“What can I do for you today, Mr. Passlaw?” a tubby dark elf asked Uncle Peter.
They were seated in an office-like room decorated with different beasts’ skulls.
The room had two tables, one for work, and one for company and leisure, where the second one was filled to the brim with different cuisines. It was evident this dark elf didn’t get to his stature by accident.
“That spoiled brat Jason got into a tiff with this guy by the entrance,” Uncle Peter responded with annoyance. “It would have been fine if the guy didn’t start speaking about Dominators since Jason could only let it go, but alas…”
“So, you want to arrange a death match between Jason and this guy—”
“No, between him and me,” Peter interrupted. “Since his father told me to protect him, there’s no way I could let him fight by himself.”
“Oh, how is that old guy anyway; I never see him anymore?” the tubby queried.
“I don’t know. The last time I saw him was Jason’s birthday nearly a year ago, where he told me he was entering seclusion and wouldn’t come out for a while.”
“All I know is that he’s still alive.”
“Is that so,” the big dark elf sighed despondently. “He’s the only elf I know that enters long seclusions like this, not to devise new spells or conduct research, but to cultivate.”
“Can you blame him?” Peter commented with melancholy. “Unless you ascend or cultivate, a mage’s lifespan is bound to be less than five hundred years; who can stomach facing death when the time comes?”
“Sigh.”
“Sigh.”
“I can make the death match take place on the first sub-arena in ten minutes,” the tubby proclaimed. “Do you have his mana identification?
“There’s no need, Jason’s following him. Just send the enforcers to his location and look for someone dressed similarly to him.”
“Alright, I hope to see your brilliant success later then, Mr. Passlaw.”
…
“Out of the tens of thousands of books and scrolls on these four shelves, how the fuck are there only two that have titles I’m looking for? Fillan wondered with gritted teeth.
Despite spending the better part of an hour skimming over every piece of literature he could place his eyes upon, Fillan only found two that could potentially help him.
There were a lot of interesting titles for sure, like How Mana Can Artificially Inflate the Soul or the Ten Thousand Steps of Magical Refinement: Engraving the Soul on Magic. Yet, they were of no use in the current situation.
“Did I really waste more than three hours on this shit, all for nothing?”
“And why is that kid following me everywhere? It’s pissing me off. If he doesn’t disappear soon, I’ll make him.”
Standing, quite conspicuously, just a dozen meters away was Jason.
His face held a natural contempt for everyone around him, but it seemed especially heavy towards Fillan. Like he loathed the fact he wasn’t kissing his feet at every single moment.
Fillan had done his damn best to just ignore him, but it was getting harder and harder as his frustrations grew.
“God, how I wish I could slap that silly expression right off his mongrel face,” Fillan thought as his imagination ran wild with the idea.
“Maybe I should show off my Karmic Reincarnation Eye? Sure, the continental formation doesn’t like it, but it probably won’t attack me, right?”
Just as Fillan was getting ready to grab the two books he found, read them, and then scare the shit out of, or outright kill, Jason, hundreds of armor wearing, staff wielding dark elves appeared en masse from the tube-teleporter.
“Was I discovered already?” Fillan thought in shock. “First of all, how? Second, there’s no way they think those guys are enough to handle me.”
“What am I, a rogue sheep? Even if all of them are Soul Casters they wouldn’t be able to touch a hair on my head.”
His suspicions were proved correct, though, as all the enforcers made their way towards him with slow and heavy steps.
While a normal person would be terrified, or at least slightly nervous, Fillan was furious. These elves kept slapping his face.
First he couldn’t afford his buss fare so he had to walk like a pig for two hours, then there was this mentally unstable stalker kid who told him to take his clothes off “or else,” followed by an old guy trying to frame him, after which he didn’t find anything useful in this damn library, and now a bunch of babies were sent to apprehend him.
It was like the world was spitting on him!
“You know what? This worked out just fine; I was getting really fed up with this whole escapade anyway.”
“Time for payback—”
“In accordance with Enlightenment Plaza’s regulations, you have been challenged to a death match for transgressions against our elven gods; you are to follow us to the first sub-arena at once, or be struck dead where you stand.”
Fillan, already in the process of choosing what spells to barrage them with, was surprised at the turn of events.
“So it was just that old guy from earlier causing a ruckus,” Fillan realized.
“Hahaha, you’re done for now you fucking bastard,” Jason shouted at the top of his lungs with a maniacal expression. “Let’s see how cocky you can be when Uncle Peter makes minced meat out of you!
“Hey, enforcer guy, who am I fighting against?” Fillan asked despite knowing the answer.
‘No way that fossil from earlier wants to fight me himself.’
“You’ll be facing Grand Magus Peter Passlaw in four minutes,” the “enforcer guy” responded with a mocking expression.
“Giving him an impressive sounding title doesn’t make that scrawny old man any more powerful,” Fillan retorted. “Also, what the fuck is in it for me?
“Hmph, you should be grateful for the chance to keep your life; how dare you ask for more?” the enforcer sneered.
“Hahaha, I don’t know what kind of cave you just crawled out of, you worm, but let me just make one thing very clear: if you spent just two seconds longer walking towards me, you’d already be specks of dust right now. So, watch. Your. Tone.”
