The Master of the Ruins
Chris shook his head.
"No. I was down in the cellar. When I came out and didn't see you, I went looking."
"You bound a ring down in the cellar?"
The troll's den lay underground, and Chris had bound his ring at the troll's side. Taken together, that was binding a ring in a cellar. He nodded.
"Yes."
"You promised to give me the Motaro."
"How long have you been here?"
"Since the knights arrived."
"So you tailed them in secret."
"I did."
"Then you heard every word we said. After I gave Mage Daryl her Motaro, I never found another."
"Then how did you bind the ring?"
"By my own strength."
"No."
Daryl's face hardened, and she wagged a finger.
"You found a fresh Motaro. You ran off with it, swallowed it, and bound your second ring. Then greed took hold. You came wandering back for one more to eat, and that's how you ran into me."
"That's not true."
"You got too greedy. If you'd used the key I gave you and left at once, you might have lived."
A chill slid through Chris's gut.
She means to kill me?
"I stayed in the ruins to keep my promise to you. And the key you gave me is broken."
While the two of them talked, someone else was thrashing with everything he had. From the severed plane of Stan's neck, tentacle-like growths sprouted and writhed. The sickly pink tendrils worked busily toward the torso, and the body moved with them, arms paddling like the oars of a ferry as they reached for the head.
Chris had been watching Stan the whole time. A strike of willpower would not land twice. If Stan rose and they fought again, Chris would never break him.
I have to finish this.
His body swung back and forth like a pendulum. He could not move his limbs, but he could still vibrate, and at last he toppled the way a tree falls under an axe. Mana packed hard against his forehead, he crashed into the back of the crawling Stan.
The spine crumpled. Blood sprayed from the cut at the neck.
"Eyes on everything but me. You've nerve to spare."
Daryl's tone was eerie.
Chris spoke with his forehead still pressed to Stan's back.
"If Stan came back, I figured I'd be the one to suffer for it. A desperate measure."
"That technique you used when you fought Stan. What was it?"
"What?"
"The last move that turned a losing fight around."
Chris had meant to keep it as a hidden trump, so he hedged.
"Oh, that. It's nothing special."
The vines cinched hard around him. He remembered climbing the stairs of Mik Tower; the grip felt more than ten times stronger than it had then. He surrendered at once.
"I honed my willpower into a blade and stabbed his consciousness."
"Hoh. Talented, aren't you. Did the Empire teach you that?"
The knights had every nerve strained on Daryl's slightest move. She looked immensely strong, and the moment the Empire was named, Millicent spoke.
"We have nothing to do with him. We don't even know his name."
Filder added his own protest.
"If you followed us, you know we only met him by chance."
"That remains to be seen."
"If you heard the conversation, you ought to know."
"You might have been acting."
Daryl pointed at Chris and went on.
"He's a deep one. Whether anyone's watching or not, he plays whatever role he's been given to the hilt."
Chris still had his head against Stan's back.
"There's no one around me, and I'm not so underhanded that I'd put on an act against every remote possibility."
"What am I supposed to do with you?"
"I've brought you a great deal of luck. I'm a symbol of fortune. You becoming an 8-Ring owes a great deal to me."
"My symbol of fortune betrayed me. That makes me angrier."
"I really didn't. I can't split my chest open and show you, and it's driving me mad."
"Now there's a thought."
She snapped her fingers, and Chris's body was hauled upright. A bad feeling made him stammer.
"Wh-what are you going to do?"
"Just as you said. I'm going to open your chest and look."
"I was speaking figuratively."
From inside her robe Daryl drew a sword of wood. Astonishingly, the wooden blade looked sharper than steel.
"You wouldn't. Would you? You're just trying to scare me, right?"
As the wooden sword approached, the vines covering his chest slid aside. He wore nothing but his underwear, so his chest was bare at once.
"I'll ask one last time. Have you hidden any Motaro?"
"I have!"
"Where?"
"I buried it so some rotten bastard wouldn't steal it."
He lied without a flicker of hesitation. Death was this close; what did a lie matter?
Survive first. The rest can wait.
"I'll lead you there. Just let me go."
Daryl nodded and jerked her chin. The vines that had bound him slackened to the ground. Chris crawled out of the tangle, lifted Stan's head—still moving—and grimaced.
"God, that's revolting."
He smashed it against the ground. The skull cracked, and brain matter spilled out.
"Lead the way."
"Yes."
Chris set fire to Stan's body, thinking hard.
How do I run?
He was still racking his brain when the air split and a man walked out of the rift, so gaunt his bones looked ready to pierce the skin. Daryl's expression turned grave. Even she had not noticed the old man hiding.
"Who are you?"
She asked it with careful courtesy. Anyone who could evade an 8-Ring's senses was worth respect on that alone.
"He's lying."
The old man pointed at Chris. Chris jumped.
"What are you saying!"
The old man's finger dropped, and the fire on Stan's body went out. On the off chance, Chris stamped on the head.
"Heavy hands."
The old man nodded and went on.
