Chapter 529 - The Rising Moon V

  I was so excited by the prospect of watching over Claire that I completely forgot about the system. It wasn’t really my fault. She stood up less than twenty minutes after she hatched and started walking within the hour. It was the sort of behaviour that a true qilin could not have possibly reproduced. Our fawns needed months before their legs grew enough to support their weight. I did, of course, understand the mechanism that drove the difference. She’d matured inside of her egg and hatched in a state that was much more developed than the state that any of our offspring might have emerged in. But at the same time, that meant that she was deprived of an early socialisation phase.

  Similar distractions and contemplations continued to follow me as I continued to watch her. But I did, eventually, crack open her status and give it a careful inspection.

  Her numbers were on the lower side, considering her cervitaurian heritage, but she was born with several hidden skills.

  The first was me. My name was quite literally written into her status with no other descriptors. It made sense when I thought about it. Flux had mentioned that she’d functionally grafted me to her soul, and the best way to do so was to make me a skill.

  The second was a bundle of racial traits she’d inherited from her parents, notably the ability to negate any damage suffered from falling, as well as the ability to determine at a glance how easy it would be to hunt her foes. There were some others as well, but they were suppressed by her third unseeable ability—not that it could really be described as such.

  The so-called skill was called The War Goddess’ Seal, and it was both the cause of her poor status, as well as the reason she’d been allowed to hatch in the first place. It gutted all her base numbers, including her size, and greatly limited her potential for growth. Specifically, it actively dulled her sense for combat and suppressed much of the intuition she should have otherwise inherited from her father. It was complete and utter bullshit. I was tempted to rip it straight out, but stopped as I recalled what Flux had told me. We were hijacking Vella’s plan. At least for a while, we needed to abide by her script.

  Finally, there was the most curious skill, apparently, something passed down from her father. It was called The Phantom Blood, and it provided her with the ability to enter and manipulate a shared dream world—something to which all the skill’s possessors were connected.

  It was an odd ability.

  One that I could put to use.

  ___

  “What an amazing conclusion! I can’t even tell who won!” said Octavia, from the announcer’s booth. The arena had technically already returned to its original form, but it looked no different. The terraformer had been thoroughly erased by the blast and its surroundings were likewise obliterated. The explosion had run deep underground, pushing past even the point where the alliance had once made its base. The resulting earth was incredibly unstable, but the stadium showed no sign of shaking. Hundreds upon hundreds of government mages were already at work, steadying the building and refilling the ring. They would likely be done in just a few minutes, and even then, it was only because they needed to be extra careful. “As per the standard ruleset, we will decide the winner based on the order in which they were defeated. The second fighter to fall will be declared the victor.” She turned to the Kryddarian king. “Lord Erikson, which of the two died first?”

  “Unfortunately, I was not able to perceive any notable differences. According to my skill, the two fell simultaneously.”

  The fighters rematerialised as he spoke. Jules’ flesh regrew from his shell while Ephesus appeared out of thin air.

  “How intriguing! That’s practically unprecedented!" said Octavia. “Given this unexpected circumstance, we will fall back to our secondary ruleset and derive a victor from a public debate. The members of this discussion will involve all three monarchs present, as well as both of our analysts.”

  The colosseum shifted. A platform slid out of a gladiator gate and did a full circle around the arena. It briefly stopped twice, once at the analyst's desk, and again at the VIP platform, before moving into the center of the ring for all the observers to see. As declared, Octavia was accompanied by a panel of five. Throgg and Tiberius, the analysts, tried their best to maintain their calm as they sat together in a loose semicircle with Virillius Augustus, Arciel Vel’khan, and Ragnar Unfrid Erikson.

  “Thank you all for gathering today,” said Octavia. “Before we get into the meat and potatoes, the intended format is for each seat on the council to have a vote as to the victor. Does anyone have any objections?”

  Throgg raised a hand.

  “Yes, Master Throgg?”

  “I understand that Tiberius and I are technically a part of the judging staff, but I don’t believe it would be right for the two of us to participate in the process.”

  “Why is that?” asked Octavia.

  “We are simply not as qualified as the three monarchs. As aspects, they have a far better understanding of the battle and its nuances.”

  “Aspects?” Octavia paused for a second to scan the panel, her eyes eventually settling Arciel. “All of them?”

  “I would have preferred to reserve the surprise for my battle, but yes, I am also an aspect,” said Arciel.

  “And on top of that, we’re both Cadrian, which naturally adds a bit of bias,” continued Throgg. “With just the other three, you wouldn’t have to deal with more than half the panel coming from one just nation.”

  “That is a very fair point,” said Octavia. “Tiberius, do you have any objections to Throgg’s request?”

