mean to imply you're useless.”
“Oh I didn't get that from what you've said, at all. It's just that seeing you so distraught can't help but make me feel a little guilty for doing so less. I usually repay my debts, but right now, I can't give you anything worthwhile.”
“Oh, be assured, all your help has certainly given me some leverage. Most of the information that you're supplying me are ones that I'd never unearth myself, nor any of my vassals. And I just don't trust strangers to shut their mouths up when interrogated, for me to hire external aid. You on the other hand are in the very perfect position to spy for me, and for that I am grateful. And speaking of spycraft.…” Sashaiuin sighed; then she stood up from her seat and walked over to Winston. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hate to be asking more from you, but I really need your help. I need all the help I can get. I have another potentially dangerous mission for you.”
Winston smiled.
“All ears,” he chimed. “What do you have in mind?”
“I need you to investigate Skandrim for me,” she paused, mulling over what to say next. Then she continued. “He's usually blanketed in scandal that it just seems so suspicious that he's gone silent now. No theft, no bribery, no elven trafficking.”
“Wouldn't that be a good thing?”
“It should be, but you don't know the man. I'm sure he's in on something nefarious. This is a very dangerous mission as you'd probably come face to face with powerful criminals.”
“I thrive in danger.” Winston smiled. “So, what have you got so far?”
***
Winston traveled to Thokos through Sashaiuin’s private teleportation network. It turned out that travel and shipment by teleportation were thoroughly banned by the state except for a few choice officials who were allowed their own network, which even then were still limited to teleporting only people. This was because some renegade terrorist in the past, once used and tampered with the public teleportation network to send a bomb into an important noble's mansion, killing him when it blew up. Regardless, a sufficiently powerful mage, probably an S-rank, could definitely easily tear through the anti-teleportation wards that blanketed the whole nation, but doing so with enough skill so as not to trigger the alarm wrought into the wards to detect and track such use of teleportation was possessed by few and far in between.
He arrived in Thokos without any fanfare, then inspected the enchanting work on the telepad—as he was often wont to do—looking at the numerous sigils embedded onto the teleportation platform. Sigils were supposed to be the written version of the mystical language used in incantations to impress intent onto mana. Whoever built this contraption knew how to trap the teleportation spell into this platform somehow, very unlike how spell-circuit imprinting worked back home. But what caught his eyes was not the enchanting work on this telepad, it was the size. It was significantly bigger than the others. When he tried to finagle the information from the elves stationed in this part of Sashaiuin's teleportation network, they simply scoffed at him and never answered. Talk about being rude.
Then the elf at the control room got out and faced him.
“Identification!” he blurted out.
Winston gave him Sashaiuin’s seal of approval which they scanned and found authentic. He was promptly ushered out of the building and into the streets without much word. Again, talk about being rude. He strode through the streets, seeing neon lights in front of stores, and almost laughing at the dominant fashion—mostly robes. Pretty old school if he did say so himself.
This was a pretty crowded street, ending into a gigantic roadway. The streets and roads here were pretty much like those back on Earth, except here, floating cars dominated them. That was one of the things Mundus had that Earth did not. In some ways, this world was more advanced; in others, Earth beat it by a notch. He suspected flying vehicles were easier to maintain and support with this much ambient mana suffusing through everything. He exited the street and ambled through the wide road.
Towering buildings flanked him on all sides, and storefronts decorated most of these buildings’ ground floor. He could see numerous clothing shops that sold—you guessed it—robes. But there were dresses and suits mixed in with the more prevalent apparel. He guessed these were used for more important events—like balls and extravagant dinners—while the robes were this world's equivalent for the shirts and jeans that dominated Earth's everyday choice of attire. Gigantic television screens were attached to the tall buildings, projecting adverts of various products. The screens produced images that were crisps and clean but definitely did not use pixel technology to project them. If he guessed it right, purely from observation, the screens were projecting the images by mixing together raw light, all done through magic. This was truly a feat of magical engineering. He wondered if it was possible to imitate this technology through spell-circuit imprinting but immediately dismissed the idea. Doing that would be less efficient than pixel technology. He guessed that this kind of screen technology was a mana hog, only possible because of the abundance of mana sources in this world—like mana crystals and petrolisiom.
