Chapter 230
Embers and Ashes (I)
As though it was designed by the hand of fate, a strange, queer silence befell the outermost walls of the Palace. A hefty hundred few of the guards standing on top of ramparts held steady in their expressions, though those down below, accrued over the course of a whole day, were diverse. Six groups in total, two of which wore strange and bizarre masks, stood in front, none willing to step forward as they weren’t sure what the plan was.
Emma, Kramer, and the rest similarly only made camp and waited. In part, they waited for Cain’s arrival, though considering he was yet to appear, it seemed he was busy fighting his own battles elsewhere. More importantly, though, they didn’t want to be the first ones to charge forward. This wasn’t six groups united against the Kingdom, but six self-interested groups vying for the same prize.
The silent atmosphere, at least on their end, was broken by the abrupt flashing of the cyan windows in front of them, causing them to groan and roll their eyes as they began to read the contents.
//Emergency Quest Update!
Context: The surface calm of the Kingdom had been uprooted, and its mask had been stripped, bearing the countless undercurrents naked for everyone to see! Amidst the storm, you find yourself on the outside looking in, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and achieve victory. There is no better time to strike than now!
Content: While the strongest Guardian of the Kingdom is distracted, the Palace’s defenses have lessened, and all its formations have been depleted. It’s once in a lifetime opportunity to breach the gates and invade the insides! Fight your way through the six stages of battles before making it to the Imperial Throne Room, where the King himself is waiting to defend his land. Stages:
Courtyard of the Harrowed Signet-- Spearborne Lord Ayteer
Siege of the Golden Archway -- Ar, the Undone
Halls of Forbearance-- Honored Maids
Inner Sanctum-- Council of Serenity
Terrace of Divinity-- Archbishop Serelus
Font of Twilight-- Archmagus ‘???’
Throne of Imperial Thunder-- King Eldur, First of His Name
Additional Notes:
All bosses are Phantoms
Each fight has a limit of 10 participants
Challengers are allowed participation based who reaches the fight first
In case the Strongest Guardian becomes victorious, eight stage of the Siege will be unlocked: Hallowed Ashes of the Maker.
Due to the nature of the siege, you will not be afforded detailed descriptions of stages; aside from the basic information, you will have to either infer or live through the rest.
10 same participants aren’t necessary to participate in every battle; it is possible to switch in and out
If victorious, other groups will be forced to wait 2 hours before proceeding forward, granting you a head start
Lore: All six encounters are against the King’s most trusted aides and the renowned figures of the Kingdom, both known and otherwise. Defeat of each will be considered a ‘Minor Feat’, while defeating the King will be considered ‘Intermediate Feat’; defeating all 7 stages will add up to a complete Feat. In case you are forced to participate in the eight stage, completing it will be considered a ‘Hallowed Feat’, a mark of the impossible challenge. Within the framework, achieving Minor Feats will temporarily boost your Main Stats by 15%, stacking. The boosts are cleared upon achieving either the complete Feat, or defeating the King.
The disarrayed Kingdom is on the brink of collapse, held by the unholy arms of fear alone; do understand that your actions have potential to rip the Kingdom asunder, beyond the point of repair. The Palace is viewed as the Holy Sanctum of the Kingdom, and its complete destruction will result in absolving of the innermost beliefs and the Kingdom’s permanent end.
The eyes of the many vie your actions; your performances will determine the nature of your Awakenings and the penultimate rewards. Even if your battle is secondary, it is being seen and recorded in the histories.
Best of luck, Conquerors!!//
Good chunk of time had passed by the time they finished reading what felt like an entire essay. There was a lot of information to digest, namely the fact that, essentially, there would be 7 raid bosses they would have to defeat, and that they would all be like the one fight that still rung like a horror story in their heads. The word ‘Phantom’ caused blood in their veins to freeze, especially so for non-tanks. The least impacted one was Yuki, as he had no frame of reference for the horror besides the bits and pieces of the story he’d picked up ever since joining.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He knew, however, that the funeral he witnessed on the day he met Cain was entirely because of a ‘Phantom’ boss-- and if a group as strong as Cain’s--nay, the strongest group in the world-- was essentially crippled by one such entity... it spoke far more volume than any story or any numbers would ever do.
And that was just one boss... now they would have to face seven, in a row no less.
Taking a deep breath, Kramer was the first to recover slightly; there was no need to actually panic. Their quest difficulty remained at an ‘A’, and, no matter everything else, the quest difficulty itself was never a lie, especially when it was given by the ‘Tower’ itself rather than any one of its residents. Difficulty ‘A’ implied that it won’t be smooth sailing, but that, essentially, if they all performed like they can, it would be entirely doable with their current strength.
“... ey’, wasn’t Cain supposed to be the one fighting the King?” Jamal suddenly asked. “Wait--strongest guardian or whatever of the Kingdom is distracted? Oh...”
“He lied again,” Senna said hollowly.
“Or, or, and stay with me here,” Kramer said. “He didn’t know. I know you guys like to think of him as all-knowing, but... haven’t you realized by now that, you know, he’s actually kinda... dumb?”
