Round 22: Moriel’s Three Moods

Flames.
A void-like, pitch-black flame flickered in the small chamber, casting shadows on the walls and furniture while making itself the darkest spot in the room.
“How… beautiful.”
A soft sigh sounded, and a slender hand reached out. The pale wrist stood in sharp contrast to the bright red mage robe, as if emerging from a mist of blood—gently resting on the flames.
The black flames licked at the palm, soon emitting a faint hissing sound as they burned the skin, yet not a trace of pain appeared on Daruglass’s delicate face.
“Fire is life,” Daruglass said, obsessively staring at the black flames seeping through her fingers. The seemingly misty flames writhed and pulsed, causing the silver ring on her hand to soften. “The life that created the multiverse… Don’t you think so?”
No one replied. Daruglass seemed unexpecting an answer and continued on her own: “It is said that in the early days of the multiverse, even the all-knowing gods had not yet been born… The infinite worlds were just an infinitesimally small point—a ‘primordial fireball’ with extremely high temperature and density.”
“Imagine it,” she paused for a moment, lost in the fantastical realm she had created. “A single point that gave birth to the universe! Infinite flames expanded and erupted, and everything we see, hear, and experience now is nothing but the residue of energy left after the explosion of that fireball…”
A slight smirk appeared on Daruglass’s face. “What can compare to such power? The Fireburning Realm today is but a fraction of it… Besides, whether gods or demons, who doesn’t use fire to display their power?”
“Enough, no more rhapsody here.”
The flame’s eyes reappeared behind Daruglass, somewhat resembling Forty-Seven at first glance. “Your capriciousness has caused serious flaws in our plan.”
“Oh, oh, oh. Come on, Ale.” Daruglass grasped the flame—the black fire contracted into her fingers like water sucked into an elephant’s trunk, leaving nothing behind. The natural darkness returned to the space long occupied by those black “brothers” with the same skin but different essences. “What’s the problem? Everything is going well, just as planned…”
“Even the matter with the Half-Sheep tribe?” Since Ale started speaking through the strange device around his neck, his voice was less expressive than when he wrote in the air with flames. “It’s illogical and foolish! Moriel is an excellent prophecy mage. If we alert her now…”
Daruglass turned to face Ale, smiling mockingly. “It was you who was in charge of burning those four-legged little creatures in the camp, Mr. Ale. Since we’re companions, we should support each other’s decisions and trust our abilities. Why do I always seem like a brainless woman with big breasts in your eyes? According to Teacher Isabella, when you were with Moriel…”
Ale’s face suddenly became clear—the flames outlined his features, and the surging energy rushed toward Daruglass, ending with a silent, boiling roar right before her eyes.

“Alright, alright…” Dagulas turned her head and stepped back, but it was clear she wasn’t truly afraid of the impending flames. “Let bygones be bygones. Everyone, stop bringing it up. How about we work together sincerely to get back everything that woman owes us, principal and interest?”
Aley’s two faces stared at Dagulas for a while before merging back into one.
“Are you sure it will succeed?” His gaze casually swept over Dagulas’ right hand, which she had been roasting over the black fire earlier—her hand, coated in cardamom, was fair, soft, and moist, perfect for endorsing any skincare product. “These inhabitants of this realm are unreliable, and I trust that merchant even less.”
“That’s exactly why we need to show them our strength, to make them realize we and those behind us are not to be trifled with… Only then will they follow the rules. Why trust them? No one in this world is reliable,” Dagulas said, still smiling, but her words suddenly turned icy: “No one.”
The omnipresent, faintly shifting mist made the side room of the “luxury suite” appear shrouded in clouds, and the air remained humid. But without a pool reflecting light, no gleaming marble loungers, no scattered sheer curtains, and no oddly shaped stone sculptures spewing hot water, this side room was somewhat more normal.
“Sister Moriel, are you really okay with letting Uncle Tin run around freely?” Two wicker lounge chairs were placed side by side in the room. Lying there in the warm, humid environment gave a tingling sensation, just like lying on grass.
“Uncle Tin?” Moriel laughed. Though it had been years since they last saw each other, Kayro had grown up a lot. But whether due to the influence of Lady Mist or her innate nature, although Kayro’s appearance had transformed from a green bud into a blooming flower, showing the charm of an adult woman, her thoughts seemed to still linger in those carefree days in Rain City.
“I doubt he’d like that title. Maybe he prefers you to call him… well, what’s his name again?” The female mage wasn’t as comfortable with the lounge chairs as Kayro. She shifted slightly, leaning back, picked up a fruit from the side table, glanced at it, and put it down. “What can I do if I don’t let him run around? When have you ever seen anyone listen to me?”
“No, what I mean is,” Kayro tilted her head, “Sister Moriel, you weren’t like this before. You used to hate it the most when people around you ignored orders and caused trouble for you… You know? Back then, when I followed you, I was always afraid of doing something that would upset you and get scolded!”
The girl stuck out her tongue, saying it half-jokingly.