One particular technology that made him miss Earth was the internet. Oh, they had internet in this world; they even had computers and smartphones. What they lacked however, were a huge selection of games. All they had were tournament, fully immersive, online, fighting games, which were PVP games conducted in the virtual world, just like how VRMMORPG worked back home. Basically, a player could log in and project his consciousness into the virtual world, bringing all their real world strength into these games. But since these games were basically state controlled, they lacked the flexibility and variety that games back home had. Although Sashaiuin would gladly give him the chance to play these games, playing them would practically place the government's crosshairs on him—a strange human with strange magic.
Man, although those nights he spent playing those epic fantasy games really did a number on his health, he still missed those days.
Information was also greatly guarded in
Mundus, unlike on Earth where information was ubiquitous, where only corporations that developed ultra specialized technology had secrets that were worth protecting. Here though? Most good information was hidden behind a paywall, and the best was locked away in vaults.
But he shouldn't really be ungrateful for his current situation. He was practically given a second chance at life, which for sure was purely because of luck. He remembered his last days on Earth, when he had slowly pushed his mana into the Seraphim, preparing to destroy it. Then he was cut off from his mana pool and stood helplessly before his old friend.
He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist.
He had trusted the man, even stood by him during his darkest times, and yet Io repaid Winston with betrayal. Thankfully, instead of getting destroyed, the Seraphim partially activated and sent his soul through a wormhole and into this world—into the body of a dead fetus. The Seraphim wasn't supposed to function like that; it was all purely accidental—lucky, was what he'd like to call the fact that it malfunctioned in his favor. The Seraphim was meant to create wormholes by channeling energy from mana fission reactors, not transport souls to other worlds using miniscule amounts of mana. That was truly a lucky malfunction.
Enough reminiscing. Now, onto the task at hand. He considered the first place to conduct his investigation; he had to find the right person to ask and ask the correct questions, or else he'd never get anywhere. According to the information he had gotten from Sashaiuin, Skandrim had a sundry of businesses, but his most prominent enterprise was in construction. Anyone worth noting knew that contracting Beyond Enterprise for construction work was a kind of status symbol, much like the Mexyphone back on Earth. They had the best silver bricks—magically reinforced blocks used to build skyscrapers without using rebars and mortar; the bricks just magically stick to one another. So where should he go first? Simple: most would think to start with any business currently contracting Beyond Enterprise. Wrong. The rule of thumb in spycraft was to always begin asking the competitor of any person or establishment being investigated. They were usually the ones who were keeping close tabs on their competition.
That was why he was here, standing in front of the building that housed Skyward Builder's main office.
If someone wanted to contract Skyward Builder for construction work, all they had to do was call their number. Their main office wasn't actually a place to carry out business with clients (it was an administrative office), so Winston couldn't just barge in there and start asking. Thus, he casted a glamor on himself so that the workers wouldn't recognize that he was human and waited. About three hours later, at five in the afternoon, workers started streaming out in droves. He had done research beforehand and knew that the administrative manager was someone named Riuq. Since he knew what he looked like, Winston could easily pick him out of the throng of people that were now exiting the building.
He waited patiently but saw no Riuq going out. Looking up, light shone through the blinds of a small room on the very floor where the administrative office was situated. The man wasn't clocking out, probably staying late to put in some overtime. This made Winston's job harder. He couldn't actually aspect his mana into the sensory aspect so he couldn't yet tamper or even analyze the building's wards. That meant it would be harder for him to infiltrate the building. What to do…. Ah! While glamors could not trick wards, it could definitely trick people. So he made a few tweaks to his glamor. Glamors were part of mind magic—a very rare field of magic both on Earth and here on Mundus. This meant the elves—as long as they weren't particularly looking—wouldn't have any countermeasures against his glamor. Time to intimidate an elf to take him upstairs.
He approached an employee, who jumped in place when he greeted. The employee widened his eyes, and started fidgeting in place, then bowed at Winston.
“Sir, how may I help you?”
The elf acted like Winston was his superior, but he clearly didn't know who Winston was. Perfect.
“Take me to see Riuq.” Curt and simple.
***
Winston walked through the corridors, following an employee of Skyward Builder. They stepped into the elevator, which climbed up to the sixth floor. They exited and walked towards the manager's office. The elf Winston was following knocked on the door, and a screeching voice resounded from beyond the door.
“Who is it!?” the voice said.
