Chapter 66
Truths and lies
Aroth's question cut through the air, sharp and demanding. "Who did it then?" he asked, eyes locked on Adom. The silence stretched as Adom wrestled with his thoughts. Should he spill the truth? Doubt gnawed at him. If Aroth didn't buy the story, things could get messy. But honestly, what other explanation was there?
Adom's mind raced, but before he could form the words, Aroth pushed again, his tone firm, "I asked you a question. You haven't answered, human."
Just then, Valiant, with his tiny frame, stepped forward. "Uhh, hello friends... s-sir," he stuttered, trying to grab Aroth's attention, who turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Valiant laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ha, you’re gonna think we’re nuts, but it was a demon that killed the behemoth."
There was a moment when everything seemed to freeze, with Adom and Aroth both turning to look at Valiant. Valiant’s eyes darted between them, his usual confidence replaced by a flicker of uncertainty.
"Really, a demon?" Aroth's voice was tinged with skepticism, but he seemed to consider it, his brow furrowed in thought. Adom exhaled slowly, relieved that Valiant had taken the plunge, breaking the tension.
As the orcs around them started whispering to each other, Aroth’s voice, calm yet authoritative, cut through the murmurs, "Silence, brothers." His command didn’t need to be loud; the forest’s noises alone filled the silence that followed. Adom, now more aware, even noticed the distant sound of a river, previously masked by the evening’s quiet unrest.
Then Aroth focused on Valiant, his gaze expectant, "Tell me, beastkin, how did this demon look?"
Valiant, fidgeting, cleared his throat and started, “Well, uh, imagine the scariest thing you can, then put it in a cloak that's like a void, sucking in all your happy thoughts. He was tall, really tall, and had these eyes, right? Gleaming like coals ready to burn ya!” His voice contained a hint of lingering fear. “And the aura, oh boy, it was like standing next to a frozen sun, cold but burning inside. Kinda makes you want to run and hide under your bed, hoping you won’t wet it. I thought I would die when I saw him, or was it a she?” he said, looking at Adom.
"It was a he." Adom answered, suppressing his urge to chuckle at Valiant's explanation.
The orcs exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of skepticism and intrigue, while Aroth pondered Valiant's words, his face unreadable but his interest piqued by the unusual description. Then Aroth turned his head towards a group of soldiers, nodding at one of them.
The orc Aroth nodded to was the oldest among them, his presence strikingly different from his armored companions. Clad in a simple cloak, his attire was adorned with an assortment of artifacts: necklaces, rings, and even decorations woven into his grey, braided hair. The air around him shimmered subtly, the unmistakable sign of a sorcerer's aura. Adom's eyes widened as he sensed the power radiating from the orc, whose level, astonishingly, was at 392.
“What do you think, Seka?” Aroth inquired, seeking his counsel. Seka, the aged orcish sorcerer, moved closer, his wise eyes narrowing with curiosity.
As Seka approached, his gaze fixed on Valiant. “Tell me, beastkin, did that demon have any particularity in his aura? Other than giving off the impression of a frozen sun? Was it like this boy's?” he asked, pointing at Adom, causing both him and Valiant to react with surprise.
Valiant, turning to Adom, asked, “Well, I don't know about Rey—your name's Adom or Rey, by the way?”
Adom, sighing in slight exasperation, clarified, “Adom.”
Valiant nodded, then dove back into his explanation. “Right, I don’t know about Adom’s aura, but that demon, whoo, let me tell you, it was like staring into the abyss, and the abyss not only stares back but also wants to come over and steal your soul! His presence was so overwhelming, I thought for sure I was gonna kick the bucket right there and then! Imagine being so scared you're laughing, 'cause what else can you do when faced with something that terrifying, right?”
Before Valiant could delve further into his tale, Seka raised a hand, signaling for a pause. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he interjected with a polite yet firm tone.
“Oh, no problem! I can tell you more if you want, like he had a mane and—” Valiant started enthusiastically, eager to share every detail.
“That will not be necessary, thank you very much,” Seka cut in again, his politeness unyielding, effectively halting Valiant’s narrative overflow.
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“Oh, okay,” Valiant conceded, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Seka then turned his attention to Adom, who was deep in thought. Adom pondered the unsettling connection between his aura and that of Mephistopheles. The recognition from the orcs, especially Seka, hinted at a deeper understanding of immortals among them. The fact that individuals like Zara, and now Seka, could sense his immortality troubled him. Perhaps someone else noticed it in the past, his thoughts then veered to his last conversation with Headmistress Ravenshadow; her reaction when he checked her level was subtle yet telling. Did she perceive the true nature of his existence?
