Glint hadn’t used to be like this. It had been a far cry from the shining citadel of today; instead a hobbled-together mess of merchants and labourers. They’d chosen to cluster together in this place, a central location where they could peddle their goods in safety or earn an honest day’s wage through hard work.
If you’d asked these citizens their reason for coming to this land, the answer would be different each and every time.
There’s a lot of traffic coming in and out, a merchant would answer, why wouldn’t I live here? It’s convenient, another would say. The trinka plantations and all that. Don’t need too much money to survive. The density of mana isn’t ideal, a mage would gripe, but it’s better than the other choices – and at least here there’s no chance of me getting gobbled up by an Emerald Dragon in my sleep.
A series of coincidences; that’s all it was. One following another, each compounding the next, slowly leading to the city growing to the size it now possessed. With the country’s growth, the pockets of those in charge grew increasingly heavy and full, and the smiles on their faces widened with every additional gold coin that plinked onto the pile.
It was a golden era of riches and dreams lasting decades, and everyone was content.
But nothing good lasts forever.
It began small, a skirmish between two obscure nations over the hoarding of a key crystal mine that lay squarely on the border between the two. Both were heavily reliant on the earnings from this vital resource, a catalyst that was utilised in copious amounts in rituals and research around the world – and neither would give in to their neighbour.
And by different metrics, be it through initial ancestral ownership or the current maintenance and upkeep of the infrastructure, a competent politician could have argued that either could be right; that the mine did belong to one or the other.
Eventually one of these nations became fed up with the deadlock and called in a favour from a larger country that they supplied. If there was only one left that could lay claim to the mine, that would be the dispute done with, right? But the other side had seen what their neighbour had done, and their leaders did the same in kind. With this, the minor skirmish had escalated into the beginnings of a war.
There was still every opportunity for it to end amicably; all one side had to do was to yield the mine to the other. Or better yet – come to a resolution for the joint ownership and sharing of profits from whatever had been procured from the deposits within. A partnership where both would gain, and neither would lose.
And predictably, neither would budge on this simple point.
So these countries brought in allies, and those allies brought in reinforcements, every additional player aiming to claw over more ground for their side and defeat the enemy. And so the war grew, ballooning out of the expectations of the onlookers, becoming more prominent in the minds of everyone.
A war so massive and consuming, that it would eventually come to be known as the Great War.
Initially Glint’s citizens had watched on amusedly, laughing and joking as they spectated this burgeoning war, never once expecting that it would affect them. This was Glint, after all. They were too big to be a target, too important to the world to be destroyed. The centrepiece of the world’s stage, exporting the finest mages and greatest minds.
So they laughed as the bloody Battle of the Eredin Gulch took place. Gloated as casualties mounted in the ambush at Long Tail. Chuckled when news broke of the mass executions of captured spies.
Idiots, they thought. All this over a couple of shiny rocks. We’re nothing like those people. But on the day after the night of Darkened Skies, when an announcement by a provisional government notified the citizenry of Glint that the entire Order of Glint had been assassinated by an unknown team of elite pugilists had been broadcast, they were no longer laughing.
In hindsight, this atrocity had been a long time coming. The Order of Glint was fully staffed by members that wielded no magic; commanded no arcane power. Statecraft was their only skill and to be fair, they did it well enough. It still didn't change the fact that they were entirely helpless in the face of sorcery. There had been many an attempt before this to enact a change of leadership, to replace a number of the Order with a sorcerer or two so as to bolster their defenses. But these attempts were blocked by the very same Order themselves, stubbornly clinging to their lucrative positions. In a moment of complete idiocy, they had even refused help from a couple of well-meaning magicians to act as their protectors, citing fears that they might take the chance to usurp their authority. A little ironic, given their fate.
It was inevitable that Glint would be dragged into the Great War, given this weakness.