“That’s actually more believable, somehow,” Emma sighed. “It doesn’t matter, though. Whatever he’s doing, that’s his thing. We have our own thing now. And the first order is... how the fuck do we get ahead of the other groups?”
**
An explosion sucked in spacetime around itself, bouncing back just a breath later and knocking two figures backward. Cain’s back blushed in fire as a pair of wings sprung free, halting his backward momentum. Mael, on the other hand, seemed to just... stop. However, Cain’s brows furrowed, since he noticed the level of Mana manipulation that went into it.
“Ah, the Spellweaver,” Mael said with a chortle. “A dying breed. It’s an honor, in a way; from your lineage sprung mine.”
“Yours?”
“Well, ‘from’ might be a wrong word to use there,” Mael said as he suddenly took out a massive shield and a mace, his tattered robes vanishing in lieu of silver-tinted armor. “Because of is a much better one. Once upon a time, many, many cycles ago, Spellweavers were the titulars of strength. After all, infinite number of Spells just is that insane. But, being pushed into the corner... inspires people. What if--what if we created a singular path for the express purpose of fucking them over?”
“And that’s... yours?”
“Oh, gods no,” Mael shook his head. “That Class became antiquated soon after Spellweavers lessened in numbers. After all, it had no other strengths besides being immune to magic. My path, though, is a branch of it, you might say.”
“... can I be honest?”
“Of course.”
“You sound like one of those kids that goes ‘yes, yes, your toy is shiny, but my toy is the shiniest toy ever!’. With how old you are,” Cain added, Mana around him beginning to churn and surge. “You should have learned the quintessential truth of this place by now.”
“Oh? And what is that truth, do say?” Mael replied, his shield alight in golden embers.
“It’s never the class,” Cain’s voice shuddered as Mana surged behind him like a tidal wave, turning into a behemoth of a void, sweltering the world around it as arms the size of buildings began to break and crawl out like hungry ghosts. Their skin was rotted, bones gray and visible, ashen smoke smoldering from their surface. “It’s never the class.”
Mael just barely managed to raise his shield before a torrent of hell descended upon him; he endured still for but a second before being unable to handle the pressure, his entire body blown backward, bursting through a nearby cliff and tearing it into pieces. He nary had a second to recover before a void opened up above his head, fire-tipped edge of the blade hurling at him immediately. He roared, Mana within him breaking out into a thick coating as he held the shield up, deflecting the blade and stabilizing himself.
The playful smile on his face vanished, replaced with cold and hardened caution. Some two hundred yards away, the strange, masked man continued to float and hover, wings of fire fluttering ever so often, the enormous tear in the void like a vortex into the land of death itself, waiting to swallow him.
This wasn’t an ordinary Spellweaver; for all his mocking of the path, Mael was well-aware that the reason Spellweavers eventually fizzled out was largely because it truly was never about the class. It was possible to give a moron all the tools in the world, but if he lacked faculties to use them, it would have been pointless. And Spellweaving... was one of those paths.
Tensing his muscles, his armor began to shine as projections of his shield began to surround him, one by one, covering every inch around him. Pushing forward, he turned into a speedy blur, crunched behind his shield, his sword aiming for the man’s neck. The latter vanished abruptly, appearing behind Mael as hundreds of rips appeared in void around them, each blasting out not fire, but something far more pure-- Starlight.
Startled, Mael panicked and increased his defenses threefold at the expense of a good chunk of his Mana; but Starlight, among all naturally-existing Elements, was best at cutting through physically defenses. He barely managed to buy enough time to escape the encirclement, leaving behind a ghastly scene of a world ripped asunder by the milky-white arrays of light that cut anything and everything in their path.
It was also then that Mael realized something-- he can’t fight the man head on. The greatest weakness of the Spellweavers was their insane reliance on Mana; unless they managed to quickly defeat their opponents, they almost always lose as, eventually, they simply can’t cast a single Spell without overdrafting. His plan changed immediately, from clashing head-on to turtling and letting the man whack him as much as he wanted. Mael was confident in surviving even against the twice-Awokened if he focused entirely on defense, let alone a fledgling Spellweaver.
“Oh? I was wondering why aren’t you Awakening,” the man’s voice and words startled him. “Are you afraid of ramifications of your actions if you’re found out?”
“...”
“Boy, you’re one stupid dude,” the man sighed. “Do you think this fight of ours is some sort of a secret?”
“Huh?”
“It’s the main event! Anyone who gives even an iota of shit about new Conquerors and lower floors is watching us! And, I’m guessing, they’re laughing at your ass by now. Come on, I won’t win any favors with them by slowly scorching your ass. They want a show!”
“...” Mael fell silent for a moment, but didn’t take the bait; he was well-aware that their current battle was being watched... which was precisely why he was holding back. Only the Divine had the ability to see past the truths and lies, and, no matter how important this battle was, no actual Divine was observing it. Besides, there was no need to Awaken; the man was simply baiting him, in hopes someone from above will intervene due to the nature of rules. Go ahead and scorch me... my victory is already all but confirmed, dumb boy.