“It's Ramrak, Sir,” the elf responded. “Someone important is here to see you.”
“Someone important who?”
The elf paused, as though mulling over the question. Visible confusion could be seen etched into the very expression of the elf.
“Just…”
The elf struggled to enunciate what answer he should give to Riuq's question.
“Someone important.”
Winston could just hear Riuq giving out a sigh.
“Let him in.”
The elf opened the door and let Winston in, then he fled the scene like a crow shooed by a human.
“To what do I owe this visit, from such a prestigious man as you are, Mr.?”
“Merlin,” Winston replied. “Just call me Merlin.”
“Ah, yes. Merlin. A very important person who just happens to be under a glamor. I know how glamors work, and while I don't have the ability to pierce through your glamor, I know it is covering you, so it won't deceive me.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I'm not hoping to deceive you, I just need information.”
Riuq leaned back on his chair, mulling over Winston's words. He then mumbled something about this being beyond his paygrade.
“On what?” Riuq gave him an exasperated smile. “Better yet, on whom?.”
“Skandrim and Beyond Enterprise.”
Riuq jolted in surprise, looking at Winston with befuddled eyes.
“Him? The biggest thorn in the side of our company? For what reason? My full cooperation will solely depend on your answer.”
“Some bigwig sent me to investigate him. And depending on what help you can give, we might be able to get rid of him.” Hook, line, and sinker. He needed to get Riuq's full cooperation, and to do that, he needed to hook him in with a tantalizing bait—namely, the downfall of a competition.
Riuq gave Winston an unsavory smile.
“You sure know how to pull people into agreeing with your demands. Alright, I concede. I'm going to tell you what I know, if you want the rest, I urge you to go directly to the owner of the company.”
Riuq inhaled and sighed.
“Here's what I know: Skandrim has forged ties with the Anxiom empire. And yes, the very same empire that's at the top of the food chain in the world—the Dwarven and Draconic Coalition of Anxiom. They've been conducting meetings about a business venture they’ve been pursuing together.”
“I suppose,” Winston said, running a hand through his hair, “you don't know what ‘business venture’ they're pursuing?”
“If you want an answer to that, then you must go to the owner.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“As a matter of fact, I do….”
***
When Winston heard Skyward Builder's owner had an illegal, underground, fighting ring, he imagined it to be a metaphor for a boxing gym turned into a tournament arena. He did not expect this. Well, he wasn't talking about the entrance through which he had entered this place. It was just an out-of-the-way bar that had a secret doorway into an underground tunnel. The tunnel, it turned out, led into a massive underground arena that had a seating capacity of around fifty-five thousand people, at least according to the guy he had just asked. That was enormously huge for an arena supposedly underground. If Skyward’s owner is running this business illegally, Winston was sure that the city council—and its head, the Duke of Thokos—was in on this project and earned copious amounts of cash from its operation, because there was no way someone could build this without the authorities knowing.
Regarding how to gain access to the owner, he was told that he had to champion in a division. Basically, the fights happening here were divided into divisions based on the adventurer guild's ranking system. So his first foray should be to get himself tested and ranked. But before that, he just had to see what the fights looked like. So he bought a ticket and watched. Considering the size of the Arena, those on the higher seats were surely missing out on some of the details of the fights, hence why the Arena had huge screens hanging from the ceiling, projecting in detail what was happening in the ring. It was through them that Winston watched the fights, which were… to be frank, underwhelming. The fighters were sure to be heavy hitters, but they were dunces with clubs. They certainly had power but little flexibility with the way they used their spells. Accordingly, if this was how they ranked their fighters, he was sure to be within the 1st-tier of E-rank, since he wasn't a heavy-hitter yet (although if his skills were rated according to the real adventurer guild's ranking system, which accounts for multiple factors, he estimated himself to be somewhere at the top of E-rank, maybe 5th-tier).
The next day, Winston weaved through the tunnels that connected the underground arena to various establishments sprawled all over the city. The tunnels were much deeper than the sewers and were constantly pumped with air through small ventilation pipes in the walls and roof. He was told to find room 604—the place where contestants had their ability ranked. The clang of his steps on the metal floor reverberated all throughout until he stopped at an unobtrusive door. On its metal frame the number 604 was etched, but not emblazoned. This was it, this was the room. Winston turned the door knob and frowned. That's some pungent odor. And as the door creaked open, it revealed a hundred or so slobbish elves, turning their heads towards him. Some grinned at him like predators, while others frowned, probably worried about the idea of having another person added to the long list of competition they'd have to fight against. The room was gigantic, more like a function hall than anything. At one edge of the somewhat square room, a counter was placed, which were divided into individual kiosks catering to the numerous elves signing up for a fight.
