Lord Draevan was having a relatively good time, considering the circumstances.

  Sure, he was still on the brink of defeat, but at least he was able to fight his foe on equal standing, now that the infuriating Disruptor was gone.

  Moreover, it gave him enough breath to needle his opponent.

  “Getting tired, Maelric?” the lord called out, hovering in the air as his [Gale Flight] spell kept him at the same altitude as his flame-soaring opponent.

  “Pitiful wretch. Is this your way of begging for mercy?” the assassin fire archmage sneered. “Befitting of your status, I suppose.”

  Draevan sighed. “Always with insults to give. A shame your spellcasting does not match your wagging tongue. How is it that even after so many years since we saw each other in the academy, you still haven’t mastered the fundamentals of elemental manipulation?”

  “You dare?! I am a master of the arcane. You’re just a second-rate mage with third-rate tricks!”

  A hundred sparks shot forth from Maelric’s fingers, soon transformed into blazing fireballs as the amplifying song in the air enhanced their energies.

  Draevan calmly executed a complex spell matrix, using the moisture in the air to form miniature storm clouds that dampened the fireballs’ fiery before destroying them with lightning arcs. He then used the displaced mana to weave a single mighty thunderbolt and hurled it towards Maelric.

  Maelric formed his shield in time, but without his pet Disruptor nearby to weaken the blow, the thunderbolt broke the barrier and sent the man flying back.

  “Sloppy as always,” Draevan tsked. “The Duskcrown made a bad investment, bringing your Core up to Sapphire. Or are you perhaps the best they have? A sad display, all the same.”

  “I’ll have your tongue for that,” Maelric threatened. His cloak was blackened, but he appeared unharmed. “Perhaps I’ll have your daughter watch as I pull it from your mouth.”

  “Careful there, you almost sound angry. Think of your reputation, Maelric. It’s already bloated with enough negative qualities without adding ‘tantrum-prone’ to the list.”

  The fire mage pulled his arm back, drawing upon a vast reserve of his mana to conjure a massive sphere of blazing light. Rather than propel it Draevan’s way as he had done with his earlier fireball, he instead allowed it to ascend in the air.

  The miniature sun shuddered. Scorching pillars of fire soon shot from the floating orb towards Draevan, forcing the lord on the defensive as Maelric followed up with more volleys of flames from his fingertips.

  “You dare mock the greatest pyromancer of the West?!” Maelric roared.

  “I’ll let you know if I ever find him,” Draevan mildly replied, sending a single bolt of concentrated plasma into the giant molten ball and rupturing it from within. “I’ll tell you this for free, however. I have undoubtedly met the greatest pyromancer of the North, and I won’t dare mock him. That boy makes your fires look laughable in comparison.”

  The miniature sun burst apart. The explosion of his own spell matrix sent Maelric reeling. Draevan tried going for a killing blow, but a volley of sonic blasts from the ground forced him back.

  He sighed, dodging the projectiles as he glanced at the red-headed minstrel below. She was severely wounded from the castle-destroying explosion earlier, but unfortunately still alive.

  At least the Disruptor is out of the way. Even with the Amplifier, given time, I should be able to defeat Maelric.

  That is, if I wasn’t currently running on fumes.

  Draevan was doing his best to ration his remaining mana, but it was clear his Core was about to bottom out soon. The battle earlier when both the Disruptor and the Amplifier had been present had been taxing. Not only was his spellcasting efficiency hampered, but he could not take Maelric lightly with the Amplifier bolstering his spells to ridiculous heights.

  That meant he had to waste a significant volume of his magical reserves just to trade evenly against Maelric. Truth be told, if it wasn’t for the destruction of the eastern wing separating the Disruptor from the battlefield, Draevan might be in serious trouble by now.

  Maelric, for all his bluster, was neither weak nor incompetent. The man was a battlemage of House Halsworn — a family living in the volcanic isles to the West, famed for their pyromancers — and it showed in his skills. He had moderated his mana reserves well, and while his spellcasting was inferior to Draevan’s, it was by no means inadequate for a Sapphire Core.

  Were it any other Sapphire Chosen, Maelric would have likely won the duel already. The only reason Draevan was not dead yet was because he was no mere Sapphire Chosen.

  The lord could confidently say that among his rank, he had few equals in combat.

  “Indulge me, Maelric,” the lord called out mockingly, hoping to incite the man into making a mistake. “Just what did you do to garner so much support from the Duskcrown? Those two pet singers you have with you could not have been cheap. And I know a talentless hack like you could have never reached Sapphire without cheating.”

