Prelude to Book Two: ssenger
Razmund felt like burning charcoal when he dealt with his problems. There was a head flying, eting its End, and pain. A lot of pain. He saw it drop and felt that blood. Then, that ridiculous duck forced his eyes to bleed, yet it still ended up in a similar Fate for that silly woman who couldn't bear the pain of Fate.
He believed that. Deaths were very honest according to his mory. They were like Laws of his words. Dead never returned. That idea should always prevail.
But this world was different. He also died and returned. Could that duck or Velga do the sa thing and hunt him later?
Unless one watched and knew those called Blessed, one should always doubt one's words. Razmund doubted himself. He knew that because he was one himself. Experienced with one life, he awakened up in a world of insanity and wonders close to one giant wonderland. It was a place in the middle of a much vaster universe, or so he was told. It was a belief hardly feasible for his forr life.
He had yet to accept it even after that fight, or was it even called one? The sight of that massive duck left a lingering expression on him, and he thought he had already seen enough of this world in his decades.
The poison that went through his body after dealing with Velga wasn't sothing he had ever experienced either, which spoke of sothing ridiculous, because his Physique was supposed to be extrely great at solving these issues.
Unfortunately, it wasn't sothing that granted him immunity. Not yet at least. For now, it was relentless like his ideology. Like his life. Like his Path seeking so happiness.
Just who was that woman? Razmund thought as he was barely able to move half of his body. My Physique... Mana.... It is all in shambles and no longer going together. This is at least Grade S poison, so what and how to take it? What is happening... That duck. That head. So much Dread and weight. He complained when he rembered his quite heavy Appraisals. Adding his eyes, he was asking for a beating and got more than two of them already.
One was easy but complex, revealing so nasty secrets. The other left him speechless and utterly devasted. He discovered sothing more dreadful than his Master, or anything, really.
Now, he was going through these experiences, half certain this poison could end his life, and half confident nothing like this would kill him. He had so much to do... so much to promise.
Perhaps it is good... that it happened. I killed it. I finished it. Nothing else matters than healing and doing my promise justice, he thought. Death cos once. Why not twice? Perhaps it should've co at sooner. Promise that hasn't been fulfilled. Yes. Death. Go and be done... Sleep and dream.
As he silently complied with his lancholic failure, Paulfred, one of his Blessed Companions, bumped to his side, hitting him where it hurt. They were walking away from the village and their battle when they caused sothing they didn't even understand.
Razmund grunted and snapped at him. “Was that fucking intentional?!”
“Yes,” Paulfred said unapologetically. “You looked way too sorry at the mont, Master. I had to do it. It is called pain treatnt therapy, or so your Master usually says. Is the poison spreading to your head, hm? I bet it will get destroyed much sooner if you are uncharacteristically angry if that's the case. You see? A stronger position always destroys the weaker ones! HA! Isn't that clever?”
Razmund hated how Paulfred often ended up like this; teasing him, hinting, and helping where it wasn't needed. His Companions were truly way too compatible with his stubbornness and this life, which was good and bad at the sa ti. In so regards, he couldn't ask for anyone better. On other occasions, he wished he would be all alone.
No punishnt or training will change their minds by now, unfortunately. It was sothing recomnded by his Master, who was fascinated by Razmund's stubbornness and personality, which made all kinds of potential Companions not appealing.
That didn't happen for that long.
Razmund was kind of disappointed that he went with his suggestions, but these companions were great. They were more trustworthy than any contracted rcenary or bought slave. They served him wholeheartedly because they wanted and needed it very much. It was way too good for them, albeit dangerous. Most of them knew it but couldn't stop doing it for various reasons or causes.
It was about power. It was no Temporal Power Chain. Blessed Companions were even better than that contract, as it wasn't close to a one, but more like a pledge.
Razmund was rarely glad. Having soone to rely on in many parts of his life ant he could forget so issues. Even when it was kind of forceful and weird, it was helpful to have followers. It made him recall so gnarly bosses from his previous life. Leaders. Wrong in heads, but so vivid and sharp in their voices and acts. People lived in packs. Humans were that sort of animal. Razmund wasn't like that; he never wanted to be like that.
Every once in a while, it was fine to seek that idea and act like an asshole or a boss for the sake of it. It was a good reminder in a lot of ways because it always shattered so doubts. Becoming forceful and demanding was like warranting sothing. They should understand it if they want to keep going.
That was why it was forceful; they served soone more significant than they could touch, let alone nibble in their act.
At more such points, Razmund couldn't care less for them because he had his worries and Path to walk in. If they can't keep up, they should stop. It was fair, yet they wouldn't stop. It was stubbornness.
Razmund thought it was like that poison he was feeling right now. It felt worse, however. This half-death numbness was nothing in comparison to so rules of so value.
It wasn't so small matter. Many Blessed Companions couldn't ever co close to their Masters. It was simply too much to expect because of the nature of Blessed.
“I won't die so easily. Not so poisons will crash a future Sage!” Razmund said forcefully, taking his words for nothing worse.
“True,” Paulfred said. “Poison is King's End. Don't die like this before becoming one, Master. Or... Sage? Well, this is awkward,” he was kind of reluctant to tell the latter part, thanks to knowing that his Master was expected to beco a Sage at so point in his life. It was literarily pointed under his Path. Under his life. His talent was supposed to blossom and chance, unlike the predicted start.
Razmund would hit him if he could, but the poison was still acting up, even though so nasty experintal training thods had gone through his body since he was young.
It wasn't a great feeling. No matter how he grew and sturdier his Limiters, attributes, or Path, the pain always felt the sa. It was a shortcoming of his Physique, he assud.
Or was it reminiscent of his past, where pain and relief were considered luxury or very easily felt? What about here? Pain, ti, and age were vastly different concepts in this society, let alone the world as a whole, or... the universe. Just how far he should think or imagine things?
What was even a soul, let alone so magic?
It felt as if he was no longer the human he once thought he was. Many thought so as well because it was correct, yet he still felt like one. No one will tell him otherwise. No King. No Master. No pain.
Pain wasn't nostalgic, but persistent. Pain made him human, or thinking of distress did, he tended to believe and whisper to himself.
Razmund was no monster. He was no beast. He was no insane person who preferred pain over other things. But he often looked like that and felt like that on nurous occasions, or in so eyes. Blurred eyes, shrouded by hatred, confusion, and greed. There were many of them when he often closed his eyes. That was often hard by itself. It wasn't so lunacy. It was a mory. No fragnt, but history.
Laughing, squinting, and pointing at him, black and white felt like no karma. It was all ugly, looking like faces, fingers, and dreams.
Yet, at the end of this madness, what had he acquired? Reputation? He might be strong if he judged it like an idiot or weak if he saw the truth. For now, he was strong. He fled those left out aside to rot or be forgotten pieces of flesh. Soulless. They got what they deserved.
Beside each shoulder, his little hopeful companions supported and carried him away from a very nasty eting. It was such a clash that neither of them could even imagine what had started at this very mont. It was inconceivable to them. Both in craziness and luck, dreadful Ends, or a ti that had no possible future. They had no idea what was before them, or what was tolerating the depths of that well.
Not even Razmund knew what he t and dealt a heavy blow. He crashed so wings and snapped so legs. He wasn't proud or feeling good because of it. He just felt like doing it because what were so beasts, let alone so demonic beasts?
They were dangerous animals that were known to hunt humans in this kingdom. Killing them felt right, yet what was a duck to him? What had he forgotten? There was so greed, wasn't it?
