Round Thirty-Two: The Path We Choose (IV)

The only thing unharmed was Cynis’s corpse. The chief spellcaster was frozen solid from the inside out, and when the spreading flames hit her, who knew what she would become by the time the undertakers arrived? But since she was already dead, there was no need to worry about such trivial matters concerning the living.
Indeed. Only death can compare to the Lady: beyond all beings, indifferent, and inevitable. The Tin Man once said the same about “paying taxes”—what a joke. Power brings wealth; without a large army, which lord would dare discuss the actual rate of tithes with a Red Robe Mage? It’s surprising that guy even cares about written agreements that can be burned away in a fire…
What am I thinking? Moriel closed her eyes and sighed deeply, then opened them again, trying to shake off these chaotic thoughts.
The departure of the Red Robe mentors was quiet and swift—no one wanted to create further trouble at such a critical moment. Although the Lady decided to punish only the ringleaders in the public disorder case and ignore the others, who knew if she might return to arrest them for illegal assembly? Her laws certainly didn’t include a mere fifteen-day detention.
Some people started shouting to put out the fire. The inhabitants of the walled city quickly took their positions, like ants disturbed by a pangolin. Cursing the damned culprits so their souls would be seized by the demons of the Nine Hells was useless—the Lady wouldn’t care about their food, shelter, or anything else. So the mess had to be cleaned up, and life had to go on—some figures clad in heavy armor appeared, wearing spiked helmets and wielding deadly weapons like broad axes, long swords, and military crossbows. There was little point in staying here, so Moriel led Kayro quietly into an alley to avoid conflict with these guards, who clearly weren’t there to help the residents.
“Phylgas?” Not far ahead, the female mage saw the semi-transparent figure of the Steel Elf—elegant and deadly.
“I really… really dislike you,” Phylgas said, staring intently at Moriel. The rain fell like threads, while she was as sharp as a knife; her murderous aura seemed to actually cut through the mage’s skin. “What kind of restraint prevents you from saying sorry?”
“I never apologize for things beyond my control.” Moriel realized that without the Forty-Seven to hold her back, the Steel Elf would immediately strike. If she didn’t stop her, it would soon become a big problem. “Without me, someone else will lead Agus’s army. The war will continue, blood will be shed, and people will die. If you want to bring up old grievances… I don’t mind, but I suggest we choose a more appropriate time and place.”
“Who’s talking to you about Agus?” Phylgas rushed forward suddenly, the energy generated by rapid air friction lighting up her face like lightning. “Never mention it again, mage. This is the only way we can coexist peacefully! What I want to know now is, since you seem so confident, what plan do you have to help our master, who’s nowhere to be found?”

“It’s yours… your master.” Morriel raised a finger and waved it. “And I… I’m his friend. Don’t you know that fanatical supporters are the ones who most easily mess things up? Calm down so we can think of a solution.”
Philgas retorted sarcastically, “Friend? Listen to that false voice—probably not even you believe it. Let me think of a solution; you just stay out of the way and stop getting in the way.”
“Enough! Do you think I don’t care about him? That I deliberately watch him get expelled without helping? That’s because I’m powerless! What I should do now is stay in this city as long as possible to find a chance to contact him again, rather than disappearing like in some magic trick along with him! Hah, what do you think? If you’re going to blame me for this, fine—why don’t you go find a lady who can send you away too? Maybe you can catch up with your master and talk to him?”
“Because even in that situation, his last order was still for me to take care of you!”
In fact, as soon as Philgas said those words, the argument ended. Kayro stepping in to defuse the situation was just giving Morriel an out.
“Alright, alright, both of you sisters—aren’t you both concerned about the same person? What’s there to argue about? Let’s work together and get through this tough time!”
“Kayro?” The female mage took the pendant handed to her by the girl in surprise; she had thought it would take more effort to get it.
“The lady living inside me is also scared.” The girl tilted her head, showing a mischievous expression on her little face. “Really, we agreed to help, but as soon as she saw them, she hid like a mouse seeing a cat. But let’s hurry up and find Uncle Ironplate back—that’s the most important thing right now.”
Morriel unconsciously fiddled with the pendant—the surface was cold, and inside the small star-shaped sapphire lay a misty, nebula-like glow. “You… can you communicate with her now?”
“Yes, it’s a strange feeling. When I have time, I want to… Hey, where are you going? Wait for us, Sister Philgas!”
It was easy for Morriel to locate Eponie using her location spell, but asking her to continue helping was much harder.
“That’s right, you helped me at the ‘Chaos Toad’ tavern, preventing me from being killed by those crazy scoundrels. But I’ve repaid you, haven’t I?… No, it’s not about money. And what’s the use of so much money in the City of Marks? I’m just a lonely prostitute; sooner or later, I’ll end up cheaply in the hands of a grave digger.”
Seeing the prostitute leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her face turned upward, showing that stubborn pride that persisted despite her tragic fate, the female mage really didn’t know what to do with her.
“Listen to me, Eponie. I won’t ask you to do anything dangerous. I just want to ask—I heard that if the Lady of Pain wants to deal with someone…”

