Chương 68: What Do the Ghosts Want?

After the party left the McRory home early in the night and he was sent off by his master on a mission to stop the invasion, Havlo went and found a secluded spot to cast [Invisibility] and [Flight] before setting out over the open water toward the Ygg Latten Keystone. The wailing of the dead mercifully faded away with height. Looking down, he noticed something about the ghost navy that hadn't been apparent from the ground. Their formation curved away from the shore into a large circle.

And the very center of that circle happened to coincide with his destination. As he closed in on the site, the mana pressure in the atmosphere became suffocating, squeezing at his chest like a hundred miles of water. Even knowing that it was all in his head, it took conscious effort to keep his breathing coming in normal. It scratched at his magic resistance, causing the sensation of a million tiny sparks dancing across his skin. The shrine itself sat at the bottom of the sea.

For it to leak so much mana that he could feel it up in the sky, something must be seriously wrong. He had to go down and see it for himself. He spent a the next few moments layering defensive spells, and then attempted a descent. The pressure and the sparks intensified until the pain became unbearable and he had to pull out of his dive. He hadn't even come close to touching water's surface. Something was wrong. Could the mana pressure alone really be enough to stop his approach? Or was there something else to it?

To test his theory, he removed an egg from his inventory and let it drop. It turned black and rotten, the process speeding up as it fell. The shell flaked away in the wind, releasing a dark, gooey sludge that got eaten up by the waves. Just as he thought. The decay field was so strong here that it flowed through the air. Things would be a thousand times worse in the water below, making it impenetrable even to him. While this meant he couldn't lay eyes on the Ygg Latten Keystone, he no longer needed to.

The truth was undeniable now. Out of all the keystones, the Ygg Latten Keystone remained one of the most mysterious thanks to its unusual location at the bottom of the sea. Few were aware of the special feature that formed its core. But if one wanted to attack it, the natural counterforce to life would be death—and what better represented death than a fleet of ghosts?

He didn't know enough about necromancy to understand how the ritual formation worked, but since the ships were arranged with the keystone at their center, it must clearly be the target of the decay field. He thought back to the dead fish that washed up on the beaches when this all began. At some point the necromantic formation must have grown strong enough to damage the keystone, causing the divine mana to leak. This mana of life must be what allowed the dead fish to continue swimming.

Someone capable of doing this to the keystone would no doubt have found a way to harness its mana. That would explain the mucks and the rapid rise in the number of ghost ships. More ships meant a stronger decay field. The keystone's own mana was being used to fuel its destruction. But why bother to create the mucks? Why attack Ygg Latten Bay? They were wasting so much mana on that invasion, mana that could be directed against the keystone instead. Was there something that they needed from the peninsula?

Havlo flew down toward the ships. The aerial decay field was at a bearable level this far from the center of the ritual formation. The decks of the large ocean-going vessels were manned by indistinct shimmering figures. A few seemed to turn their heads when he flew close, but otherwise they paid him little mind. He didn't sense any mana presence. Either the necromancer wasn't among them, or they had a suppression ability on the same level as Lady Amberlin's. He passed through the ship and the ghostly sailors.

Nothing triggered his magic resistance. He didn't feel a chill or any other sensation, no evidence the ghosts were anything other than an apparaition. Next he tested out some spells. Nothing worked—not even [Disintegration]. This was troubling indeed. It appeared that he couldn't affect the ghosts, nor could the ghosts affect him. That would explain why they were using the mucks. But there had to be a way to banish them.

He spent some time searching for clues, for whatever the necromancer was using to bring forth the ships and control them. His fear was that the spell formation was etched on the bottom of the sea, which he had no way of getting to, now that things had reached this point. Deciding that there was nothing more to be gained out here, he returned to the shore.

Naytor changed out the pins on the map in front of him while his adjutant ran through a summary of the sectors that had been breached so far tonight. At this point it would be faster to flip the list around and name the sectors that hadn't been breached. Every night there were more ghost ships and more mucks while his supplies dwindled and soldiers tired. Someone approached him from the side.

"Do you have somewhere private we can talk?" It was Havlo, one of the adventurers who'd arrived today. Naytor shook his head.

"We can speak here. All my people can be trusted."

"You can decide that after you hear what I have to say." There was an edge in the elf's voice. He made a quick decision.

"Lieutenant Marsh will sit in with us."

"Fine."

"Then let's speak in my office." They went down off the rooftop and toward the west wing of the manor. His office was located in a corner, with two windows, depending on his mood for the day. Back in the normal days, the one behind his desk had a pleasant view of the Ambershard Quarter and the bay. He loved watching the merchant ships come in, each one representing hundreds of gold in merchandise for the economy and tens in revenue for the city. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

The other one let him look out toward the hills, where cows and sheep could often be seen grazing peacefully. Lately the window behind him remained shuttered.

"Let's hear it," Naytor said impatiently.

"Everything we say in this room stays between the three of us," Havlo said.

"Of course." Havlo took a deep breath.

"Their goal is to destroy the keystone." The claim was so ridiculous that it took him a moment to process what he'd just heard. Even his adjutant couldn't help protesting, "The keystones are indestructible." There wasn't a soul in Kalimor who didn't know about the seven shrines blessed by the Apostle and which sealed the greatest evil the world had ever known. Not even the Amber Mage himself could lay a scratch on one.

While the Demon Supreme still had followers who would love to see their master released, there was nothing they could do against the power of the Goddess. But the mage seemed to believe otherwise.

"They've already succeeded in damaging it." He asked carefully, "How do you know this?" Havlo described his flight out to check on the keystone. While Naytor wasn't a mage himself, as a military man he'd learned about their capabilities. Which was why he knew that only fifth-circle mages could fly. The man before him wasn't just an archmage, but someone close to the pinnacle of magic. If he was telling the truth. Havlo must have sensed his skepticism.