Razmund felt like he missed sothing very important.
Back then, he had no idea who Murai was, or what. He just saw him as a beast with so demonic origins, while that bag was very enticing. It survived his onslaught and beating, so it must be precious.
But after noting the weight that Murai carried by his soul, he thought he saw a fatal oversight.
There was no way that a beast with such a soul was normal. There was no way the bits of aura he felt were all there was to it.
Razmund had yet to know it, but he was feeling wrong about everything that transpired, and right about a few things. It was correct to assu Murai was a weakling with not that strong aura. Why? Razmund was strong, so he didn't think Murai was worth much. The way Velga acted and talked, to the ambush and fight and those Appraisals. Razmund killed them both. Ended them. He shouldn't feel bad, and he didn't.
He was just so fucking anxious, he couldn't even quench his teeth. Was he close to the End? To a simple mission as a Falconer? From the bottom of his mind, he couldn't help but feel irritated, disappointed, and dreadful to feel like this. Perhaps it was his instincts that ca from nurous Delves into Dungeons, or this life that shifted from being helpless. He was very sensitive to dangers by now and felt like Fate was a real villain in everyone's life.
Walking, the pair of Blesed Companions beside him had their ands and work to do. Their Master was hurt. It wasn't their fault. Razmund had made his mistakes today. The kind that will follow him and perhaps give him his redy, followed by a suffering that he won't forget, followed by many temptations.
On their way to the horses, which had been chained away from the village for a while, Paulfred had been holding a handful pouch. Waldorf, the other Life Companion, had been grasping Razmund more firmly, though his injuries hadn't been smallest either. Using a Taboo Item had its rits, but also nasty results. He felt damaged and weak, but not so much as Razmund with that poison eating half of his Vitality away at a ti.
Yet, Waldorf dealt Velga a blow that ended up in their victory. So small wounds and cutting his Vitality away were nothing in comparison to that.
An order was an order.
Blessed Companions were supposed to be shields! Especially the kind that had been screened to Razmund by his Master.
“Master,” Waldorf said calmly, “your injuries aren't small at all. Perhaps we should use the barrack's magical circle? Teleporting is...well...”
Razmund scuffed at them both. One was silent and the other was way too worried. Both were useless ideas that better remained in their silly heads. He won't die because of so position. He was no King. “Shut it... Am not so master what you call, and there is no way portal is right. The scrutiny that would follow it... Horses will do just fine.”
“But you are our Blessed!” Waldorf argued, knowing that caring for him was up to his biggest benefits. He genuinely felt like his servant and so face value or politics in the City of Chaos mattered to neither of them. Razmund didn't care for them either, but right now, he was in a bad state. ntally and physically, he needed so care while his Physique was lasting against a poison that would crash Cores and hinder Laws from existence.
Razmund didn't care for how his so-called privileges in this world affected his life. He was not their master. He was a seeker of his own happiness.
But he was still chained to be called their Master, chained to them for their benefit and value. He didn't think of them as friends. It was like a job for them, while he was their shop. He was providing them with routines and growth out of the Voice, and they provided him with loyalty and help. Any help, frankly, including their own lives down the line, though one was never sure about where safety, power, and balance ever were in this world.
Dangers consisted not only in Mortal or Holy Wars since he was Blessed lood by the Gods. Hiding across the Sky and Depths, they were watching and thinking of the supremacy and well-being of their subjects, or the Ends of their oppositions. Mortals did the sa at lower levels.
Blessed Companions sounded like a dishonest honor of reason and trust to Razmund, though it was also true that this world had its differences and cultures. They were different. Razmund learned to accept so of them through ti, knowing that he had to use what he should and use those who were worthy.
And this pair of Blessed Companions around him were people like him, yet no Blessed. They were breathing the sa air and often held similar hopes and dreams to many other Blessed. But they had no second life under their souls. This single difference was supposed to be small, yet it was such a big deal in this world, that many wished to be his slave. Especially in Centralis Kingdom, which had been Razmund's ho since he was born for the second ti.
Razmund would laugh at them. He didn't need so weird beneficial shop. Because of that, he went with those fervent and crazy enough to accept his current life, his changed head, and ideas that changed the mont he beca soone great. Even Child Blessed had fervent followers due to growth and their political importance. Depending on the talent or the Blessed, things could be vastly different across many of them.
Razmund was nobody at the beginning. He was insignificant like many born Blessed in the Centralis Kingdom. So beca significant faster than others, becoming like stars and powers of their generations, or becoming sothing new due to this world. There were many kinds of Blessed after all. So held regrets, others hope for the past, while so had nothing more than a new life.
Razmund's past wasn't so old, so his ideas and mories were squeezed together, which made his current life complicated. His companions beside him weren't his concern. They followed him even through his crazy life and mind.
How they ended up was their choice. Not his. Their lives were theirs. Razmund learned that such companions died in their line of duty, stupidity, and dreams, and desiring strength that Fate hadn't gifted them.
It was no wonder. Servitude and helping Blessed was a very heavy and dangerous task. It was also full of envy and so politics if one grew very powerful, or sought soone like that, while those seeing their benefits might be people that could change. Good or bad, it didn't matter.
Such companions were under different sets of expectations from normal folks, which was closely related to their Blessed. Without them, they would be nothing.
It was caused by their Quests, a privilege that they clinched into because of their bravery or stupidity. They were supposed to help their Blessed unconditionally. If they failed far too much or simply refused, then it was the end of their Blessed Companionship that worked with the Voice alone. It was like being granted a gift in a shop; a blessing in disguise. It was like a contract because a Blessed was nothing but a person granted a position by the Voice. Without that, one would think of them as ordinary people who had mories of their past.
No companion wanted the end such benefits. But the ending deal was still up to their Blessed, who could refuse them outright, kill them, or set them free from their burdens or hopes, for they were peasants seeking the heavens.
Thus, one should be sincere and do their work for their Blessed as best as possible, or die trying.
That was a belief that Paulfred and Waldorf grew up with, and through luck and effort, they beca the Blessed Companions of soone who grew to quite so heights. They maintained it and beca soone close to him in return.
Though they went through quite so nasty sches and efforts, Razmund tolerated them even with so failures. Frankly, it was a heavy job to see and follow this dipshit, yet they would be nothing without him.
What was so effort before those cherished by the heavens? That was sothing that many citizens of the Centralis Kingdom believed in, so they viewed Blessed as those beseeched by Gods.
Paulfred and Waldorf had been with Razmund for years, so they knew him and his temper, despite fewer details about his past life. It was sensitive to ask about the knowledge from the different Sky, which Razmund was part of.
He wasn't so lofty individual, nor soone arrogant in his head. He was just too damn stubborn and prideful in his individuality of this life. It changed him, often turning their lives south, all the while their little Blessed was closer to Chaos than they understood. It was a different realm of problems when he wasn't a Falconer, so when he was, they were Falconers as well.
It was like a vacation. Making missions for people and subduing monsters like Falconers were easy. Taking care of this ti with Razmund, who had his head filled with unknown, was just better taken slowly.
Not anymore.
They witnessed a change and beca part of sothing bigger.
“Let's get you to the City of Chaos first,” Paulfred said, storing an unknown bag into a spatial pouch beside his hip, “Who knows what will your Master say out of this simple mission? It wasn't supposed to go like this, you see. Why we were stationed here? Isn't that a terrible luck? There wasn't supposed to be such a bullshit!”
