Chương 178

"He didn't have a face," the fisherman whispered, trembling so badly that the words were hard to understand.

"I tried to look, m'lord, I swear I did. But every time my eyes fixed on him, they drifted off, and I forgot what I was doin'." The fire in the common room crackled, spitting a spark against the iron grate, but no one noticed. The warmth of the hearth seemed unable to cut through the circle of dread around the round table. Orion leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

He wasn't looking at the man's face but at the subtle tremors in his hands, the dilation of his pupils, and the sheen of cold sweat on his brow.

"Focus," Asteria said gently.

"You said he looked like a man, so you must have noticed something. Describe it." The fisherman swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving painfully.

"He had tentacles, m'lady. Like squid arms, thick as a mainmast, and pulsing with light. It was white but painful to look at, like staring at the sun for too long."

"And the dragon?" She pressed.

"Did she fight? Did she roar?"

"No, m'lady," the second fisherman said, twisting his wool cap in calloused hands until the fabric nearly tore.

"That was the worst part. She was still. Her eyes were open, but there was no light in 'em. Just an empty glass. She flew where he pointed, like a puppet on a string." Orion felt a chill settle in his stomach. Behenien was a creature with such an immense ego and power that she had challenged an entire army and burned half a fleet just for getting in her way. To break a mind like that required a fundamental violation of the creature's self. Worse, she appeared completely unaware of this violation.

Or maybe she was a better actor, but my instincts tell me her mind found a way to justify her actions rather than guide them.

"The rider," Halian rumbled.

"Can you focus on him? Do you remember more details?" The first fisherman opened his mouth to answer, but then he froze. His eyes, which had been wide with fear, suddenly went slack. The pupils expanded until they touched the white of his eyes, and his jaw moved silently as he clenched his teeth.

"I… I saw…" A vein bulged on the man's temple. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against his skull.

"It's slipping," he gasped.

"Like water through a net. I can remember the fear, but the shape… god, the shape is wrong. It had too many…" He trailed off into a whimper, swaying in his chair. Either the trauma of just seeing that thing is so intense that his whole body is fighting tooth and nail against the memory, or he was charmed to forget, but I doubt that thing even noticed the fishermen. Killing them would have been easier if that had been the case.

"Enough," Halian said, placing a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. The contact seemed to ground him, as the Grandmaster's overwhelming physical presence acted as an anchor to reality.

"You've done well, lads. Rest now. The Guild will see your families well taken care of while you recover, and a reward awaits you for bringing this to my attention." He signaled to a steward standing in the shadows, who quickly guided the trembling men out of the room. The door clicked shut, leaving them alone in the sudden silence. Orion turned to his mother, planning to share his hypothesis about memory modification, but the words caught in his throat. Asteria had gone still.

It wasn't like when she faced Cassian, when she deliberately stayed still and unreadable; this was the paralysis of recognition. Her face had drained of some color, and her eyes were fixed on the empty chairs where the fishermen had sat, seeing something that wasn't there. Orion had seen his mother face down Antares. He had seen her duel a dragon in the sky. But he'd never seen her look so haunted. Halian was watching her as well.

The Grandmaster offered a slow, serious nod, acknowledging a truth that hadn't yet been spoken aloud.

"What is it?" Orion asked softly. Asteria blinked, the mask sliding back into place with visible effort. She straightened her spine, although her fingers still drummed a nervous rhythm against the table. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"We should talk in a secure location," she said, her voice brittle.

"This isn't the kind of topic that can be discussed anywhere."

"The solar will do," Halian said, rising from his chair. He picked up his simple wooden spear, using it as a walking stick, even though he clearly didn't need it.

"Come." They moved further into the Tower. If the hallways had been confusing before, these were actively hostile to navigation. Orion felt gravity shift by several degrees as they rounded a corner, forcing him to walk on the wall for a few steps before the orientation realigned. Neither Halian nor Asteria seemed to notice. They entered a smaller, more intimate sitting room high in the spire.

A single window looked out over the churning gray sea, but from this height, the waves seemed like wrinkles in a dark cloth, and after a moment, he realized it wasn't the same sea he had seen outside the Tower. Halian pointed to a set of velvet armchairs around a low table. He didn't offer tea this time.

"You recognized the description," Halian stated, not making it a question. He sat heavily, the chair groaning under his weight.

"The tentacles. The complete domination. The corruption of memory," Asteria recited, staring into the cold hearth.

"They are the hallmarks of the Deep Sovereignty." Orion frowned. He had read extensively in the Sanctum's libraries, consuming history and magical theory, but that name didn't show up in the standard texts. Still, he could guess.

"The Pelagic Host?" Orion asked, recalling Minister Ames' lessons.

"I thought they were long gone."

"They are," Halian said grimly.

"But that doesn't mean they disappeared without a trace. They invaded the western coast centuries ago, breaking apart the old powers of Cyril, and it took the combined strength of every petty kingdom and emerging faction to drive them back into the sea."

