762. A Death Banquet

762. A Death Banquet

“Mage Dallion Darude and novice!” A loud voice boomed before Dallion could determine the source of the item.

Damn it!

He thought. Of all the times that the archduke’s snobbishness could erupt, why did it have to be now?

Four fury guards stood to attention at the hall’s entrance. Everyone’s eyes focused on Dallion. The crowd was rather impressive, composed of several hundred people, all dressed in their most illustrious clothes. Fury guards were everywhere, giving the atmosphere a distinctly military vibe. And yet, it was obvious that everything was just a hollow façade. While still important, less than half of the people were nobles. There were no representatives of any other archduke families, even the neighboring ones. Members of high-powered guilds and merchant organizations had taken their place. Most notable of all, there was no imperial presence whatsoever.

With a diplomatically acceptable smile, Dallion made his way along the length of the hall, straight towards the elevated section where the archduke’s throne was. Power still emanated from the man, but now the sense of boredom was replaced with tiredness. The man who at one point Dallion thought capable of shattering mountains with a single punch now seemed like a wounded lion struggling to maintain the appearance of his former glory. Even worse, everyone in the hall seemed to know it. They were smart enough to know they’d never survive a direct confrontation, so instead they were patiently waiting for the moment a new archduke would emerge. The emotions of the Linatol family were especially turbulent. Several of the immediate members were considering how soon they could make a go for the position, while the rest were ashamed they had fallen to such a level.

Noble problems,

Dallion thought.

A thin elderly mage in a deep blue robe stood a few steps from the throne. Dallion hadn’t seen him before, but could tell by the magic emanating from the man that he was powerful and probably important. Dark-skinned with almost entirely purple eyes, he had the Lanitol emblem embroidered on the upper right section of his robe, suggesting that he was related to the family in some fashion.

Everyone’s here

, a whisper said among the crowd.

Dallion fought the urge to combat split in an attempt to find the source. He knew that it was an item, though a different one than that which had warned him moments ago. Also, this one wasn’t talking to him, but to someone else. Unless there was another empath right here, right now, that suggested that the item had an ancient guardian.

Stopping ten feet from the throne, Dallion bowed.

“Archduke Linatol,” he said. “The archmage commends you on your victory.”

The Lanitol mage snorted. It wasn’t that he found the lie amusing, but rather disapproved that Dallion was the one talking in the name of the Academy.

“Dallion Darude,” the noble said with a semi smile. “Better known as the battle apprentice. I heard you were instrumental in dealing with three rogue mages.”

That was false. Dallion had taken down six and assisted in the capture of a few more. Of course, no one counted the first three since that occurred before the mage legion was established. Also, two of those three were children.

“We learned that you went through Nerosal before joining us here,” the archduke continued. “Is there a reason for that?”

“My apologies, archduke. I was eager to try and find more about the one who got away.” He paused for a moment. “And also to claim my novice.”

There were a lot of ways the conversation could have continued from there, most of them bad. Fortunately, the archduke remained blinded by his own ego.

“Maybe you can help me as well. Seems that several mages have tried their luck going against me. Some steal from me, others come to my land to hide out, thinking that I wouldn’t notice.”

This almost sounded like a threat directed at Dallion. Thanks to his music skills, though, he got the impression that it related to someone else.

“A rogue had the gall to venture into one of my ruins and proclaim them theirs. I would have gone deal with him myself, but Nerot convinced me this is a matter for the Academy.”

“We take care of our own.” The mage nearby nodded in agreement. “Although I don’t see any reason the

battle apprentice

should refuse.”

My owner will take out the three by the column

, an item said. From what Dallion could make out, it was a knife.

The bows in the courtyard are on our side

, another voice said.

They won’t hit their target.

What about the apprentice? He’s an empath?

Internally Dallion froze. This wasn’t a case of items talking to each other! The discussion was between echoes! Combining magic with music in the Nerosal vortex must have triggered something, allowing him to listen to them as well. That’s why he was only hearing bits and pieces—his ability remained underdeveloped.

“Battle apprentice?” the mage asked.

“Of course, mage Nerot,” Dallion quickly replied. He didn’t like the situation he was in one bit. Even the appearance of using magic in front of the archduke could be viewed as an insult as best and treason at worst. Why wasn’t the overseer noticing anything, though?

“Splendid.” The old man grinned. “I’ll be sure to discuss matters with you later in the evening. Maybe after the auction is over.”

You three attack the fury,

Dallion heard among the echo whispers. At this point, there were so many of them that they had become a constant hiss in the background.

We must take them down at the same time. No mistakes…

“We have a rather special item tonight,” the archduke said, oblivious to what Dallion could hear. “Something from my personal collection. Priscord wanted to get her hands on it, of course. They all would. Now I’ll sell it to the highest bidder just to prove how pitiful she is.”

Dallion’s muscles tensed. The whispers kept on increasing, blocking out the noble’s words until, suddenly, they all stopped.

Crap!