Razmund moaned, uttering a grunting huffing sound without any of Paulfred's poking. “Jeez. You shouldn't have said it... Can't imagine what he will say, but...”
Waldorf laughed and told his guesses, which ended up in more grunts. “No worries, Master, we have killed the cause. No need to shed a tear. You need to get back to your feet. Both of them!”
This ti, Razmund had to truly restrain himself from doing sothing stupid.
“Bullshit,” he whispered, knowing that the cause might be more crazy than he thought. Especially Velga was a weird one since her secrets and acts were stranger than that duck's reality or existence. Yzna Mountain. Dark Mages. There were many related interests following that, while Velga was still unknown. Perhaps he was also thinking about wrong things and what they were about wasn't so ti or control.
Two years. That bag or that duck.
Which was it? What organization would willingly touch Fate, or why?
Anything related to Fate was bizarre, and she was in that village, waiting for sothing. So nasty place was behind it, doing sothing that they shouldn't. Velga was just a disposable tool, while many others might be hiding sowhere else. Razmund felt their threat even when he didn't know the truth. Sothing dangerous was moving. That was what his heart was feeling.
His new instincts and life told him it wasn't over yet.
He had to report what he found in Velga, even if it ant her cause was death, and not a whole lot of it made sense. But with the information-gathering network that the Centralis Kingdom had, he was sure things would clear up.
It wasn't easy to get Razmund to his horse, but eventually, they departed this place, before galloping through official roads straight to the City of Chaos, the capital of the Centralis Kingdom, the one who destroyed and captured this land.
Their journey went quicker than one would expect, thanks to the wonderful breed of their horses, or their hurry.
They hadn't returned to their previous locations, the barracks on the outskirts of the newly increased land, where they were stationed as part of Falconers.
They had to return and forget their Falconer duties because of Razmund's injuries and new purpose. He accepted it as his weakness.
It didn't take them more than a couple of hours before a large city's outline erged across the horizon.
It wasn't a simple city; they could see it from very far away thanks to a massive tower in the middle of nurous districts and buildings. It reached out for more than a kiloter into the sky, allowing one to see it quite easily, and giving this city a majestic look.
“No matter how I see it,” Paulfred said, “it is even bigger.”
Razmund held the reins of his horse, barely holding onto his seat, and riding between them. His conditions worsened, much to his previous words and vigor.
“Where to go?” Waldorf asked. “Is it fine to go straight in? What would people think?”
“Nothing. Why ask such a stupid question?” Paulfred said, giving him a long look. “Straight to the barracks, I tell.”
“Shut... up,” Razmund said. “Drop it and get straight to Uzbek. I need to talk to him.”
Paulfred laughed, leaving Waldorf grunting. To the barracks, they went.
The entrance to the city was a big gate, with massive and wide streets going straight through the city in nurous passages. It was a bustling city in the middle of the day, with many people doing business and their living, so no one paid them much attention.
Many adventures and rcenaries were seen everywhere, thanks to various war and hunting-related jobs that were available year-round in the Centralis Kingdom.
It was a paradise for such professions.
Razmund's target was the region around the huge dark tower, and they soon reached the privacy they wanted.
***
Away from the horse, Razmund struggled and moved to the large building with quite so decorum. It was a big blocky building with round styles and big rocks for heftiness and weight, giving this place roughness, weight, and size. There were no windows, so it seed like a giant fortress. For a place seized by royal authority, it was looking odd.
“Shit. Why did the guards tell us he is here?” Paulfred grimaced.
This was the King's Mansion, one of the most secure and secluded places where training was done for the most sensitive people of this kingdom. Many Rising Stars were brought up here, along with multiple generations of them, or others. Nurous training segnts made out of the most skilled teachers and techniques were inside. Many powerful people wanted to co here, but there was no academy. It was more like a camp where one forgot the existence of the outside.
Razmund spent years inside long ago and regretted it ever since. He didn't want to visit this place again. Not only was it close to the huge tower, which, by this point, looked even bigger thanks to its proximity. Thick and made of dark purple, near black bricks, it was majestic and alien when one saw it from this closer and lower perspective.
The City of Chaos was built around it a long ti ago, as it was a pivotal and important majestic structure from the Old World or even older. However, it was hard to call it that, unless one was curious about history, or knew what that tower was from its depth to the tip.
Not even Razmund knew much about it. He was indie of it less than a few tis and it never felt strange since he visited many strange places. He heard its position was similar in reputation to the King himself, with mages and secrets that had the sa power as most powerful royalty. It was still part of this kingdom, yet that tower was more than t the eyes.
They walked into the mansion and were quickly greeted by a couple of butlers in charge of this place. Not many could enter it on a whim, yet when they saw Razmund, they exchanged looks and didn't hinder his path.
“Welco, welco, ugh!?”
“S-sir R-razmund?”
“Wounded?!”
Exclamation from these people was expected. Razmund looked like shit and these people were far too used to that.
In no ti, a whole regi of butlers looked at half-dead Razmund, and imdiately went up at arms, sending for doctors or alchemists. Most had doubtful looks about what to take his appearance for since they heard he was sent to regular Falconer's duties due to so problems he had caused a while back.
Now, he ca back all injured? Just who had this ssed up Blessed attacked? This place was no hospital, but they couldn't just ignore him. It would be ignorant since everyone knew who was currently present in this place, and what business truly ant. No one missed his destroyed armor, deadly face, or half of his body not working properly.
Razmund looked like a wounded soldier who went through war and won.
Paulfred and Waldorf acted as his retainers, so they explained the situation and told the bare minimum of what they wanted to reveal. The most prudent one was Waldorf, who indicted so people with getting the best doctors and getting them into so private room.
Paulfred looked for Razmund's master, though neither was sure where he was. This place was big, and soon, the news about Razmund's return would spread. Perhaps Paulfred should remain with them.
In a short amount of ti, Razmund was lying in bed, surrounded by doctors who were on standby. It wasn't that hard to find so of them quickly due to the training and situations happening in this place. They were also close to the middle portion of this city. No one would deny any work for King Mansion. Not when that man was here.
“What in the world is this?!” one of the doctors, a scruffy old man, said, examining the wounds of barechested Razmund. Wounds were relatively small, but half of his muscles were turning green, straining tendons, and muscle fibers, or hindering his blood. It was cycling and creating a ss out of the flesh. Half flash, to be exact.
The mont it would go to his bones, it would be over. Yet, for so reason, it hadn't happened thus far, so the doctors were speechless by Razmund's resilience, body, and potency of this poison. By now, he should be dead.
“Poison?” Paulfred guessed after he ca back, successfully failing to look for Razmund's master. Waldorf heard his remark and grabbed his neck, dragging him to the other room for a quick chat. He was obviously aware that those doctors had no ti for their bullshit, voice, or their presence.
Razmund was conscious of everything and heard them all. “Poison is poison. It won't kill ... It could be many things and it is dull. It must be sothing dark-related, or from the Depths or Hell. Poison was the dagger itself, or it was...well, it is evil.”
Doctors were unable to assess the situation from that little comnt. They were losing their wits and ideas about how to fix this Blessed.
Not for long.
“What in the hell happened?” A tall man burst from the main door, looking old and powerful, wearing a neat uniform fit for a high alchemist.
“Nothing much. Just hit my head, I guess.” Razmund regarded this acting figurehead of so alchemy associations. He didn't even know which one this person attended to, but he knew he was a reputable great alchemist and doctor.