  “None whatsoever,” said Tiberius. “I agree with him on all fronts and would even like to raise the fact that we weren’t able to keep up with everything that happened. Neither of us are pure mages, and we aren’t qualified to dive into the nuances of either combatant’s spellwork.”

  “I understand. In that case, we will have three votes, one from each monarch.” She scanned the panel as the analysts were shuffled back to their original seats. “Do any of you strongly believe that one of the fighters deserved the win?”

  “I do.” Virillius spoke softly but firmly. His hands were clasped on the table in front of him, and his eyes had their usual frozen sheen. “Vel’khan’s combatant deserves to be crowned with the victory. Lord Ephesus is an aspect, whereas Jules is only thrice ascended. For them to tie is for the Vel’khanese fighter to be of a significantly higher quality. Further, it was he who initiated the final attack. And as he is to be credited with both of their deaths, I believe he should be declared the winner.”

  “Excellent points all around!” said Octavia. “Queen Vel’khan, King Erikson, do either of you have any objections?”

  Aricel hesitated; she could feel a very specific pair of eyes boring into the back of her head, warning her against the impulse that had just welled up from within, but she closed her fan and spoke regardless.

  “I do,” said Arciel. “I believe it is worth arguing that it was Lord Ephesus’ strategy that forced Jules’ hand. He is the true driving force behind this draw. I wish to award this win to his schemes.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Virillius crossed his arms. “I believe that his scheming should serve not as an aspect to praise, but an explicit disqualifier. It was, evidently, not quite as well thought out as he believed. Without Ragnar’s assistance, his so-called carefully laid plans surely would have resulted in the loss of his life.”

  “I do not believe that to be any different from Jules’ solution. His attack assured his own death, but there was no guarantee that it would eliminate his opponent.”

  “Perha—”

  “Alright, that’s enough,” said Ragnar. “It’s pretty clear that both fighters did well, and that both have their fair share of flaws. But we’ll be stuck here for hours if we go into the weeds. How about we just call it a draw?”

  “A draw?” Octavia blinked. “A draw would open up the possibility for the war as a whole concluding as a draw.”

  “Yeah, and?” Ragnar scratched his head. “Real wars end in draws all the goddamn time. You have to remember, fighting is just a means of negotiation, and sometimes, you can’t afford to come out on top.”

  “I am not against a draw,” said Virillius. “Given our inability to arrive at a conclusion, it is likely for the best. And as Ragnar has stated, it is not impossible for a war to end in a draw.”

  “That’s two for a draw! Queen Vel’khan, what do you think of this development?”

  Arciel lightly tapped her fan against her hand as she considered the proposal. “I see and understand the rationale provided by my peers, and I shall accept it as the outcome.”

  “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen! The Kings and Queen have spoken! The fourth match has been declared a draw!”

  Cheers rang throughout the stadium. Cheers, accompanied by a certain marquis’ cackles.

  Jules cocked a brow as he watched the man break down into hysterics. Having returned to his caprine shape, he fell to his knees and pounded the ground as he cackled his lungs out. The audience quickly took note and quieted down, falling almost deathly silent as the madman made himself their sole focus.

  “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s so funny?” asked Jules.

  The question elicited another chuckle, but Ephesus stifled it and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “Have you truly not figured it out?” He slowly rose to his feet as he twisted his lips into a smirk.

  “Figured what out?”

  “It pains me, how slow you are.” The fake goat heaved an equally fake sigh. “Before we began, I told you that I would only keep silent if I lost. And evidently, it seems that I haven’t.”

  “You motherfucker… You wouldn’t!” Jules reached for the goat’s collar, but Ephesus dodged the grab, stepped in front of the crowd, and spread his arms.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I would like to reveal the truth.”

  Jules fired an explosion into the sky and cut off Ephesus’ words. It was the best that he could do; it didn’t seem wise to attack his opponent right after the match was called. Ephesus, however, was unperturbed. He raised a hand in front of him and drew a magic circle—a spell that amplified his voice.

  “The individual that has yet to reveal her identity, the woman behind the iron mask, and Vel’khan’s final fighter, is none other tha—”

  The fake goat suddenly went silent, his voice reduced to a raspy choke. He clutched at his throat, desperately clawing, as if to break free from an invisible hand. But his fingers found nothing, even as he was hoisted into the air. He immediately tried to transform—he would be able to escape if he turned into a cloud—but his flesh refused to listen. Something was fighting back against his orders. Fixing his body into place.

  That was when he felt it.

  A torrential pain that afflicted every part of his form at once.

  And then, without further warning, he fell limp, dead without another word.

  To the crowd, his collapse was a mystery. It was fairly obvious that the explosion hadn’t struck him head on, and Jules hadn’t cast any other spells. But at the same time, it couldn’t have been anyone outside the arena’s shield. The barrier was effectively impenetrable.

