The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 976: A royal selfie

A few days trip, “-come one come all,” cried wanderers, “-prices are the best in town,” they said. A tall building stretched beside the elaborate port. Ships of varying sizes and craftsmanship were anchored. Foul-mouthed sailors were quite the common sight. “-Mine Inn,” said the tall building, the ground of which was covered in restaurants and places for a hearty drink. Igna walked arm in arm with Saniata, “-this place sure looks alright,” he commented.

“To a wealthy man it’s a trading heaven,” she answered, “-for those in the lower social class, not too great.”

“Isn’t that the same everywhere,” the journey stopped shy of a bridge – a large canal went through the lines of buildings, blocks squares, and rectangles eventually headed to the sea. Long the canals, deeper within the town, were the populous’ rubbish, filth, and waste. Little further and local factories joined the fray, “-what a mess,” said Saniata, “-We should hurry, don’t wish to carry the plague.”

“Falling in will surely awaken a person,” he narrowed at the growing mess, “-no matter, let’s head to shop.”

One and true reason finally stood before them. A low-key shop took refuge amongst other shops, above which were apartment-like settlements. Lines of drying clothes and other necessities were crude on the mind. Seeing a person’s choice underwear, wherein laid marks of brown or red – the haunting display had Saniata increase her grip. “-Clockwork shop,” read the name. lovely gadgetry and intriguing complex mechanisms were shown on the displays. They carried, pushed through a painted blue door to a slap of oil and machine-like odor.

“Ahoy,” bellowed within, “-welcome to my shop,” a man dressed in a blacksmith’s apron appeared, “-I see,” the face immediately tightened, “-lord Igna, what a pleasant surprise.”

“No, it’s not pleasant,” he quipped, “-I see thy discomfort over thine visage, lord Artanos, rather, his double?”

.....

“Yeah,” nodded the shopkeeper, “-the name’s Artanos, a split personage of my god. What brings you to my humble shop?”

“Easy on the animosity,” he entered, “-I bring only my curiosity. Seems thy shop’s affluent.”

“Noticed?”

“How could I not. Many inventions seen so far have carried a strangeness to them. One wherein resembled the work on display. The new continent, how do you find the place?”

“It’s alright,” he returned, “-would have preferred something more along the lines of Rosespire’s nightlife. Virgin land is always fun to conquest. Tell me, what brings you here?”

“To sign a non-aggression pact. If we were to fight head-on, the realm surely wouldn’t survive.”

“Orin’s got a charm to it,” interjected Artanos, “-I promise not to harm the dimension,’ I don’t have quite the level of destructive power my darling has. She sadly left thy care. Worry not, my lord, I shall keep her safe and sound, as well as satisfied.”

“Long as she’s happy.”

“You’re quite selfish and aren’t afraid to show smugness. Such unrelenting confidence.”

“Being this old is bound to make one confident. Tell me, Artanos, about our war?”

“We need reassurance too,” he moved forward, and a strong flash of light gave into an identical figure exiting a portal, “-Lord Igna,” said the true god of knowledge, “-we’re both astute men who keep our cards hidden. You know as well as I do, tis best for our intention to remain secretive. Keep the other one guessing, so ought to be how tacticians attack. As for us, being faced against someone of equal if not greater intellect, the guessing game is more of a fifty-fifty gamble. Therefore, I’d prefer to agree on terms sealed within the confine of a blood pact.”

“I’m all ears,” he said, “-rather, how about we both have a maximum of three.”

He nodded affirmingly, and thus began a long minute of thought.

“Do no harm to the realm,” said Igna.

“Limit the harm to the populous,” added Artanos.

“Act in a way befitting thy mantle,” said Igna.

“Freedom of choice in political matter,” added Artanos.

“No direct confrontation lest within Draebala,” said Igna.

“Conflict ought to be settled diplomatically within Orin and physically within Draebala,” added Artanos.

A seal forged by their blood burns into dust, “-no hidden meaning or loopholes,” added Artanos, “-I mean, circumventing laws is what this world has excelled at. I’m glad to see you show thy heart bare. Safety of Orin is paramount – such as what you had me believe, and such is what I shall believe. King of Hidros, as a resident of another realm, I shan’t interfere within the mortal realm’s matter. My double shall be our liaison.”

“The children?”

“They work peacefully in the mines. Some have departed for Hidros and have joined adventuring parties. Half-clockwork as they are, my children have beating hearts and emotions. I don’t control their action, at least not when they’re out there living life for themselves.”

“Well then,” they firmed handshakes, “-enjoy thy stay.”

“You too, majesty.” The cries of merchants carried weight. Clockwork shop was long in the faded background, “-Saniata?”

“Yes?”

“Why the glum?”

“I don’t know. I thought seeing Artanos would make my bone quiver in fear or something. Expected someone strong, someone, who’d make me draw onto my powers... I don’t know, the discussion felt normal. Boring folks talking boring politics, what’s the point anyways?”

“Ah,” he tapped her back, “-my dear Saniata, you’ve misread the situation. It wasn’t an ordinary discussion. The words and hidden intent were all the more I can stomach,” a passing moment of weakness knocked the balance, “-my,” he stopped and glanced over the bridge, “-took a lot out of me.”

“...” if her expression were to be representant at that moment as a symbol, the contours would vaguely decrypt a question mark. “Parle is one of the greater weapons one possesses. The ability to change a person’s mind using words is unrivaled. Artanos knows what he wants and what he can willingly give. Entice thy enemy, show them what they can’t pass, thus, they’ll move per thy direction. Artanos is shrewd, however, I have something on him that he’ll never have on us, my guardian deities. Taking Gophy was his way of saying hi. Suppose her surrendering her symbol wasn’t part of the masterplan,’ he smiled, “-I mean, I would be angry too,” he narrowed, “-like those fighting games popular nowadays. Unlock the boss and he’s useless, I swear,” he clenched his fist, “-those who made Ikian Tournament... I’ll have them pay, I swear.”

