Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 609: Leaving Behind Mankind

“Thanks for coming, Melanie,” Argrave expressed his gratitude. “I know you’ve been taking it a bit easy since that debacle with Traugott.”

The red-haired mercenary-turned-countess stared up at him with her defiant green eyes. “You just haven’t been giving me things to do,” Melanie disagreed. “Unless you include fobbing off Dario onto me, having me follow him about as we fortify the cities and the towns. But enough about me—you wanted me to create a portal, yeah?”

Melanie did so, reappearing somewhere else a great distance away. She hollered at him to inform she was done, but Argrave was already doing something. He conjured a dagger out of his black blood, clenching his teeth at the pain of the blood magic. Then, he swung it through. It passed by what she’d made like passing through air.

Yet the portal… like a cloud of fog blown away by a swift breeze, it dissipated into nothing. Argrave exhaled in eager shock, then looked to Anneliese.

“It vanished,” confirmed Anneliese with her [Truesight], crossing her arms with a mix of wonderment and displeasure. She wasn’t fond of Argrave using blood magic, but she couldn’t disguise some awe and curiosity at what it had become.

“Melanie!” Argrave shouted. “Did you feel that? Anything hurt?”

“I felt it, but it didn’t hurt!” She yelled as he walked back slowly.

“Try the blood echoes, now” Raven instructed quietly.

They repeated the experiment without changing any variables besides that, all the way down to the spot Melanie teleported to and from. Argrave cast a spell of the same rank as the dagger he’d summoned from an echo. Unlike before, his blood magic seemed to catch and stick on the portal before overwhelming it.

“The power is diminished, but still present. You can annihilate divine powers with both forms of blood magic.” Raven confirmed after the experiment had been repeated. “That’s well in line with what both Anneliese and I can perceive in them. It would seem your hypothesis is correct, and the power is proportional to your personal sacrifice. But at the same time…”

“My recovery is so far beyond what it used to be.” Argrave clenched his hand.

Ordinarily after using blood magic, he’d feel some lethargy, especially in the limb that’d cast the spell. It had still come, but it faded in less than a minute.

Raven grew eyes on the tips of his fingers, and they scrutinized Argrave from all angles while glowing green. “The spirits you once used for magic have become part of you. One with you, even. It’s similar to that displayed by a god, but simultaneously different enough I cannot deem you one. I can sense no new organ for this function; rather, it is as though your soul has become the conduit through which divinity manifests as something physical. So long as the soul exists with spirits inside it, you can reconstitute. Considering your soul is undying…”

“Sounds rather like a lich. A holy lich,” Argrave marveled.

“Without its many burdens, nor the imposition of possession by Gerechtigkeit when he descends.” Raven withdrew his probing eyes. “I daresay you’re more durable than I am, by a small margin. Should you take in yet more spirits, that margin will become an insurmountable chasm. But enough talk—let us see the magnitude of your improvement elsewhere. Cut this.”

Raven conjured an S-rank ward, the mana ripple visible for only half a second before a golden shield appeared to ward him. Argrave again conjured a dagger, then swung it. It was F-rank—he wasn’t expecting much. Yet to his surprise, it pierced and sunk in slightly. Argrave could feel the thing bubbling in his hands, and though he wished to drop it, he continued on. The dagger burnt itself away, and when it ceased, he’d nearly pierced the entire ward.

“It nearly broke through. Impressive. I have a theory, however.” Raven waved his hand, and the ward vanished. “Prepare a weapon of higher-rank.”

Argrave conjured a C-rank [Putrid Paramerion], taking hold of the curved blade it conjured. Already his pain faded in wake of his healing.

Raven raised his hand slowly, then conjured an ice ball about the size of a bowling ball. “Cut this,” he demanded.

Argrave had been prepared to walk forth and cut it, but it projected forth with intense speed. Argrave swung the weightless blade quickly, expecting to meet resistance. He felt it only briefly before the ice ball combusted into dark red embers and vanished into nothingness.

“It eats through magic,” Raven explained, his sharp teeth appearing in a grin. Argrave had never seen him smile before, and so he stared in shock. The huge man took a step forward and planted his foot down. “That whip-like spell you’re fond of— [Nine-Tailed Bloodbriar]. Use it against what comes next.”

Argrave brought the spell to the tip of his mind, expecting to be met with a small snowstorm or a wave of ice shards. Instead, Raven brought his hand back, and a mana-ripple spread out. A pillar of fire erupted like a raging volcano, and Argrave cast the spell by preparation and instinct both. His wrist and much of his arm exploded with blood, and the B-ranked spell cracked outward to meet the S-ranked spell. Instead of its briars withering before the superior strength and coverage of the inferno, the fire died as easily as a candle flame in harsh winds.

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“Argrave.” Raven walked forth as the fire died. The scorch marks left by his spell were vastly overshadowed by the gigantic claw marks in the earth from Argrave’s whips. “You may well have become the strongest spellcaster in the world with this. I do not believe I could best you in a straightforward fight, anymore. And I believe we merely scratch the surface of your ability’s true potential.”