Winston waited in line for what seemed to have been a day when it was in fact only five hours, due to the slowness of the line's progress. The elven woman behind the counter, at the cubicle in front of him, asked him to prick his fingers with a needle. There were less bloody ways of testing a person's mana capacity—which was measured in jiggs here, but he figured one kyul back home was equivalent to one jigg, so there was really no difference—but those methods were rather expensive. It worked for the adventurer guild, but for an illegal operation that probably had most of its revenue siphoned to corrupt individuals? It probably was impractical.
The elf's eyes widened as she looked at the size of his mana pool.
“Sir, this doesn't qualify for….”
Winston waved a hand and the elf looked at the numbers again.
“Err, actually having 139,899 jiggs of mana means that E-rank division is just right up your alley,” the elf said, blinking numerous times at the screen, as if she was looking at something blurry but so clear at the same time. Heh, glamors—really useful, that. “But I wouldn't recommend it, you should rather sign up for the exhibition matches.”
“No,” he tersely replied, leaning closer. “I want E, please.”
The elf sighed, muttering something about lost causes and such.
“Okay, I need you to tell me: what's the most powerful spell you can cast right now?”
Winston smiled and stood straight.
“Fireballs!”
He could see through his peripheral vision that the people in the next line turned their heads towards him, and a slow murmur rippled outwards from his position.
Predictable… They don't have any idea how good I am at fireballs.
The elf once again sighed.
“Very well,” she said, handing him a registration form. “Please fill this out.”
These elves are going to see one hell of a show. Winston grinned.
***
The arena was loud, even here, deep in the tunneled entrance where contestants enter into the ring. Winston waited in a locker-room for his turn—for his first fight; his opponent was perhaps similarly trepid on the other locker-room found at the opposite side of the ring. The room was full of massive elves, completely unlike the lean and thin figure that elves were said to possess in stories back on Earth.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and an elf went in, sweeping his gaze around the room as if looking for someone. Then when the elf's eyes landed on Winston, his gaze stayed; the elf then stretched his mouth into a toothy-silver-and-gold grin. The elf approached Winston and stood in front of him and Winston stood up at the same time. The elf was literally three heads taller than Winston.
“Spunky,” the elf said in a grating voice. “I would expect a fireballer to simply know his place before true might.”
“Oh, is that so?” Winston replied, returning the elf's smile with a brazen smirk of his own. “I guess it's everywhere now isn't it? That a mighty fireballer is challenging the great ones? Chickens, if I do say so myself.”
The giant guffawed, holding his belly and leaning back.
“You insult like a child!”
Winston punched the elf's belly, sending him staggering backwards.
Winston laughed.
“You have to stoop down to the level of the one you’re talking to. A child deserves a childish insult.”
Winston beamed at the elf, triumphant.
“Damn you!” The elf was about to cast a spell when he was suddenly restrained by the guards.
“No spell casting!” one of the guards commanded.
The elf yielded to the guards.
“This is not over,” the elf said, glaring daggers at Winston. “You'll see.”
The elf was escorted out and the other elves in the room were now sending Winston threatening glares, instead of the indifference they had offered him at first.
Two hours passed after that and the speakers inside the room announced Winston’s name after a crackle. Winston stood up, got out, and walked through the tunnel. He exited into a bright ring with a shouting and screaming crowd.
“Down with the fireballer!” A large portion of the crowd chanted.
Meanwhile, a small portion cried out to him that he should win and that it was non-negotiable—something about them winning a boatload of cash if he won. So they weren't real supporters then, just elves betting on all the luck in the world that he would win, and since the betting pool was heavily skewed against him, if he won, they'd be swimming in cash. Good for them. After all, he wasn't planning on throwing this match.
From the opening opposite Winston, a young-looking elf, about 18 years old, walked out. They both walked towards each other until they were at the center, where the referee stood.
“Talk to the mic,” the referee said, backing away.
The other elf leaned in closer to the hanging mic.