“It’s just a game,” she said, “-isn’t the king too old to play what is at best, a set of moving pictures for kids?”

“You think it easy to refuse my aunt?” he turned with a pained expression, “-enough of my trouble, here’s what happened,” they crossed the oval bridge, “-us winning the battle in Draebala must have risen curiosity amongst the Titan faction. Inux’s a safe haven now that we’re protecting the town – as the other faction were to understand, tis a member of the Eipea Empire who decimated the Titan army. Morale rises within the godly faction by which they’ll move their army onto the main continent in an effort to finish what one of their own commenced. Leave it to the gods, ruthless as I say they are, their sense of loyalty and camaraderie is unrivaled. Zeus’ hatred towards Titan is well known, I’m sure Draebala is on the verge of full-on war. Artanos has to regroup and retreat, otherwise, a future invasion’ out of the picture.”

“How are you so sure?”

“My,” he smiled, “-I have myself to thank. Vengeance’s on a cleansing mission across the world. He’ll slaughter anyone with traces of Artanos’s magic. The souls and bodies captured for further testing,” he rubbed his palm silently, “-anyway, we should head back.”

And so he did; the countryside after meeting Artanos grew to become a nice little outlet for reflection. Though none knew, the matter of Gophy and Aceline greatly touched him, “-the days pass without change. The never changing scenery. Saniata’s whims and random accidents involving exploded heads of ruffians. New continent sure had quite the interesting prospect of limitless vision.

On a particularly idle day, Igna settled himself on the terrace with a book in hand and drinks at the ready. The gentle chirps and rustle carried an audible sense of relaxation. The blue skyscape, on him lowering his glasses, held a strangely shaped projectile. A press toggled the surveillance system, by which gathered information at an astounding rate, “-no missiles,” he sat upright, “-hold on,” on closer inspection, “-it’s a plane,” the latter took a trajectory, which in itself, had scary implications. “-and it’s coming this way.” Fiery clouds of smoke, “-right, the plane’s about to crash,” it passed overhead, if not for the lucky glance, “-the Wracian crest,” wings sprouted and flapped, “-SSY details on the flight?”

“Flight XXE, destination, new Wracia, passenger count, unknown.”

“Yeah, the lack of information is telling,” the lens switch modes – a few flaps he flew faster than said pummeling pile of iron, “-someone important’s on the plane, I know it,” he scanned, quickly able to distinguished passenger from staff members. “-SSY, hijack command,” the controls locked within the pilot’s hands, “-the probability of survival 24%,” said the assessment. A display soon marked part of the field of view. Red spots held instruction on what had gone wrong – Igna flapped, passing the hublot wherein he noticed a lady in her mid-thirties, “-Empress Lia Essin of the Wracian Holy Empire,” read her tab, ‘-nice,’ he went to carry the sister system’s orders. Survival rate increased slowly to a peak of 45%, “-evacuate,” returned an alarm, “-crash imminent. Survival rate, zero!” a great wall of peaks suddenly said hi, *Blood-arts: Crimson Threads,* he broke into the fuselage, “-EVERYONE, JUMP!”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t ask questions, just jump,” he grabbed the empress and leaped – the staff of three followed – a massive ball of black mixed with orange and yellow crashed in the distance. Igna laid on his back, facing the incoming passengers, ‘-I see,’ a quick check heightened who to save and who to not, ‘-bodyguards are best left to die,’ he flapped and forcibly caught two, and rushed for the last, alas, the latter was hit debris. Foliage crashed and the four fell at a relatively harsh speed.

The untamed forest showed no sign of trouble, “-my arm,” a glance right, “-it’s broken,” indeed it was, for one needed special equipment to see how the bone shattered, “-you guys alive?” he clambered, “-hello?”

“Alive,” said one.

“Same here,” returned another, “-might have broken my leg.”

“And you?” he turned to a visibly terrified lady, “-are you well?” she carried a light-gray hair, darker than Igna’s pure white. Her pupils were light-blue, big and representative of air of nobility, big lips, and a firm sharp nose; qualities native to Iqeavea.

“I’m alive?” she blinked, “-I’m alive?”

“I guess,” he stood, the shattered bone healed to complete restoration. Her inviting gaze carried no favor. Igna casually moved on to the remainder two – a pair of none identical twins, “-who are you?” inquired the sister.

“A wanderer,” he replied, “-are you wounded?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, “check on my brother, he’s pretty bad.”

“The right leg looks bad,” added Igna, “-no pain?”

“No, the adrenaline’s made it numb...”

“Gather round,” he ordered, forcefully pushing the ladies onto the brother who gasped, *Mantia – Book of Restoration, Honzela, fifth passage, broken art be fixed, fixed art be broken, eternal cycle; creation and destruction, the levy for reality changes prospective, watcher watches, creator creates, destroyer destroys, and restorer restores, Hicht.*

Fast chops scanned the forest line, “-a helicopter?”

“Correct,” said Igna, “-our rescue party is here,” a greater opportunity couldn’t have graced them. Question on who he went between the trio, more meaningful on the empress’ visage than the others. She peered over the fast-passing tree line, ‘-he had the wings of an angel and carried himself with strength. Who is he?’

Meanwhile, on the familiar group chat; a message arrived from Igna, “-guess who has the Empress of Iqeavea in tow?” Igna threw the peace sign in a selfish with the ignorant passenger. A slew of responses fired, those of which he casually ignored.