“You make it sound like I’m some old maid in a nuns’ school in charge of discipline,” Moriel said lightly, shaking her bare feet as the dampness in the room made her extremely uncomfortable; she had already taken off her leather boots. “It’s a shame that even the fiercest old maid would find it hard to deal with those all-metal bandits. Enough about that. You’ve been running around between the Star Realm and the Outer Lands without proper rest lately… Sleep here for now, and we’ll wait for news from that realm merchant—I think he’ll have news soon.”

Although the environment wasn’t ideal for sleep, Kayro quickly fell into a deep slumber. Lying flat on the wicker chair that adjusted automatically to her posture, her face was rosy, her hands folded over her abdomen, and her already “developing” breasts rose and fell gently and rhythmically as her breathing became softer and deeper. Looking at the girl asleep, as quiet and well-behaved as ever, not even changing position, she seemed more like a mage in a state of meditation than someone actually sleeping.

Moriel watched Kayro. Shouldn’t she be enjoying life like an ordinary girl? Having a small shop, some little dreams… Though realistically, such a life had little to enjoy—yet right now, whether it was adventures in the Star Realm or journeys in the Outer Lands, everything seemed too intense and exciting.

But Kayro was no longer an ordinary girl after all.

What exactly kept Kayro connected to Lady Mist, who had already sunk deep into the ruins of the Godly Realm? And why hadn’t Lady Mist, exhausted and weakened, completely perished and become mere debris floating in the Star Realm? Kayro’s ice powers, surpassing even her own innate abilities and growing stronger, remained unaffected by the attacks of those mazes that even affected her herself. Plus, her ability to call out the name of an ancient being like the Dream Cocoon—let alone Moriel, a grand mage who had glimpsed the mysteries of the ninth-tier magic—even scholars with some knowledge of deities could notice Kayro’s unusual behavior during her explorations on the Island of Godly Corpses. These scattered clues could easily be linked to one conclusion, though Moriel had no idea what might happen as a result. The only thing certain was that it would be extremely troublesome.

At these thoughts, the female mage suddenly felt the misty moisture in the room turn icy. It seemed to turn back into layers of thick, ink-like, blood-red fog that couldn’t be dispelled. Moriel’s gaze dropped to the large book bound in dragon skin on her lap—a spellbook left by Archmage Singer, the chairman of the Agus Supreme Council. There were no fewer than five variations of the force field shield spell alone, but in terms of understanding the complex relationships between gods and mortals, it was actually no more useful than wild tales about a certain god taking the form of a bull, a swan, or even a golden rain to court many beautiful girls in the mortal world.

A chilling sensation overtook her. Moriel looked up in shock—Kayro was still sleeping soundly. But just moments ago, as she had been lost in thought, a strange vision had appeared in her mind: Kayro opening her eyes and staring at her intently, like a dream.

A nearly mad idea suddenly popped into her mind: walking with a god? Did Kairo now control Lady Mist and her powers? That could indeed be considered a hidden ace.
If it were Morriel from Rain City, no, even Morriel from just a few days ago, would have been enraged and ashamed by such absurd, foolish, and selfish thoughts. But now—typical Red Robe Mage logic was nothing more than a random gust of wind flipping through pages in her mind.
Act according to your true heart. No matter what the means are, no matter what common sense or habits underlie those means, they’re unimportant compared to your true heart.
As the tavern saying often put it: I’m fine with it! Her life experiences in the Agus Empire had helped her nearly reach the pinnacle of the Red Robe Mage Order, but her ability to step back was undoubtedly influenced by Ironface. Otherwise, when it was all over, who could say that dreams wouldn’t truly turn into eternal desolation?
Morriel quietly watched a strand of golden hair falling across Kairo’s forehead. What did it matter? Her gaze softened. Kairo trusted her, she trusted Forty-Seven, and Forty-Seven trusted everyone, because those who betrayed his trust were already dead—after all, weren’t all the beautiful relationships between people—family, friendship—held together by the word “trust”? Morriel had once discarded that word, but now she had picked it up again. At least… Morriel told herself: At least I’m completely different from Isabella!
“What are you thinking about, Sister Morriel?” This time, Kairo truly woke up from sleep or unconscious meditation, her eyes wide open, without the usual drowsy look of someone who had just woken up. A smile curled her lips, and faint dimples appeared on her cheeks.
“Oh? I was thinking…” Morriel was about to speak when she suddenly pricked up her ears, then smiled faintly as well. “I was wondering what trouble that solid-headed girl has gotten us this time.”
“Miss Mage, your attendant is about to turn all my customers into steamed buns!” Seeing Morriel and Kairo come out, Douglas, the owner of the Snowman Bathhouse, hurriedly complained to the female mage, ignoring Jacob, who seemed to still want to say something to him.
“Please stop her. Such rude behavior will be seen as a provocation by the other customers! If we alert the city’s guards, everyone will lose face!” Douglas put on a bathrobe, and the few fangs visible at the edge of his lips became more apparent as he spoke—hard to tell whether he was trying to smile or threaten.
Hearing this, Morriel actually felt the air seem a bit hotter. “Calm down, Mr. Douglas. Threats only escalate conflicts; they don’t solve problems. Jacob, what did he do? Smoke in the no-smoking area?… Jacob?”