"But they were destroyed," Asteria insisted, though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

"The Archmages of that era collapsed the continental shelf on their capital. Nothing survives that pressure."

"Nations die," Halian said softly.

"People don't. And bloodlines are harder to kill than cities." The Grandmaster leaned forward, appearing no more pleased than they were.

"We know that when the Sovereignty fell and its Host was broken, refugees scattered. Most were hunted down, but the nations across the Sea of Storms took some in. The Empire of Iss, the Gutarah Archipelago. They coveted the Sovereignty's power." Orion's mind raced, connecting the dots that. The Crimson Wheel's merchant princes had been hoarding supplies and gaining influence, supported by a foreign presence.

Behenien, a local apex predator, had been restrained and pushed into the Belt, adding a chaotic element to the board.

"It's not the Sovereignty," Orion realized aloud.

"It's a modern nation making use of its history with Cyril to cause even more chaos." Halian looked at Orion, and a flicker of approval warmed his gaze.

"Precisely. We aren't fighting the ghosts of the past, young mage, but an advance guard."

"Why here?" Asteria asked.

"Why through the Belt?"

"Because it's wild," Halian replied.

"Because if a dragon appears here, we assume its hunger and greed drove it to us. If a village goes silent, we assume it was monsters. It's the perfect blind spot to stage an invasion, or at least a test run. Even I wouldn't have thought it possible after a century of peace." He stood up and approached a large map pinned to the wall. It showed the northern part of the Cyril coastline, but it was covered with red ink annotations.

"We've lost contact with three coastal watchtowers in the last month," Halian said, pointing to the jagged coastline north of the Tower.

"At first, I thought it was the regular migrations of oceanic monsters. They tend to be more trouble at this time, and sometimes the watchtowers hunker down to weather them. Now? Now I believe we are being blinded." Asteria looked at the map, her lips pressed into a thin line. The implications were disastrous. The Magocracy of Cyril was a superpower in its own right, but it was fractured. The factions spent more time fighting each other for influence than watching their borders.

An external invasion using mind-control magic capable of enslaving Tier Four beasts could cause so much damage that they would descend into chaos long before any response could be organized.

"We need to act," Asteria said, her voice firming with steel.

"The High Council must be convened, and Antares needs to know. If this is a foreign power using Forbidden Arts, the Accords require a unified response."

"And how long will that take?" Halian asked dryly.

"Weeks? Months of debating whether the fishermen were drunk, or if I'm trying to leverage a crisis to insert the Guild deeper into their lands?"

"Days," Asteria replied.

"I will fly to the Sanctum right away and speak with the High Priestess. As for Antares, don't worry. He's not the type of man to delay when action is needed. Still, I will stress how dangerous this moment is." Halian nodded.

"The Guild is mobilizing. I've already recalled the A and S-Rank hunting parties from the wilds. We are shifting to a war footing."

"Then we must leave now," Asteria said, standing up.

"The Sanctum must be fortified against such threats, and we must prepare our own armies."

"A pity," Halian sighed, looking at Orion with genuine regret.

"I had hoped to take you on a hunt, as is right and proper for a young man. There's a juvenile Behemoth just fifty miles from here that would have made for a wonderful whetstone for you."

"Next time," Orion promised, feeling a strange surge of pride from the old monster's interest.

"That's a promise," Halian agreed. They moved quickly after that, keeping the goodbyes brief. Emerging from the Tower of Ambition was just as startling as entering it. One moment, they were in the solar, and the next, the heavy oak doors swung open, and the howling coastal wind crashed into them. The sky had darkened in the meantime, and the courtyard remained tense, with the Guild adventurers and the Sanctum witches eyeing each other across the black stone.

The Lieutenant, Goran, stepped forward as Halian emerged, his glaive at the ready.

"Grandmaster?" Goran asked, his voice rough.

"Stand down, Goran," Halian ordered.

"The witches are now allies, at least temporarily. Instead of bothering them, prepare riders to send to the northern outposts to inform them of an S-rank calamity." A ripple of shock swept through the Guild ranks, but discipline kept them from asking questions out loud. Goran slammed a fist to his chest.

"Aye, sir." Asteria didn't linger with speeches. She raised her hand, sending a pulse of light into the sky to signal to all witches how serious the situation was.

"Form up!" she commanded, her voice amplified.

"We must fly for the Sanctum at top speed. Use mana potions if you need to, but we won't stop until we're back in the coven." The army of witches rose into the air as one, turning south-west. Orion took one last look at the Tower of Ambition. The Grandmaster stood on the steps, a small, solitary figure against the massive, winding structure. He stood like a sentinel, watching the sea and waiting for the monsters to emerge.

Orion swung his broom around and accelerated, the magical boost pushing him back into the seat. This is going to be an uncomfortable ride. I guess it was too much to hope for a few months of peace and quiet, but at least this will take priority over any internal squabble within the coven. I doubt the High Priestess will tolerate Morliana playing her games when we're under the threat of invasion.