He shook his head and quickly gave fools attending Razmund different jobs. All surrounding people started to act under his orders, going away to get so materials, or not bother him.
“You sick bastard,” the alchemist, Wault, said. “Whom have you t? Which disaster have you caused again? You should be glad that you are alive with this sort of heavenly poison. Half death, your other half fights, but what if it all ends? I've seen plenty of fools or mighty figures die because of this hellish position. You live because of...well, it does matter. It is good you live. I will crash you next and let you live through this suffering.”
Wault laughed like a maniac and felt good that he was bound to cause pain to this problematic person. He could allow it. No King will cause trouble for him.
It took a while to find the starting ground of this poison, pivot most of its characteristics, and lower the symptoms. It was a cycling poison affecting half of the body at a ti, but when half of the affected body was getting better, the poison would attack the other half. Thus, one had to poison the whole thing or leave all potential cycling routes.
It was a nasty poison that was supposed to have no end. If the body would survive, the person's mind would crack sooner or later. It was an insufferable process.
Yet, Razmund shrugged, giving Wault no ti or sha. He gave him so words alone and assured him that no pain would ever hurt him. “I am still alive... and kicking... with one leg. Also, don't underestimate .”
Wault wished to slap him.
An hour later, though perilous efforts of many treasures, cutting, and acupuncture, Razmund's status stabilized. At that point, barren of poison that sizzled the ground and equipnt alike, it was a ti when no doctor could help any further. Weak, sick-looking, and wounded all over, Razmund had to recover. Alchemy could do more about it, but it wasn't sothing Wault wanted to use.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The rest was up to Razmund.
“You see,” Wault said to him. “Any ordinary person would be dead in a few minutes. You have survived for hours, while the only source of that is the cycling and your body's efficiency or compatibility, but who am I to judge that? I think you are hiding so big mistakes, brat, or sothing that you hold in your depths. Normally, a half-death body poison is no different from turning a person into a skeleton. You need your head and body to function and restore your inner cycling. Your Mana Core was affected as well. In a month you should be kicking things with both legs. Normally, I would call it a miracle to walk, but you are different.”
Wault huffed a breath, took out a pipe, and smoked so treasure. He was sweating and swore this poison was problematic and wished to see where it ca from. Unfortunately, Razmund didn't care for it and Velga's dagger was not important to him because he didn't know its importance. Wault knew its value and got plenty of concepts through Razmund's resilience. If he wasn't here, who would save this Blessed?
“Then I am glad I am not ordinary. I barely winced or cried, right?” Razmund reckoned, causing Wault to regretfully agree and puff more smoke out.
Then, Razmund got plenty of loud words from him next, ordering him to cycle his mana and rest. That ended this charade that would've ended his life.
It didn't take that long after doctors departed for troubles to erge. Unlike the poison, Razmund went ahead with Wault's suggestions.
Forcefully sitting, breathing, and cycling mana, he had been doing his diligent training for many years already. It went through calmness and often so treasures, but this ti, there was no calmness. Well, perhaps he wasn't calmly training for a long ti, if ever after obtaining his reasons. Razmund was bedridden and quite beat by the poison, so he wasn't calm about it because of it, or efficient. His mind was turbulent, thinking of that duck, Velga, and what was the aning behind everything.
Suddenly, doors opened and an unlikely figure walked inside, followed by many pestering butlers, soldiers, and doctors. Wault was among them, giving the King a long look, annoyed words, and puffs of smoke.
Nobody stopped a King. Not here. Not in this kingdom.
The King ca for a visit, which ended Razmund's cycling since he hadn't seen this man very often. In most cases, the visit was either special, weird, or both.
Razmund eyed the approaching hegemon sitting on his lofty throne and felt nervous.
Why had he co? Razmund thought. This shouldn't be his concern unless he was here, to begin with, or... is this related to sothing he wants or knows? What about Uzbek? Does he know what I don't? What is it that I am missing?
Answers will be revealed soon, though he didn't know it yet.
The King was a brazen, tall, and sharp blond-haired man in his forties, though he was much older. His power was unfathomable at the naked eye, or Will, or in mana for those below Level 70. His aura and deanor were fit for a King, and no matter how many people pestered his steps along the way, nobody could stop him. His power radiated under his steps, giving shimring cold hues, a sharp behavior, and bits of his Path away. It was always shining around him, manifesting as shades of indescribable air, clear ice, and invisible wind that swayed his rich attire.
He wore no crown, no sword, or any other bothering tool.
“Well, so sorry kid got injured, so I go to take a look at him,” the King said to Wault, dismissing the butlers and the rest of the doctors behind. He left them in the hall outside, shutting the door before their faces. They couldn't refute him in the slightest and remained outside.
The room wasn't so big, to begin with, but it felt even smaller with King's Presence. Razmund definitely felt smaller, and... weaker. Insignificant.
“Greetings,” Razmund said and bowed with his head. “This much is all I could do to you, oh the king.”
“No matter,” the King laughed and walked further. “It is strange that this is how it goes, young man. Both of us are Blessed, you see, yet you speak as if you are a small insignificant insect. It is interesting when the world takes us in and expects us to play safe or crazy. Everyone is different.”
“Does it matter what one expects?”
“Oh, it does. Everyone thinks that the second life is a blessing and that the Gods watch us and take us onto their mighty minds. Is that true? For whom? I say that knowing the people and this Surface doesn't matter. Everyone has differences between them and so Blessed are worse.”
“I don't care,” Razmund replied.
“You see, this ti was supposed to go fix things together. Give you a bargain for what you've caused. But you spit at that, ca back injured, called yourself Blessed, and gave my brother what?”
“Not every of those is equal. That is true, sir,” Razmund told coldly, eying his wounded and vitality-barren flesh. He won't step out of this bed for a while, which pissed him off.
“Oh, I know that the inequality seems quenched onto your mind, young man. Most Blessed from so of the Greater Sky have that idea. However, this world is bigger than them all, and changes soon always co. They soon understand what matters, and you were the sa.”
“What does that matter? Taking it or not, you speak as if you aren't arming an army of Blessed for your own needs, or for nothing at all. You grow us and give us a place, but aren't you laughing about it too?”
“Laughing, hm?” the King looked out the window and saw the place he owned. “Kingship is a heavy burden, young man. I heard you've lived barely two decades before, so how does this world take that for? Well, it must be sothing wrong with everyone, yet it is such a wild world. I am giving it the attention it deserves.” He gave Ramzund a shape look, eyes blazing in revolving coldness.
“Why are you here?” Razmund cut the chase and went straight to his main worry. “Is it because of ? Sorry, but that is hardly a concern for a King.”
“Falconer duty is supposed to be full of rits.” The king ignored him, which Razmudn couldn't refute even if he wanted. “Not so injuries, youngster. Right, youngster. You are that kind of Blessed. Falconers were supposed to be a work when one accommodated this kingdom and people and gives you ti to forget your fuckups. Yes. You forced this onto yourself.”
“Well, thanks for the vacation, but I don't regret a thing. Where is my Master?”
The King ignored him again. “It is good to know that. Power and job go according to one's abilities, so how co yours is like this? You killed people.” The king waved a hand, indicating the whole room and bed and pointing to Razmund.
“I would do it again. They pissed off.”
“Does it reason with people or families?”
“Ask them when you die. They should bla the ti of weakness.”
“You seriously outgrew your formalities. It is almost unrecognizable.”
“And you speak nonsense and run around the fire like your brother.”
