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Arcanist - Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2025-03-09 12:40:32 +0000 UTCRain started pouring in thick, slimy droplets from the ceiling, full of Necromancer’s filthy magic, hissing against the touch of any living thing, seeping through the skeletons’ bones like a lifeline tailored to reinvigorate the fallen.
Mountains of lifeless bones stirred and shifted before Valens’s eyes. They were being made whole yet again, to move and continue the senseless slaughtering. To rise all at once and do their Master’s bidding.
There was no end to this madness. Not until somebody did something about that damned Magus.
Valens moved in, fingers of his right hand curled to spread the Inferno over their heads. The sprawling storm burned the droplets. Coils of yellow smoke wafted off and eased down. Coated every bit of the cave like Lord Zahul’s fog. But this one was more insidious, more alive and dangerous as it sought not to control, but destroy the living.
One single breath, then Valens was onto the Oarfang corpse Celme had just dealt with, laying a hand over the stirring bones to feel its core. He saw the rotten sphere in his sound vision. Witnessed how that filthy mana was being pumped by the lifeline into the sphere once again.
“Hold this beast for me!” he yelled, then sent a pair of Lifesurges to untie the knots that bound the lifeline into the core. Carving the bones, crushing the skull or even burning the damned thing as a whole. These were all temporary solutions. The only way to make sure this creature never became whole again was to sever the connection off.
But there were dozens of Oarfangs in the din. Worse, Olifants were towering over them, just like the one Hook’s team had defeated a moment ago. Hundreds of skeletons were coming to themselves, already pressing into the alliance’s ranks, pressing tight into the men and undead staring aghast at the sudden development.
Nomad and Celme came in close, pressed their weights over the bones. Giving them a look, Valens plucked the last knot with the Lifesurges. The Oarfang’s bones crumbled down in a dusty cloud, leaving the rot scrambling to find a way to dig in.
It couldn’t. It was just a mindless stream of energy, and without the core’s pathways it just splashed pitifully into the creature like a stubborn wave.
There was no notification. Likely since the creature hadn’t actually been brought back to life. Valens noted that in the depths of his mind, then moved with Nomad and Celme toward the Necromancer’s tide.
He was still perched atop that giant rock, staff raised high, dark eyes glinting under the hood of his robe. The black rain kept washing his beaten horde, washing them with filth, bringing them back and forcing them to keep the alliance’s army away.
Valens swept Celme with a gaze as they weaved through the shambling corpses. “You’ve said the Lightmaster and Lord Zahul will take care of—“
Green light streaked across from over them, a spear of wavering fog gleaming painfully sharp. Valens looked up as it lodged hard into the large rock upon which the Necromancer stood waiting. It bursted off in a shower of gravel and dust, bits of it clanking against the armor of the men around them.
“So it begins,” Nomad said, looking over his shoulder to the Undead Lich. Lord Zahul was in the process of lowering that wooden cane of his as if he’d just done dusting off its surface. “Makes your skin crawl, eh? Makes you feel tiny and worthless when you see what a Lich’s magic can do. But it's not worth the price. It never is, when you’re getting much power in the bargain. Never comes cheap, that sort of might.”
Another spear screamed after Lord Zahul’s opening rally, this one sending waves of golden light down in the cave, as if the Lightmaster couldn’t stand the notion of being bested by his undead counterpart. Its tip vanished into the cloud of dust from the earlier explosion, then disintegrated into a mess of sprawling lights that illuminated the whole cave like the morning sun.
The rain stopped.
Valens tipped his head back as he felt around the Resonance. Light magic wasn’t something so widely practiced back in the Empire, except for the practical daily uses of ornamentation and room lighting.
But you could, in theory, sharpen any light to a degree that could rival the tip of a masterly crafted spear, though it would take weeks of careful Warding to do what Lightmaster did with a wave of his hand. That, and probably a dozen of gemstones all full of pure light mana.
I caught a change of tune in the Resonance, so it must be a skill. But Lord Zahul’s spear… wasn’t anything special. He just sent a part of his fog.
