Chương 48

The day after his visit to Leo's feast, Kirk plucked up a battered kite shield, the exterior layered with patched leather, and checked the weight. He grimaced. His original shield had been very high quality. Searching for a satisfactory replacement was an impossible ask. Especially with the glut of newly arrived Conduits, desperate for quality equipment. Had Wheedle not departed, Kirk would have asked him.

But without the chuckling, pessimistic man, Kirk could only give up and try another method"Is it possible to adjust the size of this shield?" Kirk asked the blacksmith, offering the geo-4 cracked and crumpled shield. The man paused his work and squinted at the bent metal.

"Young Master, it is indeed possible. But I'll be honest-- this steelwork, I've never seen the like. Even jus' reshaping it- this is from the foundry at Veinhold, yea? I'll give it my best, sure, but the balance will be off." Kirk chewed on that for several seconds. Then he nodded.

"Right now it's basically scrap. I want it to fit on my forearm." The blacksmith took some measurements and then Kirk moved on to purchase plenty of provisions. The worst part of the in-Rift guard duty is the lack of food. As he left the hold, Kirk took a look inside his pouch; he still had several dozen silver, with more stashed away back in his tent. One gold goes a long way, He thought. And I have so much more. How can someone even spend this much wealth…? The walk to the Rift was crowded.

Kirk could feel the charge in the air. Although he heard occasional mutters about pollution, a new mania had seized people. It was a competition to see who would participate. Everyone hurried. Back to the hold, to rest. Hauling marrow fluid or fungal growths to sell. Bunkering down in the very growing sprawl of tents along the path. Rushing from the tents back toward the Rift, to get a little closer to Ascension. The guards bowed and allowed Kirk through. The world spun.

By the time his feet landed on the slope, Kirk's brown eyes cut back and forth. A grin devoured his face. About twenty meters down the slope, the mustard fog layer roiled. The roars and cries of geos was audible. Kirk's Ancient Bladed Beast Archetype tasted the air. It couldn't catch the correct scent, but its instincts pointed down the slope: if he followed that path, he would find the hunt he needed to Ascend. Gritting his teeth, Kirk turned away. I have 300 more geos to kill first. One thing at a time.

On the way up toward the ritual location, Kirk encountered a few small groups of geos. From their wounds, they were once larger groups that had been cracked to pieces by Conduit teams. Kirk didn't mind; He happily gobbled up the dregs, sharpening his execution with the Larian Saber. He was quite proud to slay almost a dozen geo-3s without being touched once. He even spotted a few fungal growths- it was dangerous enough this close to the mustard layer that it hadn't been swept clean.

Kirk advanced without pause, quickly passing through the forest green and then indigo fog layers without much incident. When he raised his head and looked up, he paused briefly.

"Damn," Kirk muttered.

"They've really been working hard." From the gentle slope during Kirk's last visit, several low walls had been erected and packed with dirt, so flat chunks jutted out like ledges. The whole of the ritual site could now be seen: the central, main location and six satellite encampments arranged in a semicircle. While the central location was half as large as the hold itself, the other five could only fit a score of people. The 'defenses' weren't perfect. If a geo ran around to the side, it could avoid the wall.

But it was a fine start. The central location was a little more complex, with a ditch being dug around its front and sides, but it was much the same. Kirk grimaced, but understood. Without an Archetype who specialized in moving stone, or a Conduit who was an architecture hobbyist, simple construction within the Rift was their limit. Abruptly, Kirk twisted around, alarm surging through his body. Maylor Balkan offered him a small grin.

"Nice reactions. But what do you think? Will this be enough?" Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Kirk calmed his racing heart. The powerful Tier IV Conduit's movements unnerved his Archetypes, but that was just the difference in capability. He observed the milling Conduits and the laborers.

"It's pretty basic, but there might not be much more we can do."

"I agree," Maylor nodded.

"There was some talk about constructing a tower or two, but it isn't worth the investment of wood, in my opinion. And the sooner we put emphasis on ranged damage, those Conduits will try to leverage that for superior treatment."

"People would do that?" Kirk clicked his tongue. Maylor gave Kirk a vaguely disappointed glance.

"Of course people will do that. And can you blame them? They witness their own hard work firsthand. Everyone else sweats elsewhere. Even if you logically know, it's harder to value when you don't see it. Isn't that why you've been sweating so visibly these past few weeks, Young Master Albion?" Without waiting for a response, Maylor popped out of existence. Just as when he arrived, Kirk's senses couldn't catch even a whiff of him.