"Watch carefully." In the next instant, he was gone. The ink pot on Naytor's desk lifted into the air and disappeared. A few seconds later, the Havlo reappeared with it resting on his palm.

"Just a quick demonstration. You know what tier of magic that was, don't you?"

"Tier 7," Marsh said.

"Archmage level." Not on the same level as [Flight], but it lent credence to the claim. There would be time for a proper demonstration later.

"Why did you lie about being Tier 3?" Naytor demanded.

"My party doesn't know," Havlo replied.

"When I said that everything stays between the three of us, that means only the three of us." Naytor felt a pang of sympathy for those poor girls traveling with someone who was hiding their true self.

"What I still don't understand is the mucks," Havlo continued.

"Why they're attacking the bay." He waved his hand. The answer was obvious.

"The peninsula is a useful footfold on the continent."

"There are easier places to take."

"None that are so defensible, and this close to the keystone." Havlo took a moment to think.

"If that's the case, then the only way to stop this is to find the person behind it. They'd be somewhere close. Most likely in the city itself, where they can best monitor the situation."

"What are we looking for, exactly?" he asked.

"A necromancer. Maybe a devil. They could be two separate individuals working together." Naytor's adjutant caught his eye.

"Is there something you want to say, lieutenant?" Marsh hesitated.

"I don't know how credible the report is, sir. But some of the sailors saw a devil fly in from the sea, back when this all started."

"How could they tell it was a devil?" he asked.

"I didn't dig into it, sir, since sailors are known for, well, you know—a couple months at sea and they begin seeing mermaids everywhere."

"Merfolk are known to rob our shipping lanes," he pointed out.

"Well, they reported seeing the devil came off one of the ghost ships, sir." Naytor nodded.

"See if you can dig up that report for us, lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." Though from her eyes, no one had probably bothered to keep a record of that sighting.

"There's another possibility," Havlo said.

"They could be after something specific. Maybe an artifact of some kind."

"How are we meant to find something like that?"

"It's lucky for us that it's hard to find, or the necromancer would have succeeded by now," Havlo replied unhelpfully.

"If I might suggest, sir," Marsh spoke up again.

"Perhaps we could consult with a scholar?"

"Fine. Make the arrangements, lieutenant." He turned back to Havlo.

"Is there anything else that can't wait for dawn? I've got a battle to oversee."

"Just remember," Havlo replied.

"Nothing we discussed here must ever leave this room. It especially must never get back to my party."

Juan lay back on his chaise longue and read through the pages in his hand. Above him, a dim orb suspended from the ceiling provided the only light in the room. Every wall in his home was a bookshelf groaning under the weight of knowledge. From ceiling to floor, rows and rows of manuscripts covered every topic ever written about. There was magic, romance, alchemy, alchemical romance, history, historical romance, physics, physical romance, zoology, and so on.

What had captured his attention tonight was a saucy mathematical romance titled Goad Esther Back. He'd picked it up since the latest installment had been released today, and the author assured him that the ending was nearing completion. But after getting a little more than three-quarters of the way into it, he no longer felt that promise could be kept. But what else could he do? It was all he had to tide himself over until the next chapter of The Secret Apprenticeship of Amy-Lynn made its way over from Lorelark.

There was a knock at his door. He set the story aside and went to answer it. It was a woman.

"Are you a scholar?" she asked.

"That I am," he replied. Without waiting for an invitation, she let herself in, bringing with her the stench of raw seaweed. Though she hid her face beneath a hood, he could tell she was a half-elf.

"Don't get water on any of the books," he warned. She ignored him and held up a piece of cloth.

"I need to know everything there is to know about this picture." It looked like a messy child's drawing.

"Have you tried asking the local preschool?" he suggested. There was a flash of anger in her eyes, and he reeled back reflexively. But when she brought her fist up, it was to show him the coins. Gold coins. Each one represented more money that a typical person earned in a year. She placed the money down on a table.

"If you can get me answers before the end of the week, I'll double this."

"A week?" he scoffed.

"You realize that the city won't be around that long."

"Then work faster," she said. He gestured to the bookshelves around him.

"You think this is like picking pumpkins?" She sighed.

"What do you need?"

"Let's start with what's so special about this drawing."

"No," she said firmly.

"My knowing where to begin will bring you your answers faster," he pointed out. After some hesitation, she said, "I found it etched in stone. It seemed ancient and powerful."

"Powerful?" he studied the picture again skeptically. Now that he took a good look at it, it was a rubbing rather than a drawing. And the fabric was damp.

"Did you find this etching underwater?" The question seemed to annoy her.

"It might be the symbol of an ancient cult or secret society. I want to know who they were, what they did, their beliefs, their secret handshakes, their rituals, if they're still around."

"An ancient secret society of rabbits that like to eat cakes?" He looked over at the coins again.

"What if there's nothing?"

"The coins are yours to keep regardless," she said.

"But if you succeed, the rewards will be great."

"What if I don't want payment in coin?" he asked carefully.

"What would you wish for?" He looked her over again. She didn't appear half-genie. But he also felt a strong mana presence from her. He recognized the smell of mucks. And if she'd gotten this rubbing underwater, then that meant she'd braved the decay field. He wasn't dealing with someone simple.

"Knowledge," he replied.

"Some rare materials. And magic orbs. Real dense."

"Dense orbs?" Her eyes flicked over to the dim one lighting up the room.

"What sort of knowledge?" He regarded her carefully before continuing.

"I'm looking for reliable information on devils."