Chapter 699: – Standoff |
It wasn’t obvious at a first glance which army held the advantage, so the enemy patriarchs initially attempted to peel some of Percy’s allies away using diplomacy – if threats of complete annihilation could even be called that.
“Are you sure that this is wise, Lord Talos?” Theseus asked as soon as the giant man reached the others, towering over everyone but the wasp. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, but the Divine Root’s agreement to protect your family for the next two hundred years will be revoked the moment you take action.”
Fyn grinned. His enormous mouth – full of crimson teeth – made the seemingly innocent action appear terrifying.
“Fuck your agreement,” he spat, his size causing his voice to sound like a war horn. “It was a bunch of horseshit anyway. Machaon nearly burnt my House down just to hurt a girl he didn’t like, and you bastards executed my father for the crime of buying a few elixirs. Say what you will about House Avalon, but they have always dealt with us fairly.”
Theseus scowled, though he no longer bothered with the lesser families. He shifted his gaze to the only White-cored human who stood against him. “And you, Periphetes? Our families have worked closely for longer than either of us has been alive. Do I need to explain how much chaos beheading three of us will bring?”
The leader of House Etna was a short, rotund man, dressed in tacky golden robes and covered from head to toe in jewellery. He averaged a pair of rings on each finger, had three different amulets and necklaces visible over his tunic, with possibly more hidden beneath his undergarments. And that was without even mentioning the dozens of bracelets hanging loosely along his forearms.
Interestingly, every accessory and centimetre of fabric was heavily enchanted, though most of the runes didn’t seem particularly useful. This was Percy and Micky’s first time seeing the man in person, and they weren’t completely familiar with House Etna’s runecrafting language, but they did know enough about it to tell that the majority of enchantments would merely glow in odd ways, make funny sounds, or perform other silly parlour tricks. The short patriarch clearly enjoyed tinkering with runes and wearing the results of his experiments as trophies.
Hearing his fellow White’s warning, Periphetes chuckled, before removing one of the rings on his left thumb and tossing it over the chasm. It was one of the few objects on his person that had been engraved with the Vault’s magiscript.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
Periphetes nodded. “It has three times the capacity of my previous best, and I’m still learning the new language.”
The patriarch’s face beamed with childlike glee as he spoke. No wonder he was the only White who had broken ties with Machaon. The man was a proper runecrafting nerd, and Percy had probably given him the best gift that he had ever received.
“I don’t understand what the capacity of your ring has to do with any of this,” Theseus replied, clearly confused.
“Everything!” Periphetes said, before elaborating. “It’s not just the spatial devices. You’re all focusing too much on the Aurora Dew and the boosting art, but the new runecrafting language has revolutionized every single one of our enchantments. Do you have any idea how busy we’ve been over the past decade? We’ve had to not only relearn everything from scratch, but tear down all of our facilities and past projects to rebuild them with better runes.”
Still facing Theseus, he pointed at Percy with his right thumb.
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“So don’t talk to me about chaos. Chaos is all this young man knows to stir, but that’s not always a bad thing. Iterating and improving upon one’s work is an important skill for an enchanter, yet the best of us need to know when it’s time to toss everything in the garbage and start fresh.”
Theseus sighed, probably realizing that the few families who had dared to come here had already made their minds up about their allegiance. “You’ll all die. We still have more mages,” he said while infusing his willpower into his voice to ensure that everyone standing on the other side of the rift heard him.
“Last time I checked, we had three more Violets and just as many Whites as you,” Fyn replied using the same method.
The leader of the Divine Root shook his head. “Only some of whom are using the boosting art.”
Percy and Micky’s presence was probably the only reason the Great Houses hadn’t attacked yet, their powerful domain being the primary cause of the enormous rift that had split the battlefield in two. The others had also contributed, but most of the willpower had come from the Lone Wanderer, since pouring it into the chasm was the easiest way to vent it away from his allies.
The problem was that the enemy Whites had probably realized by now that Percy and Micky weren’t free to wield their final trump card as they pleased. What they hopefully hadn’t figured out, was that the zelesian beads would run out of juice in about an hour, of which half had already passed.
The Lone Wanderer was actually under a lot of pressure to put an end to the war before that happened, though he couldn’t just urge his allies to hurry up, lest he alerted his opponents to the fact that he was on a short timer.
Morpheus walked up to Theseus, grabbing Machaon who was still slung over the White’s shoulder and tossing him to one of his Blues to carry away to safety. Then, he whispered something in his partner’s ear while erecting a small funnel of willpower and water around his mouth to ensure that nobody else would hear him or read his lips.
The patriarch of the Divine Root clearly didn’t like whatever the water mage had said, as his features twisted into a grimace. However, he eventually nodded, gesturing at his men to retreat.
The corner of Percy’s lips curled into a bitter frown as he stared at his enemies’ shrinking backs. Some of his allies flashed him questioning looks, clearly wondering whether they should give chase. As much as he wanted them to, he begrudgingly shook his head, knowing that he currently lacked the ability or time to fight beside them.
It wasn’t difficult to figure out what Morpheus had told Theseus. They had already achieved their secondary objective today, by surviving the battle with newfound knowledge of the Dance. There was no need for them to gamble their lives in an uncertain clash when the next one would be even more favourable for them.
Clenching their fists, Percy and Micky focused on the near-skeletal torso of the man who had started all of this.
‘We had him right in front of us… powerless and beaten to a pulp. We just had to fire one more attack!’
The most frustrating part was the knowledge that they would have won if they had picked one of the other active-type Decrees from the tournament. They could have overpowered the plasma mage without resorting to their giant formation, finishing the bastard off even in their exhausted state and despite Theseus’ meddling.
But they hadn’t. They had chosen Kerfyl’s Decree instead. And for what?
Just to give Zurvanai a third mana core.
Allowing themselves to finally separate, a disabled human covered in tattered rags and a regular-sized crow plopped down on the shattered platform weakly.
‘We made the decision knowing the risks,’ Micky said through their connection. ‘At least our contracts will help us ensure that our allies show up when they are supposed to from now on. We’ll also be able to share more of our secrets with them without worrying about them leaking.’
Percy nodded, anxiously shifting his gaze toward the forest. He was about to ask his fellow nobles and alchemists to help his relatives out, since he was in no condition to do so himself.
However, there didn’t seem to be a need for any of that, as an army dressed in House Asclepius’ colours appeared to be retreating from the northwestern side of the Whistling Woods, a few kilometres away from Percy’s current location.
Only about forty percent of their original mages remained, and Percy wasn’t sure whether it was his grandfather who had driven them away, or Theseus and Morpheus who had somehow communicated with Machaon’s generals from afar, warning them that they were about to get attacked from behind. Either way, Percy’s relatives weren’t chasing after their opponents, nor were they rushing to his aid, which probably meant that they had also suffered greatly.
The Lone Wanderer’s first clash with Machaon was officially over. The disgraced patriarch had won.