With nothing more to say and a brewing ire, Fillan made his way towards the tube-teleporter, without caring about whether the idiot guards followed him or not.
“‘You should be grateful for the chance to keep your life’,” Fillan mockingly repeated to himself as he typed in SAR1C2—which he quickly retrieved with Memory Monitor—on the keyboard.
“This entire trip has been worthless, but maybe something can happen after the ‘battle’,” Fillan dreamed with delusion. “Seeing me decimate that old guy might make bigger fish show up, fish who can potentially know something about what I need. Worst case scenario, I use that spell to glean whatever information I can; I refuse to go back with nothing but blood on my hands.”
…
The Library of Knowledge possesses a great deal of arenas divided into main and sub.
The main arenas are where massive tournaments, free for alls, or duals of great importance take place. The sub-arenas, on the other hand, are for handling menial duels and squabbles, events of lesser importance, or death matches.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
However, since the main arenas are usually out of use, there are still thousands of spectators at every single sub-arena in the building.
It doesn’t matter what their interests are, if they wait long enough there’s bound to be an enjoyable spectacle put on. Not to mention the bustling gambling scene there.
Whether it be money, research, technology, unique or new spell patterns, or favors, everything could be lost and gained in this den of iniquity.
When Fillan emerged from the tumultuous teleportation, he was met with tons of shouts and cheers directed towards the arena.
There, two dark elves were fighting intensely through the use of different spells and weaponry. Items Fillan had never even seen before, like a small metal contraption that fired concentrated balls of mana and qi at the opponent, or strings that morphed into various different instruments all capable of casting their own audible spells.
It was no surprise the crowd was so jubilant.
“I’d have thought putting a time limit on the match would limit the fighters since they can’t fight freely, but it appears the two are trying to do whatever they can to win as quickly as possible, making for quite the watch.”
Not long after, when countdown neared zero, the mage with the string instruments barely achieved a feeble victory. Both of them were heavily injured, to a level way beyond what a mage should be comfortable with.
But neither of them looked concerned about that; they were both hobbling their way out of the arena while carefully studying their weapons, with the occasional rune circle appearing around them.
“Although they were both miserably weak, their weapons still impressed me,” Fillan mused as the gunslinger walked past him. “Especially those musical strings; I have a feeling that their potential for improvement is huge.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, next up on the first sub-arena is a death match!” an anonymous announcer exclaimed. “Infuriated by blasphemous comments made by his opponent, the fighter from the north vows to slay the heretic in the name of justice, something he has always succeeded in before. Please welcome the honorable Demon Vanquisher, Grand Magus Peter Passlaw!”
An uproarious cheer erupted from the boisterous crowd.
“What the fuck!? It’s the Demon Vanquisher!”
“I heard he retired because he was close to breaking through to the Dominator realm!”
“No way we’re going to get to see a half-step Dominator fight today.”
“Quick, put all your money on the Demon Vanquisher!”
…
‘God these people are stupid. What half-step Dominator? Where is he? Why can’t I see him? Trying to become a dominator at his age would kill him outright; what complete and utter nonsense.’
The announcer, after waiting for the crowd to calm down slightly, continued his monologue: “Through poor reasoning and an inflated ego, the fighter from the south wishes to seek repentance from the gods by death. Please welcome the Nameless Fool!”
The loud shouts of admiration quickly turned to snides, snickers, and boos directed towards the Nameless Fool, Fillan Strand.
‘Is this why the announcer is nowhere to be seen? A safety precaution? Damn it!’
Fillan vowed to get his revenge on this announcer if he ever dared show his face in front of him.
Despite seething with even more fury than before, Fillan still calmly walked out from the southern gate, finally showing himself to the hate-mobish crowd.
Peter Passlaw was standing erect in the center of the arena, adorned in a baggy robe and carrying a cane.
Despite not thinking Fillan to be very powerful, Peter still had a reputation and look to maintain, so he went all out with the attire.
Fillan, of course, was dressed in stylish young master-like clothes. Unlike what Peter was wearing though, Fillan’s clothes had no other function than being aesthetically pleasing.
To Peter, and the crowd, it seemed like he was trying to inflate his status and worth through clothes that looked impressive, but were far from it.
Not wanting his public image to be ruined, Peter used a whispering spell to speak with Fillan covertly: “You should have just taken off the clothes when that brat asked you to do so; they’re not worth anything anyway. Now, you’ll have to die for something so trivial. It truly is such a shame…”
“Someone as old and decrepit as you should know not to count your chickens before they hatch; if you genuinely believe you’re going to win this, then maybe this will be a mercy.”
“Don’t lump me in with idiots like the guy you were babysitting, okay?” Fillan continued. “I might be stupid today, or I wouldn’t be here, but I always make a thorough assessment of whether I can offend someone or not. And you, old man, are free game.”
“The ignorance of youth is truly staggering,” Peter sighed. “I’ll make sure to compensate your parents fairly for this.”
Fillan didn’t bother more with the Demon Voyeur, or whatever they called him, but rather turned his attention towards what spells to use.