“Hi, hi! Don’t mention a lady’s name directly!” Eponie interrupted her. “Let me be straight with you, noble mage lady. I have no family, and I’m not afraid of death. There are worse things in Marked City than death. But even if you throw me into the Ninth Circle of Hell right now, I’ll never discuss Her Majesty Calmness with you, nor will I help you find her or do any other foolish things.”
She tugged at her loose shoulder straps, her gaze flickering with fear—as if the silent figure of the lady was still wandering before her.
“I’m only terrified of Her Majesty Calmness. Outsiders like you might not understand… So what? I know what to do anyway. Stop coming after me; I have work to do. Why not go ask that little demon for help? I saw it somewhere just now. To sell one’s soul, dealing with demons seems the best option, right?”
Morriel made a helpless gesture, admitting she couldn’t persuade her.
It seemed she could only turn to the Quesai demons, despite the mage’s complete distrust of them. Fortunately, these native creatures of the Bottomless Abyss, though cunning and deceitful beyond ordinary people’s reach, lacked strength, making them relatively easier to control. Sly, weak, principleless, and adept at flattering the strong… Setting aside racial prejudices, the Quesai demons were indeed decent guides or spies. But where were they?
She stood at the crossroads, needing to decide which direction to take. The off-peak hour had passed, but it was still some time until dawn. In the darkness, there was only the occasional sound of rain, faint lights, and Fillgas’s unfriendly, watchful gaze.
“Wait here. Don’t leave Fillgas,” Morriel said to Kaylo.
The mage walked down the street. A faint red glow silently followed from the rooftops, and ripples formed on the water pooled on the roofs.
“Ugh, should I wait here or not leave Sister Fillgas?” the girl muttered to herself.
Morriel didn’t go far before stopping in front of a two-story building with its door still open. A lopsided, poorly drawn wine glass was crudely painted on the wooden sign at the entrance. Light from an oil lamp seeped through the half-drawn felt curtain, casting a long shadow. Black vines had covered half of the house, and with the moisture from the night’s rain, they seemed to be growing at a visible pace.
The mage pulled down her hood and entered the building. The hall wasn’t large, and its furnishings were old and dirty. A bare-chested bartender leaned on the counter with a glass in hand. Judging by his red nose, he must have been stealing all night. Someone in a corner was already asleep, while at another table, two men stared at each other blankly, as if nothing in the world could concern them.
In such a crude and dull environment, the elegant lady in the bright red robe stood out sharply, out of place. Morriel hesitated for a moment before walking slowly toward her. The lady raised her head to look at Morriel, her Aion stone on her forehead glowing blood-red, like a third eye.
“How about I buy you a drink?” Isabella said.