“Oh, Uzbek does it too? No way. I don't trust this.”
Razmund was starting to get annoyed at how this room was getting smaller. The King was definitely here for sothing, but what?
“Sir, this wake is just an unspecified variable in my Path,” Razmund excused himself. “That is not for people or so families to decide. Will you disavow such freedom? I think you said that Blessed have their valid freedom which is just an excuse for so acts.”
“I suppose. You can kill anyone you want as long you are capable. Expect so to kill you in return, or seek revenge. That is the belief from far faraway Skies and this one works and does not work with it. Why? We have our Voice and reasons.”
“So you deny and deny things if they matter? Like Gods, eh? To whom does it make rules??”
“I asked the sa question when I got my Kingship. No, perhaps that was long before that when I got used to the feeling that you are just a tool in a weird ga and that killing and not killing things might put a lot of strings into strange gears.”
“Roger that,” Razmund sighted and scratched his face and hair from his forehead.
Suddenly, the King shifted and faced Razmund's bed. “Even with our Voice, what happened?” the King asked a very strong and assertive question, indicating that sothing that shouldn't have happened, happened. “Or it was your mistake to end like this? As a Falconer, have you found the truth? Well, you aren't one... frankly. It is just a temporary position out of desperation, so what sort of disaster have you t to end in this half-dead state?”
He was right. Razmund knew that Falconer's duty was a loose term for jail because he made mistakes he didn't regret in the slightest. It wasn't consistent. Every once in a while, he would get this job done and be monitored. Nothing more. It was like a slap on the wrist.
But this King's words were strange. What was he asking or inquiring about, or why did Razmudn think he was agitated about sothing? A King whose Level was known to soon reach the limits of 100 Levels?
However, Razmund's mission was simple. It had no mistake. The Voice spoke to him, informing him of a mission about a sudden demon in that village. It was at Grade E difficulty for him, which the King seed to know.
Razmund wouldn't have done such a mission if it weren't for a brazen little girl, who charged into their barracks, created a possibility in Voice, and forced them to accept it because it wasn't anything wrong.
Where did all of that end?
In bed, almost dead, eyed and antagonized by a King, while enduring and knowing that this whole mission was wrong and silly. He was being played.
That was right. Razmund had no awareness of a Blessed Clash. Only Murai was.
“I had plenty of ti to think about what occurred, sir. It includes a lot of doubts and things that I've learned over the years,” Razmund said. “But not anymore. Why, sir, have you co to ? Surely a simple visit isn't why, nor so worries? What is the death of soone like to a King?” Razmund implied this question to be the cause, but he must be wrong.
He was.
“Yes and no,” the King said, smiling. “You see, my brother is loneso. Loathso too, at so capacity. He rarely cares for soone, so when he does, so do I. Sotis, that is. I don't care if you die for example.”
“How generous.”
Razmund didn't trust him at all. He just kept his face straight and tone upright. “My Master, does... he knows sothing? Was what happened a variable that Centralis knew all along and sent there for that purpose?”
“No. We don't work that far. Nothing does, I think. It happened by chance and I don't know what you've endured,” the King cleared his throat, and the door to the other room, the one where Paulfred and Waldorf disappeared into, opened.
A blond man in a rich uniform full of details and ornants, walked in, dragging Paulfred and Waldorf under his arms. Both were witless, speechless, and beaten.
“Oh, a beaten disciple cos crawling back. At last, you are like this not because of !” the man laughed at Razmund, pointing a finger at him close to Paulfred's face. “This is hilarious! Grade E Mission and you are bedridden! This is worth so celebration, brother.”
The King got a slight headache and gestured to his brother to calm down and think about his words twice.
He refused and found much pleasure in Razmund's misery. He had a bright head full of glossy hair, and his eyes were full of gold. They were bright, with nothing inside them other than the sea of golden waves. He looked considerably younger than the King, and his attitude and face were different. He looked not that much older than Razmund, though he wasn't so weakling.
Razmund forced his workable hand over his face, unwilling to show his face to his Master. Why he is like this? Why I am here like this? Why... this fucked up King plays with ? Is this a joke?
Questions didn't matter, because a little pouch flew to his face next, giving him what he deserved. It was his love. His Path.
Razmund looked at it, silent and wavering in his eyes that glanced past his fingers. It was a pouch that he left before his Falconer duty. He always left it aside because its priority wasn't under Falconers unless so nasty missions happened and he was allowed to take it with him. Due to his blunder, his Master took it from him as simple punishnt.
From the half-open pouch, a sizable sword handle protruded, looking cold, thick, and old. Dark in color, its handle was unknown in full length, similar to its edge because the majority of this sword was hiding inside the pouch.
How? It was spatial equipnt for his main weapon. No other weapon mattered to him. Just this one was all Razmund will ever need. If it broke, he would follow. If it cracked... well, he was already cracked.
Razmund grasped it without thinking, eying the curious King and his smiling Master who gave it back.
Then, his Master released Paulfred and Waldorf and kicked them aside. They wobbled and fell, finding their place in the corner where they belonged.
“I heard the gossip and voices from those two fools who failed to see the truth,” the Master pointed to the laying duo before walking over to Razmund and sitting on a table beside the bed. He took an apple from his pocket and looked at him, teasing him with the apple and deep eyes. “Which is curious, you see. I asked and they talked, but I heard nothing. This much...”
A clutter and glinting cuts spread. A sword glint flashed around the room.
In a mont, Razmund swung the handle with one hand, drawing its full length from a handful pouch. Then, he cut into his Master, willing to do it as much as he thought and wished. His speed was low and his arm hurt, but he still attacked with full vigor and movent.
The Master smiled and moved his hand holding an apple.
The glistering weapon aiming at him was long. Substantially long. It was an old, yet surprisingly sharp-looking claymore in its full length and style. It was way too big for a single grip or hand. It had a long handle, and even a guard made of two poles with so intricately designed embroidery made of unknown tal that went into the handle. Edge was silvery grey in all parts, but darker in the sheens below. Yet, the edge and its speed gave it a softer appearance, as it was straight and heavy as claymore were.
Razmund swung it once, eting that hand and cutting the apple in half. Then, it all stopped and his Master clicked his tongue. He caught the halves of apples and appreciated the cut. “This much injury, and this much strength? Dis...”
Mana moved next, crushing Razmund's insides until he coughed up blood. It enveloped the edge of the sword and groans spread because he used his Shaping. It crashed against his healing and still weakened body. He cut again, and again, leaving the apple in pieces.
And in Master's hand.
Then, Razmund lost his strength and his claymore fell to his bed when he accepted his inability. “Fuck you...” he murmured and looked at the wall.
The Master held the apple in pieces, nodding and smiling. “Not bad for cutting. Such a big knife yet so good at slicing apples. Want so?” he offered so slices to the King, who took one just for taste.
Razmund was fed up with this room and people. He wanted to leave.
“Hey, calm down with that pouting face,” the Master said, no longer laughing at Razmund's face. “I ca with worries. Initially... almost. Tell it!” He turned and gave King an urging look.
The King chewed the apple slice and decided to cut the chase. “Well, it isn't much. Your ti was just one oversized Breach. Your mission was a hoax. It was in pieces, or hidden under so Taboo, or so I think.”
“Taboo?” Razmund frowned, turning to the King. Taboo ant a situation or anything troubleso and against all logic and pursuit of the Voice and Gods of the Sky. It had its rits to look at it as sothing that shouldn't ever happen, but that sothing often did, and it was up to the people or Gods to seek them out, excusing them, destroying them, or letting them aside.
