NOVEL WEB Chapter 5: Vixtrix (I)
The boy ran through the forest, his palm pressed firmly against the gaping wound on the bottom left of his stomach. Blood seeped between his fingers.
The wound had come from a spear wielded by a mortal, which was quite ridiculous. After years of studying under the finest blade masters money could buy, here he was, bleeding out because of a semi-literate nobody.
He felt a little bit drunk and his vision was being blurred. His body felt like taking a nap but he fought back the urge – if he went to sleep now, he would never wake up. That made his head ache more. At some point, he stopped and leaned back against a tree. There was nowhere to run because he had reached the demiplane's border, a wall that mimicked a cloudy sky.
Both of his swords had been lost in some far-off corner of the battlefield, no doubt holding a heated discussion about how they could find a more competent owner. He could hear his opponents coming closer to finish the job.
Death, the boy decided, would not be so bad. For one, he was destined to encase his ArchSoul in a Circuit, and in doing so he must die first. This served as nothing but a valuable experience (which was a gross simplification but a dead man was allowed to be optimistic).
It would also save him the embarrassment of having to explain to his mother the basis behind the decision that led him to this situation: His friends told him about an underground tournament taking place at Old Bell District, Promethean Ring. The participants were desperate people – strays and menials who wanted quick money – though it was their patrons who would receive the tournament's rewards, among which was a lyre once played by the legendary Rokous.
So, on his graduation day, the boy joined the tournament himself, mostly because he only trusted himself to get it done. On the whole, he did very well, having killed half of the opponents before an alliance was formed against him. It was during an ambush by ten that he received the spear in his gut, which led to his present pathetic state. If he ever met his mother again, she would never let him live it down.
They said those about to die would see their loved ones. That did not apply to him. As his opponents, clad in rags and probably had not had a hot meal in days, emerged from the trees and closed in on him, the boy saw two flaming figures descending down from the demiplane's fake sky.
They landed behind his opponents. One of the Seraphist, whom he was too familiar with, appeared under the effects of <
Meanwhile, the other had summoned her <
He had never met the red-haired knight, though he could guess that she was a training Bastion, because her captain must know the boy desperately needed something stronger than a cup of tea in about five minutes. His vision was getting darker.
Briefly, the Seraphists cranked up their Miracles and emulated the heat of a sun, promptly burning the boy's opponents along with the surrounding vegetation to crisp. A wave of hot air crashed into the boy before the Miracles quieted down and the Seraphists walked over.
"Manziholet," Tamajiang said, "you are an idiot."
What the Purifiers had done, in the boy's opinion, was just pure wasteful. The strays and menials had been winning against him fair and square. They deserved the chance to finish the tournament and determine the rightful winner among themselves.
"Nice to see you, uncle," the boy replied and lifted his hand to reveal the wound. "If you don't mind."
Tamajiang grunted behind his sunsteel helmet. "Kylla, fix the idiot."
"Yes, captain." The other Seraphist dismissed her Armament and hovered her palms over his body before activating a Bastion Miracle. Sunlight bursted out from them, bathing him in resiliency made real. The wound stopped bleeding and closed, returning that patch of skin to its normal paleness. His headache disappeared and so did the fatigue.
Manziholet stood up and wiped off the dirt. "Thank you," he said to the recruit, who had silently returned to Tamajiang's side. "How did you know to find me, uncle?"
"One of the patrons recognized you." Tamajiang stepped past Manziholet to the demiplane's border. His gauntlet knocked three times on the wall and sent ripples throughout it. "She alerted the District Admin, who alerted the local Chainbreaker Captain, who searched your file and called me, a very busy person by the way, over to check. You are lucky that they want to keep this off the books or else Arin will be personally notified."
Which meant, he thought, that the organizers could have yanked him out of the tournament at any point or even right after he was ambushed. They had let him suffer, perhaps to teach him a lesson following the wish of a certain Purifier. Tamajiang's curriculum often came with a side of pain.
"You won't tell mother, will you?" Manziholet said.
"I ought to. What are you dying for anyway?"
"A lyre, one that was used by Rokous."