  To his surprise, Maelric did not immediately retort. After a short silence, the man chuckled bitterly.

  “Always the same… Lording that talent over us. Thinking us trash under your feet! I loathed you… All of us at the academy loathe you! Draevan Elathion, child prodigy! The light of the High Priestess’s eye, stealing her power from those who should rightly wield it. Your mere existence is a mockery to us all! Decades of effort, overshadowed by a talent that should not even be possible!”

  “Don’t blame me for your own inadequacy,” Draevan shot back, though this time there was a hint of hesitation to his voice.

  Maelric laughed, wild and mad. “Inadequency… Yes, I admit it! I was inadequate! Everyone felt the same in the face of your talent! How could we not be, seeing an arrogant upstart achieve the Sapphire Rank in less than four decades when it took the rest of us more than a century! But we could have borne it with dignity… if not for that blasphemous insult you gave us, taking Garion Sunpyre from the Duskcrown! The Holy Maiden was ours!”

  “I saved her from you monsters,” Draevan shot back.

  “It was never that simple,” Maelric snarled. “But it doesn’t matter now. Countless families were purged for our failure. Drown in boiling blood, chained and devoured by rats! My brother killed himself, the worthless worm. He wanted me to do the same. But not me… Not while you live! You want to know why I am here? Because I begged the Duskcrowns to give me the chance to kill you! And if I fail, a hundred other avenging blades will come, and one day, we will drag your corpse to Hell!”

  “Hell would not want my company.” The air was roiling with wrathful flames. Draevan prepared himself. “But it will settle for yours.”

  “You are out of mana. The outcome is obvious. No ‘talent’ will save you now, you disgusting dog. Roll over and die!”

  Another blast of fire. Draevan deflected it, but this time, his shields were weakening.

  “I have survived through worse before, even if it cost me much,” Draevan chuckled tiredly. There was a moment of hesitation before he said, “I want to thank you, Maelric.”

  “What? What nonsense are you—”

  “I was just having the most confusing month. Strange things kept happening. Great, terrible, and confoundingly hopeful things. A proper noble could bear it all with dignity, but I was never a proper noble, was I?”

  “You were a gutterborn swine, the offspring of a Devil’s pact,” Maelric spat.

  Draevan smiled, both bitter and relieved. “But this… Right now, this is familiar ground. My back to the wall, low on mana. Out of options, out of ways to run. No more talking, no more ‘noble intrigue’. The only path left for me is the one forward. It beckons my violence. It is terribly void of this veneer of civility I tried to carry in my sibling’s place.”

  The lord’s calm demeanour shifted. Something in his mask was cracking.

  There was a charge in the air. The heat of rage was being displaced by something far more primal.

  “So I thank you for this gift,” Draevan continued, shaking slightly. “Because it reminded me of what my family created me to do. I was never meant for dignified nobility.”

  [Lightning Arts, Frenzied Storm’s Second Form — The Uncaged]

  Draevan stop holding himself back. His Core howled in its release. Lightning poured from his fingertips, the last dregs of power freely flooding forth. It pushed back the fiery aura of Maelric’s flames. The fire mage recoiled when he sensed its nature.

  Madness.

  “I’ll kill everything in my way,” the Lord of the Frenzied Storms declared, his voice snarling as electric arcana convulsed painfully through his body. “I’ll kill you, then the Duskcrowns, then every last rat who had a hand in taking my daughter. I am the mad hound of a dying House, and for hurting my family, I’ll not rest until I TEAR ALL OF YOU TO PIECES!”