Dallion thought. He knew all too well what was to follow.

No longer worried that his actions would create a major scandal, he split into twenty instances. Almost simultaneously, crossbow bolts rained onto him. The attack had started.

“Ruby!” Dallion shouted, while casting an aether sphere surrounding him, Diroh, the archduke and everyone else in the immediate vicinity.

How the hell did they get a crossbow in here?!

he wondered. The overseer had explicitly said that no weapons were allowed at that banquet, not even a dagger. And yet, whoever had organized this attack had brought in the heavy artillery.

Waves of wind slashes flew in the direction of the crossbow attacker, causing the bolts to shatter before they had approached the target. Unfortunately, that was only the tip of the iceberg. Dozens of attackers had engaged as well, focusing on the armed guards and any nobles that tried to put up a fight.

A wall of ice blocked off the upper part of the hall from everyone else. Diroh had been faster to react than Dallion hoped.

“Skye, Ruby, guard Di,” he ordered, while starting a portal spell to summon his harpsisword. Now that the surprise attack had failed, if anyone would get hurt, it wouldn’t be the archduke.

“Archduke, we should take this in the open,” Dallion split into instances.

To his horror, the noble had remained in his seat completely motionless, his lips half open, as if finishing the last word he was saying.

Before Dallion could figure out what was going on, magic threads shot out from the mage, forming a ten-circle spell that skewered three quarters of Dallion’s instances. Thankfully, five survived. Choosing one to become reality, Dallion quickly split again.

This was a tough one. Facing a mage of Nerot’s level was more than he could handle. His only only advantages were speed and the close distance between them.

Gritting his teeth, Dallion dashed forward with a series of slash attacks.

“I’m not trying to harm the archduke,” he quickly said, using his music skills to add as much calmness as possible in his words. “I’m trying to save him.”

Sound threads attempted to attach themselves to the mage, yet the moment one made contact, it snapped, rendering the effort pointless. It was at that point that Dallion knew: the mage wasn’t attacking him because he feared that Dallion was part of the coup; he was attacking because he had organized it.

Aether barriers emerged as quickly as Dallion could strike. While to an onlooker it might have seemed that he was dealing significant damage to the mage, in reality, the blade was stopping a quarter of an inch shy of its target.

“Ruby, attack!” he ordered.

Nothing followed. Dallion’s first reaction was to turn around with one of his instances and see what was going on. However, it was at that point that he noticed:

nothing

had followed. The attacks, the yells, even the screams of panic had all disappeared. It was as if everyone and everything in the room had frozen in time, leaving him and Nerot to hash it out.

Infusing his sword with spark, Dallion continued on the offensive. His opponent kept casting spells with both hands, each more intricate than the last. The speed at which this was done was passable. The technique, on the other hand, was astounding. Each spell seemed original, with so many false connections and dummy symbols that Dallion had no idea what the effects would be. In situations such as this, it was best not to find out.

Skipping between surviving instances, he consciously targeted the mage’s hands. The attacks remained inefficient as before, but nine times out of ten Dallion would sever the threads before the spell could fully form, rendering it harmless.

“Arrogant,” Nerot said once it was clear that the two were at an impasse. This was one case in which Dallion was grateful he was fighting a far older opponent. If the mage had been a decade or two younger, the fight would have long been over. “Bad at magic, so focusing on interrupting others.”

“The rules of the wilderness, mage.” Dallion attempted a multi attack in the hopes that one of the strikes would break through the defensive barriers. It didn’t.

“Only the weak don’t follow etiquette.”

Using his left hand, Dallion attempted to cast a simple aether projectile spell. The mage wasn’t able to stop him. Six bolts darted forward, striking Nerot’s torso. Similar to all previous attacks, only flashes of light followed.

There has to be a mega spell on the floor,

Dallion thought.

That would explain the stillness all around him. Or was it stillness? As far as he knew, the fight between him and the mage might as well be locked within a single second of real time. Chrono-spells weren’t a popular area, mostly due to their highly impractical nature, but there were still those that dabbled. Such spells were difficult to prepare, almost impossible to execute, and seldom achieved anything. Or maybe this wasn’t time magic. There was only one instance in which time dilation occurred—when within an item, a prison item, to be precise.

“You turned the entire room into a prison item?” Dallion asked, while still attacking.

“Not a complete idiot.” The other grunted.

That was why the mage had called Dallion arrogant. It had nothing to do with his fighting style, but the fact that he had remained half an inch above the ground at all times. Unlike everyone else in the room, Dallion’s feet had never come into contact with the floor, preventing him from getting sucked into the prison item’s realm.

“If you created the trap, why the attackers?” Dallion asked.

No longer had he done so, when the answer hit him like a brick. As long as there was only one survivor, the emperor would accept any account he was given.

“You aren’t betraying the empire,” Dallion said. “You just want to replace the archduke.”

“No. I’m just severing my ties with the so-called archmage,” waves of hatred emanated from the man.

A note from Lise Eclaire

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