"Since when are you his fan?"
The border parted, revealing a tunnel which led them out of the demiplane. They emerged into an oval hall with a fountain in the middle. Lanterns that shone unnaturally strong were hung from the ceiling, flooding light into the windowless space. A faint smell of smoke, signature of Old Bell District, lingered in the air.
Waiting before them was a group of expensively dressed people. They were the organizers and they felt very sorry that an ArchSoul was put into mortal danger under their watch. It would never happen again, they promised Tamajiang. However, legally speaking, they felt that–
"I want my reward," Manziholet interupted. "I am the only participant alive, am I not?"
Their leader blinked. "Pardon, but your victory is highly unusual. I'm not sure if the intervention from Seraphists adheres to the rules set by us."
"It doesn't," Tamajiang replied and flicked Manziholet's ear, the intense pain of which momentarily stunned his mind. "He's just being greedy. We'll leave now. Remember to scratch his name from your record."
"It'll be a surprise gift for my mother," Manziholet said as they walked out to the street. The Purifier's glowing Form drew a few stares from the passersby. This place was rarely visited by a high Sphere Seraphist. "I heard she mentioned wanting it to a friend."
"Even then, it's a rather extreme way to earn a lyre. You are fifteen, for crying out loud." Tamajiang was staring down at him. "Alright, I won't tell her, but remember this moment. You owe me a favor. And, Kylla, make sure the idiot gets back to Victrix in time for the graduation ceremony. He has an important speech to make."
"I will, captain," the Bastion Seraphist replied solemnly. Her hair was a messy high bun of rusted iron's color with soft tendrils that framed her sharp face, one that was brought to a level of perfection possible only through the Circuit.
Before he left, Tamajiang looked at Manziholet again. "You are sure that your mother wants the lyre."
"She does." Arin did not. The truth was that there was this classmate he wanted to impress and the girl happened to be Rokous's fan. His mother, however, did say something to that effect. If the lie was discovered, he could just pretend it was a genuine misunderstanding on his part.
Using the enhanced strength given by his Miracle, Tamajiang did not need to walk on the street like mortals. With a leap, the man rose above the building and disappeared into the smoke-filled sky, leaving Manziholet behind with Kylla. "We should go now," she said.
The boy consulted the time on his Oculon. [Furder 13, 1920, 11:03]
"You can relax. I have more than three hours to spare. Why don't we have lunch first? I'm starving." During those three hours, he must also prepare a speech to deliver before his peers, one that marked the culmination of ten years of them learning together and one that he had neglected to prepare, but she did not need to know that.
"My <
Old Bell District was designed to assist and amplify a Porter Miracle of Smoke Domain. Most of the District, therefore, was shaded from the sun by a trail of dark smoke that threaded between the tall buildings. Massive braziers were constructed along its path to sustain the trail, which was further fueled by the fumes from roaring factories.
Raw material and products were conveyed via the smoke trail at eight times the speed of sound (it had been confirmed) to their destination. People in need could also pay to have themselves transported along the trail. As of now, the fee per person was set at twenty hundred forisma, or around six months of back-breaking hard work for a bricklayer.
Manziholet and Kylla arrived before a toll booth. They gave the destination to the worker manning it, who then inquired who would like to pay.
"Allow me," Manziholet said and presented his right wrist to the menial. She laid her on his. When they touched, a Fourth Sphere Miracle that covered the entire TerraSol pinpointed the act before calling upon a cascade of many more Miracles running in the background of reality.
[Payment request received.
Sender: Hila Maysei (75-89-Old-Bell-94507115)
Requested amount: 40,000 forisma]
It would fry a mortal brain to take in the Oculon System's complexity, which employed thousands of Seraphist. Anything less would have been a complete and utter catastrophe, because on the Promethean alone there were over two quadrillion people working and living. Maintaining order would be akin to keeping a bonfire lit under a typhoon without the Oculons and the complex economy would have to rely on unreliable stacks of paper and clinking coins.
Manziholet blinked twice with his left eye while thinking 'Accept' in his head.
[Transaction complete.