That same anticipation for his own Ascension stirred in his chest, but Kirk shook his head. Besides, he had to admit that Maylor had made a point. Kirk joined the guard, sitting on the lip of one of the satellite walls and looking down toward the indigo mist. I have opinions on what is fair. But just because I think so, does that make it true? That's why Healer Michaels' paperwork is so important. To find objective truth. To make reality known, even if the Administrator wasn't there to observe it.

Eventually, Kirk hopped down off the wall. He released a long breath and drew the Larian Saber. A few nearby Conduits noticed and raised a shout.

"Alarm! Young Master Albion has sensed geos!" Of the thirty or so Conduits on guard, almost all of them got up and prepared for battle. Which made it slightly awkward when the Indigo mist bulged and Conduits staggered forward out of its depths. They hurried up the slope, limping and wounded. A few seconds later, however, the mist bulged again. The pursuing geos roared and ripped up the slope. Muttering the syllables of Ember I, Kirk glided down the slope. The other Conduits raised a cry and followed in his wake.

Weather that swept up across the continent into Lor Kingdom arrived first at Emberhold. Aside from one low mountain, which had been chopped in half and used as a foundation to build an impregnable keep, the surroundings were grasslands. Sylvaester Albion looked down from the heavy clouds to the grasses, which gesticulated wildly. This would be Sunleon's Breath, the last surge of hot southern winds before the flow of heat faded and allowed Autumn to dominate the Kingdom.

Below his window, the Dragon's Arm, his personal troops, trained in the courtyard below. They hefted their weapons, fifty Conduits in matching uniforms, the highest number of Conduits under a unified command allowed. Aside from Maester Council Special Forces, of course.

"Attention!" The Drill Sergeant shouted. In their matching crimson armor, the Dragon's Arm snapped to attention. They stood like statues, their weapons clasped tightly to their sides. Half bore spears, one-fourth with swords, with the back and middle portions with staffs with crystal foci.

"Forward March!" Just as quickly as they had stilled, the Dragon's Arm surged forward. Their movements were uniform. The discipline was clear.

"Strike!" No sooner had the Drill Sergeant shouted than all the weapons blurred into motion. Swords and spears flashed forward. Blasts of fire and lightning crackled through the air. Sylvaester allowed himself a small smile; there was nothing more pleasurable than predictable quality. Above, a massive rumble came from the clouds, dwarfing all the efforts of the Conduits. Sylvaester Albion turned away from his balcony back toward his office.

"Anything from the capital?" Dauna bowed.

"No, sir." Sylvaester released a long breath through his nose. His gaze shifted to the map on the wall. A golden star glittered in the middle, the seat of the Kingdom's power.

"Dauna, how should I interpret the fact that I have abruptly ceased receiving communiqués from Maesters? When they should be screeching to censure Kirkland for his flaunting of established tradition?"

"Perhaps they are sympathetic, having sired children of their own." Dauna's voice was dry. Sylvaester gave her a sharp look. Dauna straightened and answered more seriously.

"If they are no longer talking to you, then you are probably their quarry, sir." Sylvaester nodded.

"My thoughts exactly. Yet the angle they might take is unclear."

"So far, the reports out of Peakhold are positive. Casualties are down." Dauna offered.

"If nothing else, Kirkland has managed to foster a following."

"Hm," Sylvaester didn't voice his real thoughts. His eyes drifted west across the Kingdom map.

"What about the other matter? Has there been any movement?" Dauna's expression turned serious.

"We lost one of our operatives. The one tailing the young lady Skytear."

"At the very least, this whole debacle will draw the lickspittles out," Sylvaester sighed. He walked back over to the window and looked down at the courtyard.

"Triggering the Rift Wave early. Destabilizing energy with a mass amount of Ascensions. Tch, it's such a clusterfuck I don't know where the knives will come from."

"What should we do?" Dauna asked. Sylvaester pressed his lips together.

"Nothing. It's almost a relief that they are finally dispensing with courtesy. The standoff we've been forced into since the Bloody Solstice… it will finally come to an end.

"It won't be Raistlum or Kirkland," Sylvaester Albion flexed his hands.

"But either Donald or Alethea. They both will be able to prevent the others from binding our small Kingdom into servitude. They are our chance for a better future."