  This time, when the storm roared and shook the castle walls, a deranged howling accompanied it.

  ~~~

  Eri ignored the miasmic storm raging in the background, even as the sky darkened and his hair stood from static charges.

  He had bigger things to worry about; He might be dead within the next minute.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Eri had unleashed his most powerful Dagger Arte onto the red-headed witch’s neck. Even then, the attack had only partially severed the spine.

  Eri couldn’t cut through.

  The witch soon died from blood loss, though the defeated light in her eyes told Eri she already knew his efforts had failed. Eri didn’t stop hacking away at her neck, desperately trying to sever the head from the collar, but it was hopeless.

  The collar’s vicious spikes were embedded deeply into her spine, reinforcing it with strange steel and foul acrana. It would have already been difficult enough for Eri to cut through her neck with her natural Ruby-Core constitution, but with Dwarvan ingenuity impeding his efforts as well, his prospects were hopeless.

  I never knew the dwarves were capable of such cruelty, he seethed, even as he kept hacking with his dagger. The collar is all but indestructible. It’s also somehow reinforcing the neck with runes, but how is it doing this?

  Complicated mechanisms within the collar clicked and hissed. Eri saw the spikes wormed into the spine and nervous system, wiggling and pulsating like living creatures. A foul liquid was being injected, though Eri could see no source for the fluid.

  The minstrel’s flesh was hissing. Eri sense a foreign mana in the air, readying itself.

  Is this the psychic regeneration she spoke of? I’m running out of time!

  He could not afford panic. Eri tried to analyse the situation rationally.

  Continuing his efforts with the dagger alone was fruitless. The collar was so deeply embedded in the woman’s spine that it was practically a part of it. If Eri had more time, he might be able to make two cuts, one above and below, and just pull the entire device out, but with her Elven regeneration imminent, that was not an option.

  What if I just tried to blast it? Eri grimaced. A strong and focused explosive might work, but that was a gamble of his Demolition Skill against Dwarven engineering, and Eri didn’t really have anything built to destroy something so small and durable.

  I have to use the Bloodflame Artes.

  He hated the thought of already turning back on his self-imposed oath, but faced with the option of destroying the slave collar or appeasing his own pride, the choice was obvious.

  The corruption will draw attention, but there are few witnesses close by. So long as I keep the output to a minimum and control the outpour of corruption as tightly as I can…

  Eri slashed his dagger against his palm, drawing blood. Being careful to moderate his power so that as little corruption spilt into the surroundings as possible, Eri aimed his Artes directly onto the collar.

  [Bloodflame Demonic Arts, First Form: Bloodflame Lance]

  The densely powered crimson spear fired at close range, blasting the flesh around the spine to burning ash.

  But it was not enough. The collar was blackened and sparking with minor damage, but still intact.

  Worse, the Elven minstrel’s flesh was twitching. The neck was rapidly regrowing back to wholeness.

  “No!” Eri snarled. He fired [Bloodflame Lance] again, this time with more power and less care for keeping the corruption contained from observers. The blast sheared away the regenerated flesh, and the sanguine flames slowed the rate of regrowth, but the collar remained damnably intact, its rune glowing bright. To Eri’s shock, he noticed the metal rapidly phasing in and out of space, instantly removing any trace of damage.

  Is this a spatial effect? Maybe the collar is shunting the damage off to an alternate plane, or a temporal anchor is keeping it in pseudo-stasis…

  Either way, Eri could tell it wasn’t going to come off through brute force.

  Think, think! What else did he have? Bombs, tools, acids. Maybe he could melt the mechanism from within? But the metal was already proving far more resilient than he expected. Perhaps he could purchase a stronger acid from the System Shop? But there was no telling how long it would take him to find it!

  What about the spatial pouch? Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t accept a hostile entity, but the elf was a half-corpse at the moment. It might be enough to bypass the restriction.

  Eri willed the Inventory pouch to swallow her, but a red-tinged notification sprang up.

  [Alert: Selected object cannot be added to Inventory. Object is a Hostile Entity.]

  “It’s a corpse!” Eri shouted.

  [Hostile Intent detected in object. Object denied.]

  That was likely related to the Elven psychoactive property the minstrel mentioned earlier — the preservation of her soul through the ‘Gestalt’ she shared with her sister. The body might be dead, but it was rapidly recovering, and the elf would soon return to consciousness.

  He was running out of time and options.

  There’s no other way. I have to disable the lock. Eri hurriedly pulled out his lockpicking kit, allowing his [Lockpicking] Skill to guide him as best it could.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  [Lock difficulty too high]

  [Higher Tool quality required]

  It was not enough. His tools broke almost instantly against the durable mechanism within, and his [Lockpicking] Skill failed to aid him against Dwarven design.

  The woman’s neck was already fully regenerated. Eri saw her closed eyelids moving.

  Stay calm. What else can I do?