Recipient: Hila Maysei (75-89-Old-Bell-94507115)
Amount transferred: 40,000 forisma
Your account balance: 18,437,800 forisma]
That being done, another worker led them down a hallway lined with doors. Manziholet and Kylla were told to wait in front of one before it opened and smoke flooded out to engulf them. It was a near instant as the Miracle bought them through space and deposited them at the destination, though the smoke made him cough.
Standing before them was a wall of liquid gold, built to contain the atmosphere as well as separate the land from the void. It also acted as a public Porter Miracle, <
Countless humans and animals along with their cargo were waiting in line at the base of a colossal building rising as high as the wall and submerging a part of itself in the liquid gold. Utilizing the Miracle, they could go up or down to each floor of the building, which in turn served as a stop for Ring Runners, incredibly long carriages capable of holding tens of thousands. The higher the floor, the longer the trip of its Ring Runner would be.
Kylla's status as a Seraphist allowed them to skip the lines of civilians and get a private compartment, windowless and still had to be paid for but otherwise spacious enough. Messages regarding the next stops had shown up on his Oculon. They would get off the Ring Runner after around twenty minutes, where there would be a Checkpoint to bring them to the Sui-Jen Ring.
No acceleration was felt as it departed. Manziholet had settled down on his seat and so did the Seraphist across the table. She was folding her arms while keeping her gaze straight ahead to the wooden panel behind the boy's head. Neither of them chose to talk, which was fine since he had a speech to make anyway.
He could, of course, recycle some past speech. They had trained him enough in Rhetoric to scrap together a decent one, but it would be by all means ordinary. And, as his mother had so helpfully drilled in him, ordinary was the first cousin of failure. He was not so fond of marrying that particular relative. The problem was that words were refusing to come out from the depths of his mind.
Time, he decided after five unproductive minutes had passed, to seek inspiration. "I am curious. Why the Knight Purifiers?" he said. "Isn't it that the Imperial Hammers are sparing no expense for new Bastions? You'd be better off working for them."
Kylla glanced at him. "It's personal."
"I could talk with Tamajiang. He must have asked you the same question."
She frowned, as if she just tasted something bitter. "If you must know, I was born on a very poor planet," she said. "When I was five, a cult infiltrated its population. Before we knew it, they had already summoned a daemonic incursion. Two Brute Lords and three Blood Churls–"
"I'm sorry for your loss." The boy had already seen where this was leading to. He should not have pried her. "If you don't want to continue…"
"I might as well finish it, but yes, you can guess how bad it went. Most of the people I knew were either long dead, enslaved by the cult, or in hiding, before TerraSol even got the news. Just when I was about to die of starvation, or a flu, I don't remember, the knights arrived and saved me."
"You want to repay them."
"Partly. When the knights arrived, those cultists had been teaching everyone the Forbidden Script. Most could barely say a word, but even then the damage had already been done. The Purifier captain had a difficult choice to make, one that can haunt a person for life."
"Sterilizing the planet."
Kylla nodded. "He made it. Everything and everyone on the planet was scorched clean, until what's left of it was just me. It's cruel, I know, and certainly unfair to the innocents, but it is effective. That's the main reason why I joined the Order of Knight Purifiers, Manziholet – to be effective."
They arrived at Messet District and took a sa-raven to the Checkpoint. Most of the District was covered in orange sand that was imported from a dissonant world where the laws of reality had been scrambled during the Ternary Strife. When the sand was exposed to open air, massive columns of random metal would erupt from the ground from time to time, infinitely renewable and frequently enough to fuel the two neighboring Districts' industries.
One of its previous Admin had chosen to design the Checkpoint in the image of a spider, with eight boxy segmented legs arched high and anchored deep into the ground, each plated with slabs of black marble. One could either enter by walking up the stairs inside the legs or landed through the openings that lined its main body as their sa-raven did.
Here, the boy paid for another Porter Miracle, and unlike the last two which were ultimately limited by their inherent speed, this one was a pure manipulation over space. Having stepped inside the platform, Manziholet and Kylla were directly shifted to Erziehung District, Sui-Jen Ring, where his Victrix Academy was located.