"Yes. Once you start, you see it through."
He rolled his neck in a full circle and beckoned.
"You're too far. My neck hurts. Come closer."
Knights and mages did not approach. Some even drew back.
"Ignore me, and heaven will strike you down."
The old man clicked his tongue and raised a hand. Light erupted from a finger thrust at the sky. Thunder rolled, and lightning fell. Everyone except Chris and Daryl, who stood comparatively near, was struck.
Chris muttered under his breath.
"Lightning for heaven's punishment... The only one who can call down heaven's punishment inside these ruins is...!"
"Might you be connected to the ruins?"
"I am the master of the ruins."
He beckoned again.
"Come here if you don't want to die."
He moderated the lightning: medium strength for Ring-Binders and grandmasters, a lighter touch for Seed Cultivators and masters. No one was badly hurt. Julien came first.
"If you're the master of the ruins, then Motaro! There must be Motaro."
"There is."
Julien was about to plead when Daryl stepped in.
"Finish your conversation with me first. You said that man's words were a lie. Why do you think so?"
"I got curious and followed him for a while. He never found any Motaro."
Daryl turned axe-eyes on Chris.
"You dared deceive me!"
The wooden sword came out again and swung for his neck. The cut rang like a struck bell. Daryl glared at the old man.
"Why are you interfering?"
"I told you. He's an interesting one."
"You think I'll let it pass just because you call yourself master of the ruins?"
"Looking to die?"
"How dare you!"
"Oh, she dares. Bitch."
The sudden abuse sent Daryl into a rage. The grass at her feet surged with strength and wrapped the old man. He hardly moved. He only stood there and flicked a finger, and the result was astonishing. The vines that had not budged no matter how Chris struggled burst into flame all at once, and the fire leapt onto Daryl.
She clenched her teeth and swung the wooden sword, trying to cleave the flames apart. They did not part. They wrapped the blade. She dropped it and retreated, drawing her staff and shaking it.
"Fire, be extinguished!"
The surrounding mana churned. Water-attribute mana gathered, and the humidity shot upward. In an instant a droplet the size of a house formed and smothered the fire, while fire-attribute and wood-attribute mana were shoved outward and could no longer serve as fuel. Putting the blaze out looked like a matter of time. Opposing substances collided and threw off steam with a hiss—and astonishingly, the fire did not die. It grew fiercer and wrapped Daryl's entire body.
"Aaagh!"
Daryl screamed. Chris expected her to burn until not a shard of bone remained. He was wrong.
The old man waved a hand, and the fire covering her scattered. Through flame and steam, her form appeared. Chris's mouth fell open. He would not have been this shocked if she had been charred black, because she was unharmed. Robe, clothes, staff, spatial pouch, hair, and body hair had all burned away, and she herself had not burned at all—not even a blister. Burning only what lay outside the skin was far harder than burning everything. The old man's skill was beyond imagination.
Naked, Daryl trembled with shame and stared at him with venom in her eyes. He pointed a finger.
"Want me to pluck those eyes out?"
She swallowed her rage. Temper wanted her to grind the old man down and drink him, but if she tried, she would be the one ground to nothing. William hurried over, stripped off his own robe, and held it out. Daryl put it on and cinched the waist.
Shay, an elder of Rafunian Magic Tower, folded his hands respectfully.
"What is it you want?"
"Let's do a job together."
"What sort of job?"
"Let's open the sky."
"Surely you don't mean to recreate the Opening of Heaven from ten thousand years ago."
"And why wouldn't I?"
Shay thought it absurd.
"I heard even the dragons paid a terrible price to open the sky. How are we humans supposed to manage it?"
"The dragons opened the gate wide because their whole race meant to migrate. We're only sending some of us up, so we don't have to bore it that large."
"Up, you say?"
"To the Middle Realm."
"The Middle Realm?"
"Where we live is a Lower Realm. A wretched corner of one, at that."
"You mean there is more than one Lower Realm?"
"About a hundred Lower Realms lie beneath a single Middle Realm."
"That many..."
Daryl, her mood already soured, needled him.
"And what would we do if we went up?"
"You. 8-Ring, aren't you? Say luck hands you a few more Motaro and you bind one more ring. Then what?"
"Ultimate Mage is the summit. There is no next."
"You'll be satisfied as an Ultimate Mage?"
"Yes. That satisfies me."
"If you can no longer raise your realm, you can no longer extend your life. Your years lock in place, and when that time comes, you die. Will you sit here and wait for a pointless death? Grow old and die without a fight?"
"What choice is there?"
"What if you could climb higher?"
She forced down the mood his tyranny had ruined. His words were too tempting.
"Can one climb higher?"
"Not here."
"Meaning?"
"That's right. Climb to the Middle Realm, and the path into Absorption opens. Here, in this damned world, Ultimate Mage is the end. In the Middle Realm an Ultimate Mage is only a waystation. You can go much farther. Much higher."
His voice rolled out as if it might tear heaven and earth.
"Even immortality is possible!"