  The lock difficulty is too high. I need to increase my Lockpicking Skill. But my Lockpicking is already at the maximum proficiency of ‘Novice’ for a general Skill. I can’t raise it anymore.

  Except… I gained a Key Skill Point from my Silver Core, didn’t I?

  “System! Make Lockpicking a Key Skill!” Eri urgently cried out, too stressed to even bother with a mental command.

  [Confirmed. Eighth Key Skill Slot filled — Lockpicking]

  [Lockpicking Skill is now at ‘Adept’ Proficiency]

  I need better tools. There’s no time to look through the System Shop.

  But why should I? I always had what I needed in me.

  My blood will suffice.

  Eri stabbed his hands, ignoring the pain as the deluge of blood spilt out.

  “Boil, my Blood.”

  [Bloodflame Demonic Arts, Second Form: Sanguine Immolation]

  Rather than shaping his burning blood into daggers, he formed tiny snaking tendrils instead. They wormed their way out of his palm like a flood of veiny parasites. Soon, hundreds of unnerving, blood-hued tentacles swarmed into each of the collar’s openings, their dexterous movement far exceeding any regular lockpicking tool. Eri controlled them, mapping the collar’s internal mechanism…

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  [Success odds extremely low. Recommend retrying at ‘Master’ Proficiency.]

  … only to be staggered by the complexity of its internal design. Strange circuits, runeworking, and literal miles of the most intricate arcane sigils Eri had ever seen, covering every inch of the device.

  This… this is too much. It will take me days just to map this…

  The woman’s finger twitched.

  She’s waking up.

  There was no time left.

  I’m going to die if I stay here. The sudden realisation was a freezing breath upon his spine. She is going to kill me.

  I can’t help her. I need to run. I…

  I don’t want to die.

  The thought took him aback. A sheer, visceral disgust at his own cowardice took over.

  “No. No, no, no!” Eri yelled at himself. He redoubled his efforts and kept trying. “I’m not running!”

  But then I’ll die.

  “I made a promise! I can’t run!” He pushed his mind, memorising and mapping the arcane circuit within the device. His blood tendrils desperately search for the trigger to unlock the collar, trying to discern a pattern in the runeworking.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  [Success odds extremely low. Recommend retrying at a later stage.]

  What’s the point? We barely know her. She tried to kill us. Why are we even bothering to save her? Our life is more important. We still have so much to do. What about Elen? Our dream? Are we going to give it up all here? For this?

  “It’s not over yet!”

  He knew the words to be false even as he said them.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  The woman’s hand clenched into a fist.

  It’s over! There’s nothing we can do! We are going to die! We can’t die like this. It’s pointless. She is not worth it. WE NEED TO RUN!

  “... No.”

  Then we will die.

  “So be it.”

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  He didn’t stop trying, even as the minstrel opened her eyes — even as dead orbs of emerald locked on to him.

  There was no time to dodge. Her fist slammed against the side of his head. Eri went down.

  His fingers felt numb. His thoughts were scattered.

  His hand was still clutching at her collar, his blood still tirelessly mapping the interior, guided by his [Lockpicking] Skill.

  All futile.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  Eri tried to rise, but was soon pushed back against the ground. He felt hands on his throat.

  They squeezed. Eri’s windpipe was crushed under inhuman strength. He couldn’t breathe.

  He didn’t stop trying.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  This was new. This raw feeling of hopelessness. He could not see the way forward.

  Was this what those heroes felt when they fought me in my castle? Did they feel this despair as I killed off their precious companions, one after another, until they were the last one left standing against me? Weren’t they afraid?

  Why didn’t they run?

  Why… didn’t I run?

  I’m scared.

  I don’t want to die.

  Eri’s vision was turning black. His lungs were burning for oxygen.

  All the while, dead green eyes stared into his.

  He never stopped trying.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  In the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw a strange text box.

  [“You are insane.”]

  [“Why are you trying so hard?”]

  I don’t know.

  [“You are going to die. For nothing. Why do this? Because you want to be a Hero?”]

  I don’t care about that.

  [“Then why?”]

  [“Isn’t living precious to you?”]

  Of course it is.

  But…

  I just… I want…

  I want to save her. That’s all.

  Eri could no longer see. He could barely think. His mind was blanking. Everything faded away — the agony of his crushing throat, the burning begging of his lungs, the dead emerald eyes that were as beautiful as they were unsightly.

  There was only the sensation of his right hand on the woman’s collar, his blood tendrils still moving tirelessly within.

  [Lockpicking attempt failed]

  [“...”]

  [“Arrogance. Mad arrogance. How unsightly.”]

  [“Haven’t I warned you before already? Power breeds madness.”]

  [“You are the same as always; a pitiful fool trying to change the world, every single time.”]

  [“... But I suppose that’s what I liked about you. Even five thousand years of Damnation could not change you. Heroism is your curse.”]

  [...]

  [Intervention: Lockpicking attempt successful]

  A sound. Click.

  Something heavy fell from Eri’s hands. He could no longer notice it.

  Eri was no longer breathing.

  [New Perk Unlock: Dwarven Enigma Breaker]

  [System Update — Player Character has died.]