  Paling, Jules looked up at the VIP booth. He couldn’t see into the display, courtesy of the illusion cast upon it, but he could already imagine the culprit sitting casually with one leg folded over the other and her eyes ice cold.

  As far as he was concerned, the execution was anything but a mystery.

  Claire had simply drained his health from afar and returned him straight to the flow.

  Ephesus’ body glowed with an iridescent light soon after it fell limp, but it didn’t budge, even as the process was repeated three times. King Ragnar applied more faith and magic with every attempt, his face growing red with strain. The third time around, he even leapt off the platform and personally attended to the corpse while glowing like the sun itself. Alas, his efforts were entirely in vain.

  “It isn’t working,” said Ragnar, quietly. “He isn’t coming back to life.”

  Whispers shot through the crowd. Some of the Alliance’s plants began spreading the rumour that the Obloyd heroes were responsible, but their attempts at fearmongering were immediately shut down. None believed for a moment that they were capable enough to pull off such an assassination, nor did their goals align with silencing his voice.

  Millions of eyes fell upon the VIP booth instead, wherein the subject of Ephesus’ supposed revelation was pictured. Even the nobles turned their eyes upon her. But Claire was perfectly nonchalant. She sat unflinching with her arms and legs crossed and her gaze upon the ring.

  She paused for a moment to consider her options. Deflecting the blame was at the top of the list. Avoiding responsibility was certainly a part of it—not all Cadrians would be happy to accept the terms of the marquis’ death—but it was more about toying with the crowd. The idea of feigning a snore almost had her giggling, but she refrained. Anything she did would ultimately come back to her when she revealed her identity. And while she always had a reputation for falling asleep when unentertained, Rubia had helped her discard it, and she wasn’t about to earn it right back.

  “Vel’khan has nothing to do with this,” she projected her voice with her magic, calmly, as if she wasn’t intentionally misleading a crowd over five million strong. “But I would have silenced him if he continued to speak.” In the end, she erred on the side of not stirring the pot. Arciel was already drowning in work. She didn’t want to make even more.

  The confidence and casual malice that accompanied the declaration had easily fooled the spectators. They immediately began discussing their theories, with most believing her, and only a rare outlier calling the fib. Whatever the case, there was one theme ever present. No one really cared that Ephesus had fallen. If anything, people were calling him dishonourable, declaring that he deserved the punishment for his cowardly use of wordplay. A smaller subsection of that group was even theorizing that it was the War Goddess’ work and that Ephesus had simply been smited for trying to ruin the surprise.

  The circumstances surrounding his death was not quite the only topic on the people’s lips. A few members of the crowd had noticed Ephesus’ use of pronouns, and as most had assumed that the armoured figure was a man, the claim to the contrary had them debating her identity once more.

  Beneath her visor, Claire smirked. She already had the perfect solution. All she needed was a moment to forge Boris into a more incriminating shape, and she’d be free to pin the blame on Vella.

  But much to her chagrin, her father raised his voice before she had the opportunity.

  “I do apologize for not making the announcement ahead of time,” he said. “But with the circumstances as they were, we did not have the opportunity. Lord Ephesus’ silencing was an executive decision made and performed by my daughter. His death itself was coincidental and not intentional. She only intended to render him unconscious, but unfortunately, he was too weak to survive the blow. I extend my condolences to his family.”

  Excitement spread through the colosseum like wildfire. Finally, they’d been allowed to witness the princess in action, not that anyone was all too privy as to exactly what happened. Even the mages, who knew she was always toying with a large clump of invisible mana, claimed that they saw nothing.

  He had simply dropped dead without warning.

  But more exciting than his death itself was the fact that it had happened in the ring.

  They had it recorded.

  Even though they missed how it all happened, they were free to watch it in slow motion and evaluate the princess’ means of attack. Finally, they would learn more about the blasphemer who slew the goddess of numbers.

  “What a stunning revelation!” Octavia stepped onto the freshly repaired stage. “Perhaps Tiberius and Throgg might be able to offer their insights after we step through the battle.” With a new terraformer installed, the arena rewound to the state it’d been in prior to its obliteration. “As neither of our analysts are specialized in magic, we will be joined today by Miss Allegra Cedr! Please welcome Cadria’s Grand Magus to the stage!”

  There was a cheer as the rabbit stepped out of the VIP area and floated over to the panel. “Thank you, Miss Augustus,” she said. “And thank you all for having me today. Master Tiberius, Master Throgg, it is an honour to work with you today.”

  “The honour is all ours, Miss Cedr,” said Throgg.

  So on and so forth, the program continued, all while Claire lamented the opportunity she’d missed to mess with the goddess of war.