With the entrance of Glint and the technologies they brought, the brutalities skyrocketed. They were the capital of magic, and this creativity showed in their tactics. Sub-orbital launches of metal rods formed from mana to devastate the land. Transmuting of the air itself to choke the enemy soldiers. The release of invisible vipers, enhanced magically, to seek out and poison key combatants.
Yet even with all these clever stratagems Glint’s forces diminished each day the War dragged on, their vaunted magicians steadily dwindling in numbers. So much so that by Year Three, there was no longer any choice but to conscript the students of the premier magic Academy in Glint.
It was there that An Shen met the future Order first-hand, as comrades-in-arms fighting the same war.
The Great War ended in Year Eight. At this point, there were no winners to be crowned; merely weary survivors licking their wounds. Those that made it out did so by outlasting the other players, managing to absorb the effects of attrition with built up reserves. The warrior hordes of Anlin, the collection of mercenaries, Renza – and the peninsula of magic, Glint.
The two small nations that had started this all no longer existed, their lands blackened by constant mana detonations and bombing runs, their people massacred and enslaved in the aftermath.
And the mine that had been the focal point for this War had been demolished long ago.
For Glint, this had been the wakeup call. They had been complacent, allowing weaklings to rule over them. Weaklings that had let things get to this point in the first place, by failing to lead their people in a time of crisis. The people agreed that this time the Order of Glint had to be those that could hold their own in a fight, that wouldn’t fall to a sneak attack like the last Order had.
Who better then, than the battle-worn students that had defended their homes?
Thus, the new Order was quickly ushered into power. Ten seats that would strive to ensure the prosperity and longevity of Glint. Five that would look ahead, to dream of the future and innovate on the present. Five that would look into the past, to learn from their mistakes and incorporate defeats into battle strategy.
The Seat of Despair, Ku Qi.
The Seat of Hope, Xin Fu.
The Seat of Death, Si Cheng.
The Seat of Growth, Lin Qu.
The Seat of Deception, Hun Yong.
The Seat of Discovery, Zhao Da.
The Seat of Weakness, Yin Za.
The Seat of Power, Ao Ri.
The Seat of Chaos, Ron Te.
And the Seat of Stability, An Shen.
The Order did as they were asked, diligently pursuing ways to improve the standard of living for the citizens of Glint.
Lin Qu would make her rounds, her magic empowering the land and the crops that grew there, guaranteeing a good harvest for the thankful farmers. Ao Ri would personally train the newly conscripted soldiers in the ways of magecraft, passing on important techniques that might save their lives in battle. Ku Qi would infiltrate into enemy territories as a ghostly presence, and whisper words of terror into the ears of commanders, subtly guiding them away from wars with Glint.
But none in the ten loved Glint more than An Shen, who tirelessly worked to handle political conflicts and territorial disputes. He knew that they weren’t suited for the landscape that had been thrust upon them – they were nothing but naive students, only selected due to their strength in sorcery. While his comrades went gallivanting about Glint flaunting their powers, An Shen did all he could to learn from books left behind by his predecessors, and sought teachings from any else that would teach him.
Glint would not be saved by the shortcuts that magic provided, he believed. It would only be saved through a solid foundation built by painstaking effort and trust. An unshakeable base that could weather any disaster that came its way.
His fellow leaders hadn’t thought that far. Magic was power. And power was might. With might any problem could be resolved. So the development of magic was the only thing needed to bring Glint to new heights. For a while both ideals co-existed, as the ones that espoused them didn’t see them as conflicting.
But both ideals eventually came to a head one fateful day ten years ago, as Zhao Da, the Seat of Discovery, brought his latest findings to the Order.
~
“It’s a breakthrough,” the Seat of Discovery breathlessly exclaimed, trembling fingers shakily passing out handouts with hastily scribbled diagrams and figures to the seated nine. “This proves that there are other worlds, entire dimensions outside of our own! An entire realm of untapped mana; just waiting to be siphoned off! Think of the implications; and the applications! We could create stable suns with that much mana!”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The nine read through the messy inscriptions by their peer, flipping through the pages to consult the explanations for how this might be achieved. It seemed that Zhao had been experimenting with mana compression after witnessing several mana detonations first-hand in his time in the Great War. At the moment of explosion, right before the mana expanded outwards to obliterate everything in its path in a wave of destruction, he swore he could have seen a tear in reality itself, a glimpse behind the veil.