The same one he used to impress his control upon the undead horde. To keep such a crowd fed must have been taking every speck of mana within him, which was likely why he didn’t use any other magic in this state.
Not like he needs anything other than that fog, though. A Master of a specific area. It's better than trying to become a jack of all trades.
Valens then thought just like the Necromancer, Lord Zahul too was a bad match to his talents. If there was one thing he learned from hampering Nomad's Heartstone and dealing with skeletons, it was that he could cleanse those filthy mana sources so long his mana reserves allowed him to keep at it.
But he wasn’t naive enough to think he could best an Undead Lich or a Necromancer in a race of mana reserves. Those two could keep hundreds of beings in control and explode rocks larger than houses like it was nothing in the process.
It's a mana pool issue. I need more Intelligence and Wisdom, then. I lack nothing in the theory field.
Celme stirred beside him, motioning at a group of men to come under the burning storm. Valens saw a familiar face there. Looked like his legs were working just fine, and by the glint in his eyes he did get his mind fixed in the chaos.
Good for him.
“You told me to stay away from the Necromancer,” Valens said, noting the urgent look in Celme’s eyes. “But now you’re about to dive in, right? Can’t let the Necromancer get up after all that.”
“You stay out of this,” Celme said, and reached to pull the golden armored man by her side, smoke wafting off her skin. Her blood already started boiling, eyes changing into a bloody crimson. “We don’t have much time.”
“It's easy to ditch your men and rely on a damned freak to do your deed. Easy when there’s a fucking fire storm burning everything on your path!” The man swatted Celme’s hand away with the pommel of his sword, turned and swept a hand over his pitiful group. “But we had to earn our pass through here. Earn every pace of it with blood and sacrifice!”
Celme clenched her fists. “I’ve lost my men, Marcus. Every single one of them in that hole the Lightmaster sent us. I’ve sacrificed enough for this Queststone, and yet you still want to complain? To tell me I’ve not suffered enough? I don’t need men crying because how unjust this world is when we have a mission to be about!”
“How are your legs?” Valens said, in part to alleviate the tension between the two, and in part since he was genuinely curious. He tapped a hand over the man’s waist, and felt him with a Lifeward as he stared awkwardly at him. “Hmm. Your muscles are pulling, huh? You need a rest, but guess it's not an option here. Then do try to go for small moves. Don’t go swinging that sword high, or they’re going to tear apart.”
“What?” Celme and Marcus blanked at him.
“You have to be careful about these things.” Valens shrugged, and let the Inferno dissolve when he couldn’t feel the Necromancer’s rain anymore. With his recently gained stats, he got a good boost to his mana reserve, but best to keep some in case things go wrong. “The treatment is important, but rest is what makes it really work.”
The ground underneath his feet shook as an undead came lumbering from the lines, holding a spiked mace over his shoulder. Valens felt Nomad tense before Hook got a sight of him. Then he lowered his head, lifted his sword high and waited in nervous silence.
Hook’s steely armor was riddled with deep gashes. His helmet was gone, a part of his skull dented hard from the side. Seemed like dealing with that Olifant came with a price.
“Out of the way, human,” he rasped. So, that blow he’d gotten to his skull hadn’t changed him the slightest. Another marvel of the undead anatomy. “And don’t you ever summon that storm back. It's bloody hot in the cave already.”
“We don’t have much time. Lightmaster is here,” Celme said, then swept Marcus’s group with a fierce glance. “Move.”
Then they moved, Nomad tailing the Undead Chief, trying to act as if he was under the control of the Undead Lich, Celme heading toward the dusty cloud with Marcus and the other men behind. Everybody moved, and they left Valens there all alone.
So Valens followed after them. It was one thing doing good and expecting nothing in return, but not actually getting anything felt worse than he’d remembered. Not even a thanks, which was just rude. That bothered him.
When have I started feeling this way?
It was odd. Being a Resonant Healer was a thankless job. Back in the day Valens had scarcely expected anything from his patients. Just seeing them get well or completing a particularly difficult operation was satisfaction enough.