“Why a Taboo?” the Master asked the King. “That is a bit of a stretch. Mission and Taboos don't go together. I say it is a Breach. An unfathomable change and idea that just rushed and made a ss of reasons. That's why it is a Breach. Soone crashed against Razmund's ti and logic but straight under the Voice, or the Voice couldn't cope with it while Razmund was between them.”
“What do you an?!” Razmund shouted to them both and was no longer calm.
He looked at his Master and demanded so answers.
“Listen, stupid and far too crazy guy. Tell us what you've encountered first. Then we talk and figure it out because this King of ours has so interesting propositions that forced his hand and... sothing. He doesn't want to tell it to too! Isn't that rude?” the Master ate another slice and glared at his brother.
Razmund decided to talk to them, even if he felt reluctant because of their acts and pressure. He ntioned most of what he endured, morized, and felt. It wasn't because he was fond of secrets, but because it wasn't a clever tactic to give them half-witted answers. They would know the truth or his lies. He told them of his encounter with that lofty duck and everything related to Velga, including her ti, ntions of Fate, and confusion lingering around everything.
Throughout this ti, the King and his brother were thoroughly intrigued and listening.
After hearing most of it, the gold-eyed Masted hopped from the table and took a deep breath. “So, this much... is as expected as crazy. Weird eting for Grade E. Hidden in Fate, or acts of Voice. What is it if not a forfeited Breach and not fully seized chance because of unfamiliarity or complexity? As expected of sothing involving the unknown.”
“A Hidden Mission, perhaps?” Paulfred from aside asked, kneeling and facing the ground, though not so much.
The King nodded. “It might be complicated, but... there is sothing else that is going on. Fate or not, the Dark Mages move all the ti. They might not be it. Hells are stirring more. Now or later, or anywhere, it doesn't matter. You've got involved out of pure luck, frankly. Wasn't this about a simple job of going against so demon that appeared in the village? It ended up like this because of that woman you've killed. You should've apprehended her. It would solve everything.”
“Was too busy feeling hatred and chaos to care for that,” Razmund excused himself.
The King scoffed at him, “Ah, kids these days...” Sighting, he figured little sense in everything.
“What does a King have to do with any of this? When mistakes happen, they don't matter because this is created by variables and unknowns. In a sense, isn't it sincere and how things should be? Not fake or forced or... weird acts that touch this absurdity. The world without limitations. Isn't that the most honest world?” Razmund said, half-hiding his agitation.
“You speak as if you know what it ans. The reason is not here. Why? Sothing else ca up, haven't I said it?” The King chuckled and lifted his arm, tapping his forehead and manifesting a bright symbol attached to his soul. His Kingship was old and wonderful, looking like an energy gem and nurous runic constructs circling over one another. They were much more important than a single life.
It was his authority of a King! A piece of treasure that had a very little equivalent for mortals who were handling the limited authority of these lands from the Old World.
Taking it out ant sothing ca up to his Kingdom in a large tide. An invasion, perhaps? A Mortal War?
Razmund was intrigued if this was a war related to the Dark Mages, or directly going against sothing from Hell. There were nurous potential targets, more hidden ones, or those yet to be even in the equation. For now, he was curious about what would happen.
The King had his ideas. He tapped it lightly and created a little shining light on top of his fingertip.
“ssenger,” he whispered. “Co forth.”
Razmund wasn't sure what he had expected. When those two acted all mysterious and curious, it was obviously sothing serious, but how much? Razmund had seen and accepted Grade S and SS trials before, yet this slled different.
True, it didn't seem like an Origin Dungeon he had endured for a whole year, so what else would be there?
Sothing worse.
From the tip of the King's finger, glint and Authority seeped, acting as a bridge between his Kingship and the Will of the Battleworld above, or sothing much vaster and bigger.
The Will of the Battleworld was the Voice. It was just a different na and a culturally accepted term by this kingdom for thousands of years.
The light spread and then, a ssenger arrived in a blink, as if walking through the window not so far away, shocking Razmund.
A ghost. A figure? It was more of a silhouette that road the air until it found a spot on the table, where it stood like a statue less than a ter away from Razmund. Made of light, fog, and blistering waves of wavering powers that he couldn't understand, Razmund couldn't stop glaring at it.
Sizable like a toddler, the Massanger was mostly human in vision, but ghostly. Its body was foggy and bright, with two little dots for eyes and a line for the mouth.
It smiled.
[It is mostly welcod occasion, Centralis King,] the ssanger talked with an unlikely voice. It was heroic, deep, and definitely belonged to a God because this voice shook everyone in the room, King included. It was a powerful male voice and nothing chanical.
People of this room hailed as mortals from godless lands, though they all knew that this thing was mighty. A God's Will descended in a different vision from Blessings or any mighty force. This was more prudent, ant to guide sothing official, or unofficial that was yet to co. ssengers were like notes of Gods that might be them or their subjects from the Divine Kingdoms.
Apart from Paulfred and Waldorft, who never heard a ssenger, everyone was tense.
Even Razmund saw it once. This was the second ti, and it involved him in so way, because what else made sense? The King ca here with this in mind. Not because of his health, voice, or reason. The King already knew sothing and played with Razmund for so reason. His brother did the sa.
He gulped, nervously glancing at that God ssenger that had no Voice. It was the genuine Authority of so of God and nothing artificial like usual. That voice was intense, powerful, and controlling, affecting gravity, space, or perhaps even the ti itself. It was a concept far from Razmund's current mind or body, but he knew what it represented.
The King was the first to return from his greeting and brightly smiled. “It has been a while, oh, Ruler of the Battleworld.”
[You flatter yourself,] the ssenger said, waving little hands before crossing them on its chest. [I am glad you accepted this note. In any capacity, the current opacity of the issue is sensitive and complicated. Right now, fixing things is a priority but things got ssed up instead. I seize the opportunity by giving worth out to those regarded as bound. I hope your discretion is fine and ready because my position is unfit for a little Tier A power. If you are interested in my offer, then spread your intent widely.]
“Of course,” the King said. “We don't get to heed the Ruler's words directly. What is it that changed? What needs to be done?”
[Not you.] The ssenger pointed to King, then to his brother. [You neither, perhaps. Both can't go and do this justice. You... will do.] It turned and faced Razmund, eting those crazy unblinking eyes and beaten body. It was a little bit awkward because Razmund had a difficult face and his eyes made him look strange and crazy. [Well, you will have to do.]
“?” Razmund asked. “What is this about?”
[You dare refuse ?] the ssenger demanded, highlighting a powerful tone and bits of anger that staggered the existence of this room. The King and his brother backed away from the ssanger and almost bowed. Razmund shuddered, angled his head down, and felt a mountain on his back and head. He looked like bowing and wanted to stop. He didn't want this. He dread of crushing this damned Ruler.
Yet, he didn't consider it was worth agreeing. “Questions go to those worthy, right? What is it that is hiding, s-sir?” He grunted, causing the Massanger to laugh. The pressure lessened.
[No matter, the taker of a Sword Sage Path is at your fitting range. You've proved that fact in that Dungeon, even if you might regret it due to your head and Fate. You will be due for this chance. No matter what, it also includes sothing you deserve and hope for.]
Razmund clutched his fist and gritted his teeth. He never wanted to kill sothing more in his life.