“I'm going to beat you so hard your mother won't recognize you afterwards,” the elf belched, eyeing Winston predatorily. The crowd cheered in bloodthirsty joy. “It wasn't nice what you did to my brother. I'm going to maul your face for that.”
“Oh, he was your brother?” Winston said, a bit of schadenfreude showing from his expression. “Why, if I had known, I would’ve hit harder.”
His opponent visibly winced, ready to pounce at him, and prevented only by the referee.
“Three,” the referee began counting into the mic, flying away at the same time.
“Two.”
Winston used force spells to jump backwards, preparing to tank or evade whatever attack his opponent would send his way.
“One.”
The elf thrust a fist towards Winston and a rippling mass of distorted air flew towards his direction. From the look of things, Winston guessed the nature of the spell and did not bother defending against it. He quickly used a force spell to propel himself sideways, giving the spell-projectile much room to miss him. He landed afterwards by slowing his descent using a force surge towards the ground. The spell-projectile that had been hurtling towards him hit the force-wards (which prevented any spells from reaching the audience) and exploded into flames. Winston was right, it was indeed an explosion spell. The crowd went crazy at their display of skill and was apparently still within the bounds of his glamor or else they'd have noticed by now the weird way he was doing magic.
Winston summoned a fireball and chucked it towards his opponent. The elf, on the other hand, was smug about it and simply chose to coat his hands in a force glove and flicked it away. At least, it was supposed to be flicked away, instead what ended up happening was that the fireball exploded into a force blast that sent Winston's opponent flying backwards. Considering that he was caught off guard by the surprising nature of Winston's spell, it was very impressive how quickly his opponent buffered his impact against the wall of the ring (and the force-wards) by casting a wind-layer spell (a combination of the wind and soft aspects).
From what Winston had gleaned out of books he had found in Sashaiuin's personal library, such methods of using fireballs weren't really anything new, but they were heavily looked down upon. Why go through all the trouble of laboriously surrounding a force spell with a fireball (which was essentially packing two spells in one, ramping up the difficulty by a large margin) when one could just simply create an explosion spell? The answer to that was very simple and twofold: for one thing, Winston did not yet have the skill to aspect his mana into the explosion aspect, which, combined with the fire aspect, was fundamental to any explosion-type spells; for another, it was damn easy to blindside someone with an unorthodox use of a spell.
Winston's opponent rose up and glowered at him. They immediately launched into a series of back-and-forth. His opponent pelted him with a multitude of exploding projectiles, each with a different blast radius and flight patterns—all of which were inexorably tanked with a layered force-ward by Winston. It was clear that his opponent was taking him seriously now. The crowd went ablaze in excitement, and Winston would have lied if he said that he did not enjoy the fight. Winston in his turn blasted force and fireball projectiles (and sometimes a combination of both) at his opponent which the elf deftly dodged and sometimes tanked with a force shield.
Their stand-off was promptly broken by the elf who used a large portion of his mana to lob a beam of distorted air at Winston. The distorted air started exploding, starting from its tail-end, and trailing towards its head—namely, towards Winston. The speed of the attack was too fast to evade and it would be too strong to defend, but the closest response Winston had for the spell was his heavy force-ward. Winston decided (without any options left for him) to just tank it, to hell with the consequences. He erected the force-ward, layering as many force-shields as he could in front of him and tanked the whole beam of explosion.
Needless to say, Winston was flung high into the air and eventually smashed onto the force-wards. Winston's face was pressed firmly against the ward, giving him a close-up view of a startled elf, no doubt preparing to escape his seat if it were not for the transparent barrier that protected him. Had Winston not coated his whole body in a layer of force, he would have doubtlessly broken his bones (and if it were not for the wards that were placed on the contestants beforehand to prevent deaths, he would have surely died). That attack was overkill—well, maybe not, considering the infuriating nature of their standoff. Winston slowly pulled himself off the wards and slowly descended onto the ground. Fricking elf.