“Doug—oh, Miss Morriel.” Jacob seemed uneasy, standing to the side rubbing his hands together. His fingers, long and flexible like an octopus’s tentacles, entwined with each other as he made various complicated and meaningless gestures. It wasn’t until Morriel called his name a second time that he hurriedly replied, “It’s not really that serious. It’s just… Anyway, you should go take a look. Who else but you can talk to that steel warrior?”
“That’s right, Miss Mage. You’d better stop him as soon as possible,” Douglas interjected quickly. “Mr. Jacob and I have already discussed ways to help you reach Seal City. If anything goes wrong, I won’t be able to assist you!”
“Oh? So quickly?” Morriel casually glanced at Jacob. “Well, then I really owe you thanks. Come on, let’s go see what’s going on.”
The central bath pool, surrounded by curtains and lattice screens, was indeed highly unusual. The abnormal heat radiating from the marble tiles could be felt clearly even through the soles of boots, and the thick steam rising made one feel as though they were inside a large steamer. Not to mention the hot springs leading from the pool were bubbling violently. This wasn’t a bath pool at all—it was like a huge pot of freshly poured molten iron.
The lounge was filled with humans and non-humans, all seemingly driven out by the heat. Most of them were naked or wrapped only in bath towels. About half carried weapons, though everyone was wearing shoes. Upon seeing Douglas and the others arrive, they began to shout and complain in a chaotic manner—filled with vulgar language and threats. But despite their words, none of them dared actually charge into the source of the heat to confront the culprit.
“It seems you need more cold water, Mr. Douglas.” Ignoring the naked men around her, Morriel calmly looked into the public bathhouse. However, blocked by steam, obstacles, and crowds, she couldn’t see the slightest sign of the 47-year-old for the time being.
“You’re not the first bunch of idiots to cause trouble in Ribcage City, nor the first to be sent to the square to have your heads cut off—If you kneel and beg, maybe I’ll show some mercy, bitch?”
A rude voice came through. Morriel turned with disgust and saw a man with what seemed to be an entire patch of black mandrake planted on his chest staring at her fiercely. He was relatively well-dressed, wearing trousers aside from shoes and a wide belt around his waist. The belt was dark in color, neither leather nor iron, but Morriel could immediately tell it contained immense power—it was by no means ordinary. Morriel pulled Kaylo back a step as the bearded man pressed forward relentlessly, with some others following with fierce expressions, forming a circle around them. It was clear they weren’t just there to watch.
“Is that iron guy your companion? Better explain what he’s trying to do by boiling up the entire bath pool. Otherwise, as the first deputy captain of Lord Pryx’s Third Guard, I’ll send you to the brothel camp—”

“Shut up.” The female mage spoke in a low voice, but the bearded man, who was spitting at her, felt as if he had been struck by a furious dwarf’s hammer. He staggered backward; if it weren’t for those behind him holding him, he would have surely felt just how hot the ground was.
“If you want to live longer, besides a belt of great strength, you might need an intelligence circlet too.” Neither side involved in the conflict proceeded further—the bearded man was still dizzy from the effect of the intimidation spell, while Moriel’s attention was drawn to a figure that suddenly appeared from the steam in the bath.
“Damn it, really! I’m about to get cooked! Why isn’t that golden-eyed bitch okay?” The half-naked Telflin woman, with eyes like those of a reptile, muttered in complaint. Her gaze swept over Kayro, who was peeking nearby. “Hey, kid, new here? Go get a bottle of fruit wine! And bring a basin—no, a barrel of ice. Can you imagine? That iron bastard, boiled in boiling water, still wants wine with ice!”
Kayro didn’t go get the wine, nor did the Telflin woman. She twisted her snake-like waist, lifted the curtain, and pointed toward a corner of the bath, then turned to smile at Moriel. “Oh, he’s really a passionate man.”
Moriel ignored her remark and strode solemnly toward the steel warrior, who was sipping wine leisurely under the care of the Asmo woman amidst the thick steam. Kayro wisely followed behind, turning the hot steam into crystalline ice shards, making the female mage’s gaze even colder.
“Ahaha, I never knew you could drink alcohol.”