But now he wanted to hear it. Wanted to see people cherish his contributions. To tell him that he’d done a good job dealing with those skeletons. That they couldn’t have done it without him. That they owed him their lives.
He reached for the web of Apathy over his emotions. It should’ve been removing whatever that could hamper his way of thinking, but it didn’t work like that. It let some of the frustrations pass through.
Why don’t you work? I don’t like this.
But when he tried to manage that web with a pair of Lifesurges, nothing changed.
So be it. Might as well do the deed, and make a show of it.
Light Feet pushed him onward, through broken lines Nomad and Celme’s teams had left behind. He could feel two presences over the Resonance, stark notes too high for him to miss. Lightmaster had a peaceful cadence about him that seemed similar to that of a pulsing light, meanwhile Lord Zahul’s rhythm was one roaring beat, like a war drum thumping strong at each one of his steps.
Then another presence made itself known once Valens neared the broken rock. The Necromancer was one dark silhouette in the fluttering dust cloud, pupilless eyes sending a shiver down Valens’s back. With a wave of his gnarled staff he beckoned the horde closer, and the skeletons obliged, establishing tight circles with him as the center point.
Hook’s spiked mace obliterated the little Skeleton Soldiers with brutal precision, Nomad and the undead group dealing with the rest. Celme’s team was by their side, the Berserker making a scene of her own with two bare fists that seemed strangely effective at breaking bones.
Onward, through one layer after another, they opened up the way for their Masters. Faithful servants and the chaotic din. Men and undead pressing forward. All reflected over the Necromancer’s dark eyes.
He seemed calm. Too calm for a Magus surrounded by hundreds of enemies, save for all the Wards behind his back. Olifants and Oarfangs fell around him, but he scarcely spared a glance for them. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Valens’s alone, and his mouth had parted in a way that made him feel nervous.
Why would he smile?
But then, Valens had to admit he too was enjoying this in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend. The chaos and the songs of the world was just background noise in his mind. There was only one man out in the front, and that man was waiting for him.
Light sizzled wide over the ceiling, then fell in a shower of sparks as Lightmaster took a simple step forward. He was back there with his army one second, but that step carried him through the lines and brought him forth in a streaking light until he was only a few paces away from the Necromancer.
You… can actually do that.
Why not travel upon the light when you could grind it into a spear? If it was solid enough to puncture a rock, then surely it could carry a man of Lightmaster’s statue across the cave.
Genius.
Green fog rolled and wavered all around him, tendrils of it slithering toward the Necromancer. Dozens of death mana streaks reached out to the place where the Lightmaster stood ahead, with Celme and Marcus behind him, and merged into a giant wave beside the Light Magus that formed the outline of a rather slender man.
Hook dragged his spiked mace wincing round the silhouette, had his men establish a clear line behind him. A wooden cane jutted out from the wavering outline, thumped hard into the ground, and there a moment after Lord Zahul was standing with his back bent rather strangely.
Valens lurched a step back when a stray Skeleton Soldier came swinging its sword at him, stumbled and nearly fell, the weapon hissing an inch away from his face. He’d been too caught up with the sight of them to feel the Resonance around him. Too focused on the real battle when the two armies still clashed against each other.
A Fireball came alive round his fingers. He jerked himself up and showed himself on the right, skirted left when the Skeleton Soldier swung at that side, shoving the Fireball into the back of its skull. The flames lashed down and stabbed at the animated corpse’s ribcage, caught it round and burnt it till there was no rot left.
‘Ding’ You have managed to defeat [Skeleton Soldier - lvl 75]! For killing a creature above your own level, you are granted bonus experience.
With that, Valens shook himself off and trudged out into the open. He got odd looks from the men and Uudead around him as he slowly dragged his legs to the front. Nomad was still keeping his head down, but Celme gave him a hard look.
“What?” Valens asked, slightly offended. “At least let me get a front seat view. I’m quite excited to witness a battle between Warmagi. This will be my first one.”
“Just keep your hands where I can see them,” Celme said, jaw set tight. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”
“So you say?” Valens shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to see it for myself.”
….