The King cleared his throat. “Ruler, this goes through as well, while this youngster is just between things that make very little sense. I will take that this interest is Veiled?”
[That is correct. This is business related to your little Tier A power and myself. Of course, things will go according to the rules themselves.]
“Oh, that is most interesting. What is it about this Blessed that interests this Ruler? Razmund is our responsibility, you see. My brother takes good care of him.”
The Ruler's ssenger pivoted its head sideways alone, making it natural and crazy. It looked at King. [Yours? Ha! Blessed are not anyone's. You, King. King is face. Your Kingship is yours, but the kingdom isn't. Kingships can lose their value all the ti. Lives are so soft and feeble. It is hard to point it out to mortals. Bare the mind of a mortal Ruler and think of what I will tell next.]
The King didn't like such a tone but against a Ruler, what had he thought would happen? There was no point in argunts if this was sothing good.
The King felt this was an opportunity that was hiding in the unknown. This was an obvious assumption if this Ruler showed up in his private ssanger.
Whether it felt a disaster or not, that was sothing this King had yet to think about.
[Next, I shall ntion the cause of my visit. A series of shortcomings and unfortunate events led to my dismissing attitude and further unfortunate incidents. Thus, I will let the Encounter happen under my rights and so unknown events drive it to acceptance. It has been issued and processed. Now, it awaits.]
“Encounter?!” Razmund's Master shouted and cheerfully giggled. “This is nice. Holy damned hill, this is nice. Directly from the Ruler? That's hilarious.”
The Ruler ignored his cheers and laughter. [Encounter is needed for sothing sensitive, so your discreetness goes without question. It is beginning. Overseen by myself, it needs Origin and Reason. Both are closer than you think and ready.]
The King smiled when he figured most context out of these simple words. Unfortunately, figuring out Gods wasn't an easy task, and there must be reasons for his acts. The King had no idea why the Ruler of this whole planet decided to visit them with this sort of demand. It was unusual. He also asked for discreetness. By his own ssenger of all things?
This reeked of sothing heavy and secret, or straight-up disastrous or dangerous if this happened like this. Why? It ans this Ruler needed them for his own benefit.
The King doubted the validity of this truth and felt sothing wrong for good reasons, which was why he had no desire to back down or be weak. After all, from the very beginning of this Kingdom, Centralis wasn't known to be easy to fuck with. So Ruler of this planet won't change it too much. They can't. What was Sky up to was not sothing that many of those like this King cared about?
That was right. This King had his ambition and bowing to power was a clever thing to do. It was about politics and knowing this world. “What happened, if I might ask? To see Ruler make such a move expresses so wonders.”
[Silance,] the Ruler sharpened its edges and winced its arms, appearing bigger and more nacing. It was a foreign Authority that crashed against the King.
He frowned as he took steps back. “Fine. This much care will involve my Kingdom on many layers, no matter if you refute it now or think of yourself as mighty. Encounter is what, might I ask? We aren't stupid fools.”
The Ruler laughed at such a concept and found it fitting for such a little force to deal with his ssenger. These people were poetic in their vision and hopes, crazy for power and reputations. They weren't that easily used, however. It made them more fitting if one clutched their desires and used them well.
[It might end terribly for your, King.]
“Encounter and your words are heavy and hiding daggers. You want to ss with us, but we can take it if you speak. No matter what, the Encounters under our belt will increase. You won't stop my voice either, Ruler, because you need us. Why else would you co at us so secretly and involve my Kingship? I am here. Listening.” The King didn't back down and shared the burden of this pressure, or to be precise, lifted it up. The air beca ice cold and the ssenger visibly frowned and deepened.
[You don't question , mortal.]
“I don't. It is called common sense where I co from. Centralis is sothing else. They aren't known for listening or doing such justice out of nowhere” the King smirked. “Though, I very much am interested in how your problem is going, what it endures, and why you are so pestering and annoyed. Perhaps it is fine to be forceful from my side because you sought us first. Compromise. How about it?” The King lifted a single finger. “Just one.”
The Ruler didn't like where this was going, but the King read him very well, so he discreetly liked how this King acted. It was with care, worth, and certain appeal and force. Gods were working like that too, albeit mortal kings were far from their lofty thrones.
Kings and Gods had so similar issues but different might.
[Centralis, eh. You are a lucky one or a misfortunate one if this goes where so spirit thinks it does. No matter!] The Ruler cald down and lifted one arm.
A glowing screen appeared above it, appearing out of nowhere. It wasn't the work of this ssenger. It was a work of sothing else.
And it was showing a rather....well, strange was a weak word.
A struggling half-dead duck at the bottom of a well wasn't what a King or his brother had expected.
But Razmund? The mont he had seen it, he shuddered and visibly yelped. “That thing! That fucking little thing!” he pointed at that screen and realized what was wrong.
[My condolences,] the Ruler said to Razmund, [but you will be dealing with this duck for a while, Razmund Dietrich. You've started sothing involuntary without knowing. I considered its force and worth, forcing it to an unknown. It needs attention fit for this situation. You are the Origin.]
Razmund felt as if the world and existence weighed a ton. In the next few minutes, he watched how that duck struggled and lived at the bottom of that well, moving, wincing, and then breathing water. It was alive, struggling in the misery he had caused. Razmund felt guilty. He thought he killed it and that it wouldn't even drown that long.
The King watched it with interest, while his brother moved closer, smiling and finding this very interesting.
Razmund was ignorant.
That duck didn't drown. It kept its life for a very long ti. It was an intense colorless moving picture, causing him to understand the struggle, acts, and no cause.
Then, the duck pushed forth by moving its neck and beak, crawling to the side, before climbing toward the top of that well. All the while its limbs were unstable and barely attached. It was a wonder if the screen was exaggerated, but Razmund didn't think so. He knew what he had caused and seen.
It was a pure struggle. The duck in the picture was bleeding, yet still climbing. Razmund watched it like the King and his brother, who began to cheer Murai up, thinking that if he was in that position, what was a good thing to do? It was a deadly trial.
The climb lasted a long ti for these watchers until the duck climbed closer to where the water ended. Then, the screen flickered and turned weird. Bloodrush was hardly conceived in that colorless screen, shifting hues of energy and wawes of lines. It made this duck into an utter demon and even the King's brother flinched and yelped as if afraid.
Razmund was speechless upon realizing that sothing crazy happened. Suddenly, that duck was more vibrant than ever.
He butchered it, dealt it a grave blow. Why was this God showing it and calling an Encounter to him and this little thing?
It is alive... It is still there?! I didn't kill it but put it through griefing trial instead? How does it make sense? Why it makes sense? Where does this God think it goes? Why call?
[This is a mistake.] the Ruler said regrettably. [Many mistakes were put together until it ca to the Surface after so ti. It was an inevitable ti, in a sense. It shouldn't be right. It shouldn't be here. It isn't good. Everything is wrong... so...]
Barely anyone paid those words much attention.
Razmund was glancing aside, watching his Master cheer for that duck in its climb. It was unfortunate, but the mont the upper portion of the well ca close and its freedom was closer than ever, the duck didn't manage to clutch the edge and fell back to the water. Its jump was futile and weak and its limbs were broken once more when the Bloodrush was over and failing its flesh. For a while, there was hope.
Master was anxious and forgot about his apple.
Razmund fell short of breath at that portion, unaware that this wasn't happening right now. It was a recording of an unfortunate accident of nurous other mistakes.
His? No.