Morrill silently watched as she handed her a tall glass—definitely not from the shop, delicate and exquisitely crafted.
“Sigh. Look at yourself, Klaustina,” Isabella sighed. “Dressed like a country girl all day long. And this place… it’s suffocating. I really don’t understand how you can like it. Do you think you belong here like them? No, you should be seated in a more elegant place.”
“…Someone once told me,” Morrill spoke, each word steady as if reciting a spell, “that vodka is a luxury we possess, caviar is also a luxury we possess, but time is not. Why not be more direct? It would be better for both of us, Teacher Isabella.”
“You’re always in such a hurry. Haven’t I taught you to enjoy life, Klaustina? Besides, in this situation, what else can we do but sit down and rest?” the mentor said with a smile, her dignified appearance hiding a hint of seductiveness. With her crimson robe, she truly resembled the legendary countess who bathed in virgin blood to stay young forever.
“The City of Ten Thousand Doors… This is my first time here too. Actually, I’m not opposed to adventure. Reading countless books and traveling far and wide is part of a mage’s journey. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have imagined that the Lady of Pain could possess such great power…”
“Don’t call her by her name. So, it was your arrangement for Mentor Andrei and the others to come after me? The Lady won’t tolerate battles that threaten the City of Seals itself… I must say, it’s a clever trick of using others to kill. I was too hasty and should pay the price for it.”
“It wasn’t entirely my intention.” Perhaps only in the City of Seals could these master and apprentice talk so calmly as before. “I should have expected that a being who rules the center of the multiverse is impossible to oppose, even with near-divine power. If it weren’t for her detecting abnormal energy fluctuations and insisting on attacking you… It’s a pity. After all, I was the first to come into contact with her. With a little more time, I might have been able to persuade her, control her, and then have an advantage when dealing with you.”
“You mean that beautiful ancient construct? To be blunt—you can’t control her. After all these years of adventure, the only thing I’ve truly learned is that no one or nothing can be completely controlled. Life is an endless ocean… Every action, thought, even desire is just a drop in that ocean. Everyone’s ocean is different; it won’t be swallowed by you, nor replicated by you. You once controlled me so deeply, so tightly, but in the end, I still had my own path to walk, among these people who make you feel suffocated.”

“Oh, an interesting statement.” Isabella shifted slightly, and the runes hidden in the folds of her robe danced as well. “Don’t be so pompous. Remember, the woman sitting before you is the one you call a ‘crone.’ Now you have a theoretical basis for hating me—good. Klaudina, I admit I was too hasty with your matter. Waiting ten years before approaching you might have worked better. You know, I didn’t become a mage apprentice until I was twenty. At first, my hands would tremble, and I couldn’t even remember the simplest spells, yet now I’m one of the eight chief mages of the Red Robe Order. You were too young then to truly understand the hardships of survival, the bitterness of living… Physicians, enforcers, rent collectors—just a little finger from them could crush your wealth and life. So you don’t cherish what you’ve been given, despise the path I’ve paved for you, and instead wander among the trash where you were born, observing their miserable world under the guise of understanding and pity to satisfy your vanity. Perhaps you really should drink that stinking sewage for a few years—my indulgence has made you too spoiled. But do you know—”
She leaned forward. “You are the most talented prophet I’ve ever seen. You’ve never seriously considered the weight of those words; you just laugh every time you hear them. You’re so much like me, Klaudina. Yet a hundred times better than me. I can’t tolerate it—can’t tolerate you living in such an environment, growing up, losing your purity, becoming addicted to alcohol, and eventually giving in to become no different from the lowest of women!… I will save you, make you perfect. I will nurture you as if you were me. I love you, Klaudina.”
“See, that’s the crux of the problem,” Morriel said, downing her drink in one gulp and setting the cup down. “You see me as yourself, but I am me, not you. Without you, I would become a prostitute or a witch who deceives people with fortune-telling, dying in misery—but if I became you, the next chief prophet, I’d still be dead. What do you love? This body? My soul? Or just your reflection in the mirror, a copy?”
She stood up. “This is a cruel game. Two drinks—one that chokes you on the spot, the other that lets you utter a few last words. I’m now against the entire Red Robe Order, and without my greatest support, it might be a path to destruction. But playing a game is all about winning or losing; the unpredictable, most interesting part is the process. Teacher Isabella, even if I were a puppet, you wouldn’t succeed—your emotions, your pain, your torment, your chaos… The only constant about chaos is that it’s never the same.”
“Same here. Victor won’t let me go. But the prophecy says I’ll die at the hands of my own student—what about you, Klaudina?”
“I never predict my own fate. And I seem to remember having killed you once already.”
The female mage glanced back one last time at Isabella sitting there before leaving the tavern. “And my name is Morriel.”