“This says we need to funnel billions of MP into a single point,” Yin Za tapped at the page in his hands. “It’s not going to blow up, is it? Five thousand MP already creates an explosion big enough to flatten a mountain.”
“No, no, no; it’s not going to do that. Heck, if I hadn’t managed to recreate the phenomena, I wouldn’t even be here telling you all this!”
“You’ve actually created what you’ve written here?” Ao Ri questioned skeptically. “A self-sustaining tunnel to another world?”
“It was momentary… but it was there!” Zhao stressed to his peers. “The result can be replicated and improved upon! I just need more mana!”
The Order looked to one another, silently gauging the reaction to Zhao Da’s proposal. In theory, it was sound. And Zhao had witnessed it himself; the creation of a portal through which endless amounts of mana could be withdrawn.
This could be the thing Glint needed to tip the scales.
Anlin and Renza were both growing restless at Glint’s continued prosperity even as their own lands languished. While Glint was known as the birthplace of magic, these other countries were seen to be hives of treachery and deceit – the home of villainy and crime. It was only a matter of time before they invaded to take Glint down a few pegs.
With a few nods of approval around the table, their leader, Ao Ri opened his mouth to speak.
“With the power vested in me by the Order, the Seat of Power recognises and approves of the motion. Zhao Da, you may-”
“No.” A firm voice cut Ao Ri off. The Order looked to the one that had objected, the sole person still tightly clutching the handout given to them. He had been the only one there who’d bothered to read the numbers written there without casually glossing over them, to think about the repercussions should an experiment of that magnitude fail; and what would be the outcome for Glint, should such a catastrophe come to pass.
“As the Seat of Stability, empowered in all matters involving the populace of Glint,” An Shen ordered. “I exercise my right to veto this motion in perpetuity.”
“Come now, An Shen,” Ron Te cajoled. “You aren’t seriously going to object to this, are you? All nine of us are in agreement; this only has benefits for Glint.”
“Has greed clouded your eyes, members of the Order?” the sole objector urged. “This experiment proposes an incision in reality itself – something that has never been attempted before for good reason! If you fail, the resulting reaction could wipe out the whole country!”
“We won’t fail-”
“But if you succeed,” An Shen continued, voice tinged in trepidation. “You don’t have a single clue what could be lying in wait in the gaps between worlds. What terrible lifeforms or diseases could creep through the breach. All it takes is one mistake for everything we have built to crumble into dust! One!”
“Withdraw your veto, An Shen,” the rumbling voice of the Seat of Death spoke. “You have no one on your side in this matter.”
“The reason why I even have a veto was because we all agreed; I have the best interests of Glint at heart! I will not budge on this matter. Never!”
The assembled members turned instead to look to Ao Ri, who simply sighed in exasperation. For too long had An Shen been a stumbling block for many of the proposals the Order had come up with. Ideas that would have earned much praise from the citizens of Glint, and sent a stern message to those that meant to harm Glint.
He had blocked a motion to hunt down a rampaging marauder who had robbed and murdered in Glint before fleeing into Anlin, choosing to instead compensate the citizens affected and turn a blind eye to the incident. To prevent a diplomatic crisis, he had justified. At another juncture he had blocked a motion to strike pre-emptively at growing forces on the border between Renza and Glint, so as to maintain the status quo – even as the Order watched the threat at their doorstep increase in significance.
His rationale was stability, but now the Order felt that An Shen’s goal was stagnancy.
So Ao Ri did what the nine had discussed before in secret.
“Very well, An Shen. Your veto is recognised, and Zhao Da’s motion fails.” He conceded the point, and An Shen visibly sighed in relief. “In turn, I would propose a motion of my own.”