Argrave clenched his wounded arm. A B-rank spell had stung a hell of a lot, but it had put an S-rank spell in its place with what appeared to be relative ease. Even as he watched, the cracks in his skin born of blood magic sealed, leaving behind only small lines of coagulated black blood that had spilled from the wounds before they closed.

“Three of those fruits remain,” Raven said. “Having seen firsthand what they can do, I can now agree with the assessment posed by others; they possess unfathomable power and potential. If it might bring about such a change in you, I daresay there is little we could not use it for.”

Argrave stared up at Raven for a few moments, then turned to look at his family.

“By rights… what remains of them is yours,” Argrave told Elenore and Orion. “We earned them together.”

“I renounce my claim, and render it unto you,” Orion told Argrave without a moment’s hesitation.

“The math is strange, anyhow. Each of us own one and one-third of a fruit. Best to just to give it to one person. Who better than the king?” Elenore crossed her arms. “Doesn’t make sense for me to eat it or hold onto it. I’m not a combatant. Never have been.”

Now that he knew what each Fruit of Being could offer, rather than eager to use them, he was more hesitant than ever. Raven said yet more powers remained unexplored, but even with what Argrave already discovered, it felt a little difficult to wrap his head around the extremity of the gift. The fact the supply was limited, however, meant it was not something they could give so liberally. With only three, given how large his circle had grown, someone would be left behind.

The meaning of the word ‘immortal’ set in, without a solely positive connotation any longer.

“The man just found out he’s one of the strongest people in the world, and he looks like he’s going to cry,” Melanie jested to Elenore. “Damn baby.”

Argrave was somewhat pulled away from the solemn edge he found himself standing on, and managed a half-hearted chuckle.

“All I know is this; we need a new tax. A spirit tax, for every spellcaster with knowledge enough to have them,” Elenore declared. “Maybe there’s still time enough yet to join in on the raid of Kirel Qircassia. Or maybe I can find some reason to have you execute one of our new junior partners in the Blackgard Union.”

“Let us plumb the depths of your abilities.” Raven put his hand on Argrave’s shoulder. “What would you say to allowing me to totally eviscerate your body, to test the limits and speed of your regeneration?”

Argrave looked in horror… and Raven actually laughed. It sounded more like ‘infernal demon taunting his victims’ than ‘friend making a jest,’ but it proved one thing. Raven had gained as much as he said he had. He was alive again.

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The minds of Gilderwatchers were vast things, capable of concentrating on enough at the same time that most human minds would break under the workload of their kind. But now, Vasquer’s own brain was stretched to its limits as she saw a huge silver serpent slither over the mountains, approaching her. The reason? Memories that she had lost, returning all at once. Her family. Not the one falsely implanted by consequence of her leaving them, but her true family—the Gilderwatchers, the Melding, and the one before her… Lindon.

She thought to reach out to Elenore and inform of this guest, but Lindon’s voice entered her mind.

“Let them come to you in their own time. They have much to contend with, at present, and I would like to speak to you before they arrive. Besides, I’m not truly here. I’m not truly anywhere.”

Vasquer’s mind combed her old memories, unearthing something she’d long ago been forced to forget as her price for coming to the surface. Lindon did not have a physical form. Instead, he existed in every Gilderwatcher as a welcome, relatively unintrusive guest. He was them, and they were him. In ages past, their enemies had not genocided the Gilderwatchers due to their association with Lindon. They hunted him alone—but he could only die if every single Gilderwatcher died.

Now, he visited with Vasquer. If Argrave or another witnessed her, they would see her eyes had gone silver.

“You were missed at the Melding this millennium. Unfortunately, Argrave did not seek me out quickly enough to reinvolve you before it occurred. Still, he has opened the link for my relative freedom. Hence, I came here.”

Vasquer felt his regret along with his words, and questioned why he spoke in mortal tongue when both might see and feel each other’s minds without restraint or obfuscation.

“My mind could overwhelm even you,” Lindon said, without arrogance. “And besides, it’s not a mortal tongue. You have forgotten much. By treaty, we maintain a universal language. But ask me no more questions, please—I assure you that these memories will return in time.”

Vasquer contented herself, feeling happiness surge within at the visit of her distant ancestor. She sent forth queries about her descendant’s wellbeing after their meeting. Argrave, Elenore, Orion—they were precious existences to her.

“I helped them obtain something, and I intend to help them further yet. But despite my help, there are matters I believe I cannot broach easily. They are attached to you more than they are me, and so I would ask favors of you.”

Vasquer felt suspicion and protectiveness rise up unbidden—though she respected Lindon, she loved her children. She did not wish to be the cudgel in a scheme, if that was what he intended.

“An admirable quality of yours. I do not ask you conceal my name, only deliver my words and feelings in a manner you believe they would respond best to. All of them—Argrave most of all—have deep affection, even love, for this young girl Sophia. Hence, this will be a difficult subject.”