Cynis woke up in his secret laboratory, screaming in agony from the soul-chilling cold. The magical field that bound his cloned body sensed the movement and automatically released it, causing his mentor to fall naked to the floor along with the icy enchanted fluid. Cynis trembled uncontrollably, his heart filled with overwhelming hatred, anger, and fear. He lay there for a while before managing to crawl a few steps and stand with the help of the lab bench. A beaker reflected his current appearance—pale and gaunt, aged and exhausted. The power of the harsh winter had not only destroyed his previous body but also affected his soul, impacting his current form. His body was empty, and a portion of his most powerful strength had forever left him, never to return. It was an inevitable loss during soul transfer, a price that had to be paid.
But it was still worth it. He had invested countless efforts and vast sums of money into this spell. He wasn’t dead—rather, he was alive again. All those who had hurt him or deceived him would not prosper! Just wait!
“Maezus! Maezus!” he shouted, calling out a demon’s name. It was his right-hand man, steward, advisor, military commander, and eternal slave. Controlling Maezus was one of the greatest achievements for a chief sorcerer, as such a powerful demon would never willingly serve a mortal.
A vortex of magic formed beside Cynis, and an Archros, tall and thin with a melon-like protruding head, appeared. It wore an exquisitely crafted robe, its dark gray skin covered in unsettling spots. Its huge eyes, devoid of sclera and constantly shifting colors, held no positive emotions—only coldness and cruelty.
“Take me back to my room, Maezus,” Cynis gasped. “Immediately assemble the army for guard duty, seal the mage tower, and no one is allowed in or out without my orders—hurry!”
Maezus did not obey immediately as usual. Instead, it let out a sneer that pierced the mentor’s ear like a needle.
“You’re in a sorry state, Cynis,” an old, gloomy voice said, freezing Cynis’s blood and pushing him into darkness.
“Victor!” the chief sorcerer hissed.
“Maezus! What do you want?” he roared in uncontrollable fury. “Don’t forget, I can destroy you with a thought! Our souls are connected!”
“I certainly know what I’m doing,” the Archros hissed, its voice laced with sharp malice. “Your Excellency Victor is a far better master than you… and a stronger necromancer as well.”

“Cynis. How foolish can you be? No one can be completely controlled, let alone a superior Roshamuffin.” The lich stepped through one of the portals and approached slowly, his skeletal face looking terrifying under the glow of the floating Aetherstone. “You thought that by connecting your soul to it, you could bind it firmly to your ship… Yes, even I can’t break such a contract. But a little interference applied to the clone can prevent the resurrected you from controlling or destroying it right away—you’ll need to regain some strength first. But time waits for no one… Though one thing is certain—Methos will protect you carefully and ensure your soul isn’t destroyed, right?”
“Of course,” said the superior Roshamuffin cheerfully. “You always keep your word, Lord Victor.”
He looked at Cynis, who had collapsed in a heap. “Master… your fate is my fate. There’s plenty of time ahead—we’ll have at least a thousand years of entertainment. In the meantime, I assure you… you’ll surely come to understand the true meaning of pain.”
“No! Victor! Forgive me—”
The lich’s figure gradually disappeared, his aged laughter echoing in the laboratory.
“The path is yours to choose—walk it yourself. Good night, Master Cynis.”