Winston was forced to use his trump card. He peppered his opponent with a swarm of fireballs, all of which were adroitly evaded by the elf. A smirk formed on Winston’s lips. He merited this celebration as the fireballs all exploded into swarms of force-projectiles—one swarm for each fireball—which animatedly weaved through the air and homed in on the elf. The elf was so taken aback by the attack that he forgot to shield, causing all of the projectiles to land a direct hit. A swarm hit him on the face, another on the other side of his face, then a vagary at his torso and other parts of his body. All those attacks were not stronger than a boxer's punch, but they were strong enough to knock out his opponent. The crowd became still—all their mockery frozen by his victory. Surely they must have recognized the difficulty of the spell he had just pulled off. A force blast wasn't all that sophisticated, so it wasn't that difficult to blanket it with a fireball, but swarms of force-projectiles in a fireball? And ones that could home in on their target? That was bordering the impossible (at least at Winston's level).
The next moment, the crowd that bet on him growled in triumph.
“Sucks to be you bitches!” One elf even screamed, jerking his hips back and forth.
Sucks to be them indeed; they should've lost quite a sum with the defeat of Winston's opponent.
Winston's display of skill should surely prove to them that he was a capable mage, and that there was more to magic than being simply a heavy-hitter. Sometimes, finesse can help you eke out a win in the most desperate of situations. Well, not that Winston had anything against heavy-hitters, after all, he was steadily working on reclaiming his lost power, but what he wanted to communicate across was that the strength of a mage was not solely based on his power but also on his stratagems.
Winston continued on to dominate his division. His last fight in particular pushed the limits of his ability and forced him to innovate on the spot. This new innovation wasn't something he had thought of on Earth, all because he didn't actually experience a fight this intense when he was just a novice. Sometimes, when faced with a new problem, people could come up with really innovative solutions. By using arcane shapes he had learned from his past and rearranging them to form new spell-effects, he was able to create a dormant fireball inside a force-missile. The fireball wouldn't form itself until the force-missile that contained it dismissed itself when it banged into an obstacle.
The elf was none the wiser when swarms of force-missiles (coming from the inside of the fireballs he had sent in a swarm) battered his defenses. The elf was pretty smug when the force-missiles winked out (thus allowing him to drop his shields), probably proud that Winston's trick hadn't worked on him. But a blazing inferno of fireballs formed from where the force-missiles had been and purged the elf. The elf cried as the force of the solid fire bruised him, and the heat of the fiery balls burned his skin. The elf fell on the ground, limp. Of course he wasn't dead, the wards ensured his safety from that level of attack, but he certainly needed some healing. Considering the level of skill healers had in this world, Winston’s attack on him would barely leave a mark. But this meant victory for Winston, and that he had earned the privilege to meet with the owner of the whole illegal, underground gambling operation.
***
It took Winston a week to plow through all his opponents for a total of 10 fights. It was exhausting, but it was all worth it. He had gained necessary experience after all. For all his hard work, he had raked in 500,000 tushackalie, but he wasn't in it for the money, he already had plenty of those thanks to Sashaiuin. Time to receive the real price he had come here for: information. He reached up to a burly elf in a suit, sporting a cropped haircut and wearing shades. He almost mistook the elf for a CIA agent if not for the pair of pointy ears attached to his head.
I'm no longer on Earth anymore, and I'm no longer the most powerful man in the world. Winston smiled. At least, not yet.
“I want to see him now,” he calmly informed the elf.
The elf merely looked at him and snorted.
“This way,” he said, walking deeper into the tunnels.
An eerie awkward silence descended upon the two as they walked on. Was it worth it to try and break the silence? Meh, might as well.
“So,” Winston began, trying to strike a conversation. “Is this Partikule really the owner of Skyward Builder?
“I'm not paid enough to talk.”
“I'll take that as a yes, then.”
The elf grunted and kept leading him deeper. Winston didn't bother talking after that. What a characteristically brutish elf, so very far away from civilized persons who did not shy away from a conversation.
They walked on in silence until they reached a cul-de-sac that ended in a door. Winston followed the elf as they walked on towards the door. The elf then knocked.
“Come in,” a warm and exuberant voice replied to his knocking.
Finally, Winston thought, perhaps someone who's interested in a proper conversation.
The elf opened the door and Winston went inside, and the sight of a pudgy dwarf greeted him. The dwarf had short, red hair and an almost protruding snout. He had a wrinkled face, and his skin was a teensy bit yellowish in color, resembling polished brass. Winston turned his head to look around the office and could see that it was decorated heavily with weapons and torturing devices. Just from that, Winston gleaned a tad of Partikule's personality.
“I see you’re taking interest in my decorations,” The dwarf said with a tinge of emphasis on the word ‘decorations.’