His mind drifted, connecting dots across time and encounters. The Lich King, a figure from a bygone era that Athena had battled, was also an immortal. It seemed plausible then, that someone like Ravenshadow, with her extensive knowledge and experience, could recognize another immortal. This realization, coupled with Zara's recognition of his aura post her own traumatic ordeal, suggested a hidden layer of insight among certain individuals into the very essence of immortality.
Seka's interruption snapped Adom back to reality. "Human, I presume you'll be smart enough not to lie to us," Seka stated, his voice calm but carrying an underlying sharpness. Adom nodded in agreement, realizing the depth of the orcs' knowledge about immortals. Given Seka's immediate recognition of his aura, deception seemed not only futile but also dangerous.
"I am like him," Adom confessed, his voice steady, revealing his true nature without pretense.
"That much is clear," Seka responded, unfazed by the admission. His gaze intensified as he continued, "What I want to know is your intentions for coming here. Especially when we Ka'ui are not too fond of your kind."
Adom cleared his throat, the weight of the conversation pressing on him. "I had no idea my kind was at odds with you," he said, his voice tinged with genuine surprise and a hint of defensiveness. "In fact, until some time ago, I had no idea I was not the last of us."
Seka's eyes locked onto Adom’s, searching, probing. "I see," he murmured, then, with a firm grip on Adom's arms, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, "But that was not my question." The contact, firm and unyielding, was a physical reminder of the gravity of their exchange, underscoring the necessity for truth in Adom’s next words.
Adom remained passive under Seka's firm grip, sensing the imminent casting of a "truth spell." In this world, truth spells operate through the manipulation of Essentia to induce a state in the brain akin to the effects of a chemical truth serum. The caster channels Essentia to resonate with the neural pathways of the target, lowering defenses and inhibiting the ability to fabricate lies. This process doesn't just coerce verbal honesty; it allows the caster to visually perceive the subject's memories, ensuring the authenticity of the information revealed.
However, Adom, while open to demonstrating his lack of malicious intent, wasn’t prepared to let Seka peruse his entire life story. He was prepared for such intrusions. His mind was a fortress, structured like a complex maze, a mental labyrinth designed to protect his deepest secrets. This mental construct was crafted through meticulous training in Essentia manipulation and cognitive control, allowing Adom to compartmentalize and conceal his memories. By creating layers of superficial thoughts and memories, he could direct any invader along paths he chose, showing only what he deemed necessary.
This technique of mental fortification was rare, known only to a few, and Adom had learned it from Lupin, the agent from Darksea. During his past life, when sorcerers of significant stature were prime targets in warfare, such countermeasures were essential. Being captured by the enemy could lead to disastrous outcomes, especially for someone like Adom, whose knowledge had the potential to drastically shift the balance of power. Therefore, his mental defenses were not just for personal security but a strategic necessity to prevent critical information from falling into the wrong hands.
Seka's spell worked like a guided journey through Adom's mind. The questions he asked were crucial; they acted like a compass, directing the flow of memories and thoughts in Adom's vast mental ocean to reveal the truths Seka sought.
Seka’s first question was simple: "What is your name?" Adom responded truthfully, offering no resistance to that query. Then came the question of his age, to which Adom cleverly responded with two numbers: 13, the actual age of his current body, and 18, a deceptive addition to cloud Seka’s understanding of his real temporal journey.
"Where do you come from?" Seka continued, his eyes fixed on Adom, who claimed he hailed from Kati. The sorcerer's inquiries deepened, trying to see if his previous answer matched, "And when do you come from?" Adom, maintaining his composed facade, claimed he was from five years in the future. This specific yet false snippet of information was designed to mislead and manipulate Seka’s perception.
As Seka delved deeper, asking what transpired in those five years, Adom’s answer was a mix of truth and fabrication. "War happened," he began, a statement vague enough to be believable yet specific to the timeline. Then, with a calculated pause that hinted at reluctance, he added, "and the death of Aroth's daughter as well."
The revelation sent shockwaves through the orc ranks, triggering whispers and unsettled movements. Seka's widened eyes mirrored the sudden tension, and Aroth's calm exterior cracked with a growing anger. "What did you say?" he demanded, his voice cool but laced with a burgeoning fury.
Adom, anticipating this turmoil, pressed on, maintaining his facade. "Your daughter is supposed to be ill by now, and she will die of it in the future." His words, carefully chosen, were designed to stir the exact chaos now unfolding.
Aroth, striving for control amidst the rising clamor of his troops, bellowed, "Silence!" His command restored order, and his intense gaze fixed back on Adom, urging him to continue.
Adom obliged, weaving his narrative with strategic finesse, guiding the orcs' reactions to suit his agenda. He hadn't planned precisely how to introduce the possibility of healing Aroth's daughter, but the unfolding drama provided a perfect segue. The orcs' uproar had unwittingly set the stage for Adom to propose his aid, aligning seamlessly with his broader objectives.