‘I have something to prove here, and don’t want to be framed for cheating or something, so none of the quick and easy psychic or soul spells. It has to be something powerful, something loud, something intimidating. Hmm…’
As Fillan continued to think about what spells would make for the most shocking slap to the crowd’s face, the announcer began counting down til match start.
“Ten, nine, eight…three, two, one, fight!”
“Say your final prayers, Nameless Fool, and hope your next life will be better than this one.”
With some additional theatrics for the crowd, Peter flailed his cane around in the air before several spell engravings were manifested into the air, drawing in the thick ambient mana.
In nothing short of an instant, the spell patterns were successfully filled to the brim before launching the spells with a loud boom.
Seven soul engravings produced seven bolts of different colored lightning that zigged their way towards Fillan at a speed too fast for anyone without spells or technology to see.
Despite the rainbow lightning show taking place in front of him, Fillan was still caught up in what spells he was going to use.
‘I don’t want to embarrass myself like this old guy, so no simple spells. It’ll have to be either Cosmic Barrage, Cataclysmic Lightning God, or Netherworldly Soul-Reaping Volcano.’
‘I still haven’t tested the Netherworldly Soul-Reaping Volcano, and Cosmic Barrage only really works in large open areas, unless I want to destroy everything here. I guess I’m left with one choice: to fight lightning with lightning.’
Despite thinking for a long time, not even the teeniest fraction of a second had passed, all thanks to Memory Monitor. The moment Fillan saw the tiniest sliver of a soul engraving appearing in the air, he decided to “jump back” to a few minutes ago, giving himself ample time to plan and plot.
Before he could launch his attack, though, Fillan first had to erect a defense; he was a scrawny Blood Transmutation realm, after all.
By slightly nudging his soul, the circuitry for Psychic Barrier sprung into action, not wasting any time in transmuting the mana it required.
With practiced movements, Fillan guided the transmuted mana out from his mana well, and into the air, where the stored information of the soul engraving was momentarily imprinted in the universe, which caused it to activate the spell.
Not all spells, but most powerful or comprehensive ones, function through tweaking the universe’s workings. Psychic Barrier for example, works through impairing the universe's ability to distinguish reality from illusion, with the exception being the caster.
Since the universe is uncertain about whether anything is real except for Fillan, it doesn’t want to risk harm coming to him, and therefore erase the attacks being hurled towards him.
Of course, this is just a simple spell. It is powerful, but only for attacks at or below its level. It’s also worthless if the attack is thrown by a higher tiered existence than the caster, since it would break the universe out of its reverie and lose its effect.
That’s to say, even a Foundation Establishment cultivator or a Blood Engraving body temperor would break through the defense no problem.
Amongst mages, however, only a “divine” spell or Dominator could succeed in doing so, making it infallible against Peter.
Just as the lightning bolts were about to strike Fillan, they dissipated into fine nothing, leaving the entire arena in silence.
Despite being just a casual move from the Demon Vanquisher, he was still a Soul Caster, second only to Dominators. The crowd was left wondering how someone no older than twenty years old could possibly defend himself against such a person?
Peter himself was also a little surprised, but after all his years of experience, few things could rattle him in the midst of “battle”.
“You do have some skills after all, kid, which makes this even more of a shame—”
“Cataclysmic Lightning God,” Fillan interrupted. “That’s what killed you today, and the audience would do well to remember it for as long as it’s possible for them to do so.”
The only reason Peter could even launch an attack was because Fillan didn’t bother to attack him first. It was fair to say Peter was on borrowed time the second the announcer finished his countdown, yet he still had the audacity to proclaim he had “some skill”.
‘Bitch, I have a lot of skill.’
Fillan, just like with Psychic Barrier, simply activated the much more advanced and detailed circuit belonging to Cataclysmic Lightning God, before releasing the transmuted mana into the world.
With a terrible tremble that shook the very sky of Graaryll to the point of nearly shattering, a massive lightning bolt-like tear appeared behind Fillan’s back.
The insides, unlike Fillan’s spatial crack, was filled with an infinite sea of lightning of countless different colors, but the main ones being blue, gold, white, and black.
Suddenly, without anyone knowing where it came from or what it was, a massive world-size palm, holding a sword the length of a stellar system, manifested within.
Both the palm and sword were constructed from purely blue lightning, creating a domineering image that would forever be burned into the memories of all those present.
A sickening sizzling sound echoed in everyone's ears, making them feel like the world, qi, and mana around them was being electrocuted to death, and before anyone could even react, the massive sword tilted about one degree downwards.
At first it seemed like nothing happened, until suddenly, after ten seconds of grueling silence and fearful anticipation, everyone present felt their eyes start burning from the intense flash of light that consumed the entire first sub-arena.
A thunderclap so loud it threatened to sunder the universe in two shattered their ears, and the deathly prickles of death occasionally singed them irreparably.
Peter, who was the focal point of the attack, unbeknownst to everyone except Fillan, died the second the lightning sword slightly moved. What they were experiencing right now was nothing but the after effects of the actual damage dealer.
‘How fucking powerful would this be if I my lightning aptitude was higher, and I didn’t fail in turning it into a divine spell?’