This Ruler's? Also no. This Ruler was just... well, he was a lot of things. what it was about right now, Razmund couldn't guess it. The King couldn't either, nor his brother, who was far too obsessed with the moving screen.
There were no mistakes here. Lives and Blessed ca here in any way and did their things, while the Voice, or Will of the Battleworld could only help everything move better, or worse. Gods had no say in that, albeit they wished and often ddled with everything.
Mistakes happened. They were natural in the universe of Chaos and Order, and where balance was absent. The living were mistakes. Souls were machination in that process, and nothing was perfect.
And this duck...
[This duck is my mistake.] The Ruler revealed without knowing why. He sounded like a sorry engineer who had nurous all-nighters behind him.
The King frowned, staring and scratching his chin, eying the screen where the duck fell and rested on the water. It gave up. His brother aside visibly cursed and shed a tear, obviously touched by how this duck failed such a profound climb for its freedom.
He was touched.
Nobody cared for Ruler's voice besides the King himself. “A duck?”
[Anatidae, to be precise.]
“I recognized it imdiately but didn't want to acknowledge it,” the King sighed, suddenly realizing that the reality of this situation was much more complicated. Anatidae was in question, followed by sothing important that Gods probably knew. Not him. It was about a new Anatidae. A hatching which didn't happen in many decades. Soone would know it. Anyone.
The birth?
The King wondered why nobody and nothing knew of it. By all ans, the Anatidae in the picture was already past its Seedling Stage and grew in the unknown first evolution of its Child Stage.
And from the looks of it, this Ruler was rather intrigued, afraid, and forceful towards it. The King realized it but wasn't sure of the details.
He knew about Anatidaes. Those little creatures were monsters in the bodies of small hunted animals seen as livestock in many words, or simple water and land animals below the chickens.
Unfortunately, this world was unable in common sense and there were many insanities in this world.
Though inured and now waiting for its End, the King reconsidered his approach, words, and choices, figuring that this duck might be the reason for everything. Not Razmund, per se, or him. This Ruler was the main worry because he was aiming this whole thing at this little duck. He was asking them to solve sothing he couldn't touch, or it might be even more complicated.
In that sense, the King decided to swallow so pride and help this Ruler out if it was this interesting and worth it.
Soon, the scene shifted and the duck was raised in a bucket, causing the King to shift in eyes and smack his brother to the wall where he cheered up and celebrated with Paulfred and Waldorf. They weren't aware of what was happening, but they celebrated with their master's master out of sheer will and no choice.
Then, the screen ceased to exist, showing flickering colorless waves. [That is the first wave of what is problematic. It lives. Through Clash, grudge, and eting Razmund.]
Razmund clasped his claymore's handle, visibly straining his hands and eyes. “That thing!? What is it? Ruler?! No... God. What is wrong with it?”
[It is a Blessed Anatidae] He revealed. [Do you fear it, Blessed.]
Razmund eyed the ssenger, taking the word Blessed as a shaking core foundation. That would explain so many things that Razmund wasn't sure what to say or think. Sothing in him broke for sure, or was it the sense of reason that he felt?
“I don't... fear it. I killed it once...”
[Oh, you wish. All is good if you understand your position and my proposition. You will beco Encounter's Side, Razmund Dietrich.] The Ruler clapped and turned to the King. [Regretfully, the Sides of Origin and Reason are still pending in rules and what could happen. In the anti, prepare this fool and be discreet about the Encounter. It hadn't started, and its sensitivity and rules are complex, to say the least. Be vary that sothing separate and difficult might start because of its existence, while you act... well, it doesn't matter to what you will do because I haven't said anything and I am not even here.]
“Oh, I see. It seems this ssenger is an outside factor that is less than a breeze. I don't talk to anyone right now, right?” the King smirked and swore this Ruler got angry for a mont.
“Can't we kill it before it starts?” Razmund asked. “Like, right now? Solve it all!?” He was agitated because he thought he killed it. But now, with this and everything, he was... what was he thinking? Why was he so anxious and shaking?
At that mont, his Master ca over and smacked his face twice, before smashing the last portion of the apple into his sorry mouth.
“Listeeeen, Razmund, my dear green disciple. This Ruler cos and judges us enough and wants so help. Killing before the Encounter goes around many things, while the ntions of the Encounter are what? It ans it is a problem for this Ruler, but an opportunity that needs so attention from mortals. Killing it ans it would be seen quite far and unfortunate since it is clearly a high-ranked player. I like it. The idea that he seeks us out without doing so nasty ambush and killing it himself, he relies on sothing else instead for a good reason. It ans it can't be helped. Sothing official and more prudent is needed. That ans his hands are tied because of other Gods, right?” the Master turned to the Ruler and gave him a aningful look.
[That is unfortunately right. I was seeking sothing new and different but the reality is often disappointing. Gods... no, everything is more sensitive than it is. You. Be vary and in upcoming days, don't stir it. You are my Agents now.]
“Agents?” The King nodded and watched how the ssenger bliped to nothingness, leaving not a speck of fog behind. “That is hilarious.”
His brother turned to him after shoving reluctant Razmund deeper into the bed.
“Zendurion,” he started. “This reeks of so nasty troubles and no simple godly benefits, doubts, or hopes. It reeks of so much more if Ruler is like this. Anatidae or not, that one in that screen was alive and kicking and it conceals so many other holes that Ruler hadn't even ntioned. Whose Blessed it is? What kind? The Ruler wants so dirty work done while he reaps so benefits. That is my gut feeling. Nothing about it is normal. I an... what about Razmund? Sothing is fishy.”
The King remained silent for a while until he turned and began walking away. “We will take it regardless. Ti is pending. For now, support your ideas and make sure Razmund will take them seriously. Think of Helpers as well. We will crush it if we can and if it is viable. If not, then what do so rules matter if the Ruler himself wants it done discreetly and like this? He spoke of it even if he didn't. He wants us to do a dirty work for him. Obviously, it won't be cheap or for free. Rules don't an trust or facts.”
Razmund felt a headache when the King left and he felt even less certain about his ti.
Holding his claymore, he watched how his Master glanced at him next.
“Oh well, this is gonna hurt,” he said and cracked his fists. “I kind of like that duck, you see, so tell everything you know about it and what you didn't tell my brother. I know you didn't. That Approasiled and soul. Its weight and notes. That Anatidae might be deep trouble if it is Blessed, so talk to when I will fix this shit about you.”
Razmund sighed.
Outside the room, the King glared at his attentats and shooed doctors and butlers away. “Leave this room alone and go away.”
They bowed and left the place alone apart from the attendants. Walt waited but a simple annoyed look from the King shuddered his core and forced him to leave.
Attendants wore black uniforms and seed important. “What is it, oh the King?”
“Summon Apocalypses, inform the Endless Tower that I will co, and notify the armies to increase their processes.”
“Not every Apocalypse is present.”
“Do it... Sothing will happen soon. Notify them and...”
“Well, there is news about the Lunatic. He might co back.”
“Oh, good.” the King smiled. “I want so things done aside from that too. Make sure to ensure no one hears of it.”
The attendants bowed and promised it as if it already happened.
The King would use this situation to his advantage if he had to, and so Ruler might crawl to him for help if he was like this. No Centralis would ignore such an enticing chance. No. He will take advantage of it and do as many Breaches or Taboos as long as the Ruler desires them.
For now, it will be a ga of layers and rules that might hide in the Sky and unknown Depths, but it will inevitably crush into the Surface.
He could wait or move beforehand. His brother already proposed that.
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