“For the Seat of Stability, An Shen, to be removed from his position as member of the Order of Glint.”
An Shen’s eyes widened in surprise at those words. He stood up indignantly, his chair screeching across the tiles of the chamber, ready to voice his disapproval; only to find that all nine of the Order had already raised their hands in agreement. It slowly dawned upon him that this was no impromptu removal – this was a planned ousting. He stood there dumbly, turning his gaze on those that he regarded as his friends, his comrade-in-arms.
“No,” An Shen muttered. “You can’t remove me from the Order. Who would even replace me? My duties are vital to the running of the country.”
“We have a replacement in mind, An Shen. Pin Qu, as the new Seat of Progress-”
“Pin Qu?!” An Shen spat out. “A mere Headmaster; running the country?! He would not last even a day in my position! All he has is magic! All any of you have is magic! How will you manoeuvre the double-speak and lies of politics?!”
“This has been decided,” Ao Ri replied gravely. “You will take on his duties; and he, yours. That way both institutions will run smoothly, and we will maintain the prosperity of Glint for future generations.”
“You… you’re making a mistake-”
“Look on the bright side, An,” Yin Za joked. “As a soon-to-be Headmaster yourself, you can enforce all the strict rules you want, without fear of anyone kicking you out. A nice, quiet retirement! Isn’t that nice?”
An Shen’s eyes bulged in anger. Hairs bristled on end as he glared at the members seated in front of him. All through his mind flashed moments where he had helped one or saved another, fending off spells to protect them from death and injury – and this was how they repaid him?! A graceless send-off to rot in some worthless position?!
“The wings of Heaven are for all men-!”
Loosen up a little! Take a small break~ You deserve it~!
!WARNING! YOU HAVE BEEN DESIGNATED INTRUDER IN THIS DOMAIN! ANY ATTEMPT AT AGGRESSION WILL BE MET WITH SWIFT AND UNFORGIVING DEATH! !WARNING!
You have been bound. DEF lowered.
As soon as An Shen had began his chant, three Seats had activated their spell schools in turn, the effects aimed squarely at him. He shot a dirty look at the vine wrapped around his arm. “If you don’t take this filthy plant off me right this moment, your hand is coming off with it, Lin Qu.”
The woman that bore the title of Growth gazed pleadingly at An Shen. “Please don’t do this, An; we’re all friends here.”
“No, Lin,” Yin Za taunted. “Think about it a moment. He used Wings of Heaven; why not Unbridled Fury or Unmitigated Disaster?”
The Seat of Weakness smirked knowingly at the former Seat of Stability.
“Linguistic Lexicon; that’s your technique, right? To gain great power in exchange for giving up another strength. A spell school riddled with countless flaws, to the point that you have to pick and choose what to use in every situation.” Yin Za grinned. “We’ve been around each other so long that I’ve picked up a couple of your go-tos; so why Wings, An Shen? A purely defensive spell, for a battle against nine equally matched foes?”
“It’s because you know you can’t win, right? Nine on one; the maths just doesn’t work out in your favour, Headmaster.”
“Careful, An Shen,” Ao Ri spoke up, his Domain of Protection still active. “I know you’re angry, but you can still leave on good terms right now. If you do anything rash, that changes quickly. Make your next move very carefully.”
An Shen took a last look of disgust at those gathered, people he had once considered his friends. For a moment he considered fully activating Wings anyways. The conferred DEF would be enough for him to deal with any attack that came his way. But he would have no way to strike back without dropping that defense, and at that moment he would be cut down. He glared impotently at the nine surrounding him.
Then, wordlessly yanking his arm from the vine entwined around his arm, he stormed out of the chambers of the Order.
“One mistake,” he muttered to himself as he took step after furious step away from his life's work. In his right hand was still clutched the handout he had been given, the numbers and figures on its face a portent of great disaster. “A single mistake would be all it takes. For everything to unravel; for everything to vanish in an instant.”
“I won’t let them make that mistake.”