“Yeah, right,” Winston said, walking towards Partikule's table. “It's not every day you get to see an office decorated like a murder could happen any minute now.”
The elf guffawed at Winston’s comment.
“I assure you, Mr. Merlin, that I plan on doing no such thing. And seeing that you've dominated in E-division, I doubt you'd have any problem escaping from my grasp.” The dwarf smiled challengingly at him, and also—expectant? What was Partikule expecting from Winston? Winston looked at him more closely, opening his spiritual eyes. Ah, so it was like that, huh? A deluge of aura emanated from Partikule, which was only possible if he was strong—very, very strong.
“I doubt that,” Winston admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Someone as powerful as you wouldn’t even break a sweat restraining me.”
“I see,” the dwarf smiled, leaning back on his chair. “So you really do have the ability to see it, huh?”
“Yes I do.”
“So that rules out the possibility that you cheated during your fights. The fact that you can see my aura supports the level of skill you've displayed. I guess you wouldn't tell me anyway, but I would still hazard to ask: how the fuck are you using magic, human?”
As expected, his glamor didn't work on the dwarf. Partikule had probably been watching Winston's fights while being fully aware that Winston's magic was very… different. If Partikule was in any way shocked at Winston's ability to cast magic, Winston couldn't guess. The man was pretty good at hiding his real thoughts behind a well crafted facade.
Winston gestured towards the chair.
“May I?” he asked.
“Oh please, sit down,” Partikule said, scrambling in his seat. “How rude of me to forget. I guess the whole idea of a human casting magic and performing an ungodly level of mana control has made hospitality slip my mind.”
Winston sat down on one of the two chairs placed facing each other in front of Partikule's table.
“I don't mind at all,” Winston sighed. “It's a bit of a secret how I'm doing magic and I can't just reveal it to you, all I'm going to say is that I represent an entirely different magic tradition than you're used to, a tradition that was built for and by humans.”
“Interesting,” Partikule grinned. “As much as I want to kidnap you and interrogate you about this ‘magical tradition’ you represent. I just can't do that, because, aside from the fact that you're connected to one of the Primes, you're still one of my champions. Honor behooves me to ensure the safety of a man whose performance gave my little business an inflow of cash.”
“You did your research well,” Winston put in, shifting in his very uncomfortable seat. “I was counting on that, I needed the name of my backer to ensure my safety before facing a… let's just say a very creative businessman like yourself. But adding your ‘honor’ to the things preventing you from harassing me is just as well.”
The dwarf gave him a very toothy grin.
“So Skandrim? You've come for information about him, yes?”
“Correct,” Winston replied, nodding. “I need to know what he's planning, what he's doing, and why he's gone silent somehow.”
“He hasn't gone silent, he's simply using puppet businesses to purchase stuff for him. He needs to keep quiet about this recent business undertaking he has entered in.”
“That being?”
“He has just signed a contract with dignitaries from Anxiom.”
“I'm aware. Your manager told me.”
“Good then. Now, I'll tell you the rest.” Partikule coughed several times on the side of his curled fist. “The Anxiom Empire wants something from Kirisal, and they're using Skandrim to get it. As of now, Skandrim has bought thousands of mining tools, and has been keeping away from any incriminating, underbelly businesses and corrupt nobles. He's trying to lay low so he can keep his project away from prying eyes. He's also made a contract with slavers to specifically dump all their slaves on his lap at a very hefty price.”
Winston mulled over this new information that Partikule had just dumped all over him. So the reason why Skandrim had gone quiet was so that he could keep working in peace? What kind of project needed to be kept secret even from corrupt nobles? If it was a very shady project, wouldn't corrupt nobles be very cooperative with him if he just showered them with his graces? No, it was a project that was ominous enough to warrant safeguarding even from corrupt nobles despite of the difficulty that entailed. Whatever this was, it was bad news.
“Is that all?”
“No, there's more. Skandrim is planning a heist. A big one. But that's all I know. He has kept his plans relatively secure. What information I've gleaned are but a mere tip of the iceberg.”
“I see…” Winston said, sighing. “Do you have anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. But this one's not about Skandrim. Your dear little Prime isn't so innocent after all. She will die sooner than you think.”
Winston’s eyes widened, his face scrunching up into a frown.
“What are you talking about?”
Partikule smiled conspiratorially.
“You see….”