Argrave tipped back the large glass bottle and drained it of the last of the black liquid mana. His gaze stayed locked on the ceiling of the inn as it fell into his mouth. He winced at the familiar taste, twisting his lips about as though to dispel the flavor from his tongue. He felt its magic surge within him, replenishing his diminished supply.

Expending one’s magic was one of the few ways to increase its size. By channeling his magic power to pay off Erlebnis’ debt caused by the Blessing of Supersession, Argrave had an efficient method to drain his magic. The recovery period was shortened by the black liquid magic created by the Amaranthine Heart. Altogether, his personal reserve of magic had increased very quickly relative to most other mages. That alone made the Amaranthine Heart a worthy item to obtain.

“Right. My debt is nearly paid off,” Argrave held the bottle in his hand for a moment, and then set it on the floor.

“Debt?” Anneliese inquired. She sat beside Galamon, both waiting for him to speak.

“Every bit of magic I take from Erlebnis I have to pay back. It’s the same ability his Emissaries possess.” Argrave wrapped his gloved hands together. “Right—to the point. Today we’re going to take a brief foray from town as we wait for events to progress. I’ve asked Rivien to keep an eye out for Elias, too, so we can ostensibly only wait for results from either him or Stain.”

Galamon nodded. “Why are we leaving Jast?”

The elven vampire was still without armor and most of his weapons. Argrave had purchased a simple broadsword for him to use temporarily, and it rested on the table before him.

Argrave leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms. “We need to get that spellbook I mentioned in the past. It’s a marvel made by the Order of the Rose. The spell is called [Electric Eel]. It’s C-rank. For Anneliese it’ll be largely useless, but I suspect I will be using it well into A-rank.”

“What makes it so exceptional?” inquired Anneliese.

“It’s weak,” Argrave began, standing from his chair and stepping about their dormitory. “It’s barely weaker than the D-rank [Writhing Lightning], and it has no area of effect unlike that spell. It’s slower than most lightning spells. Despite that, two variables make it of utmost importance.” Argrave raised a finger as he listed the two off. “It’s persistent, and it’s controllable.”

Argrave roamed about the dormitory as he continued to explain. “Once the spell has been cast, it continues to exist for about an hour… or until it strikes something, naturally. One can have it hover about their head doing nothing but simply existing. Then, when the time comes, one can use it as they please.”

Finished explaining, Argrave grabbed the back of his chair and leaned in. “As I said, the spell is weak. It’s slow… compared to most lightning magic, at least. But when a thousand of these things strike at once, even a dragon is going to take mortal damage. A wyvern might die outright,” Argrave grinned. “As I possess Erlebnis’ blessing, this spell is the perfect thing for an underdog like myself gunning for the biggest things in town.”

“For beasts and monsters, it indeed sounds very effective,” Anneliese conceded. “But in battle against mages or armies, they would all dispel harmlessly against one C-rank ward,” Anneliese posited.

“That’s why I had Galamon make Ebonice arrows,” Argrave pointed to Galamon.

“Ebonice is not especially effective against B-rank magic, and completely ineffective against A-rank magic,” Galamon advised.

“And that’s why I’m continuing to learn blood magic. Most C-rank blood magic spells can break B-rank warding magic, and that trend is similar at the higher ranks. Once the ward is broken, the spells can slip past and deal tremendous damage. [Electric Eel] may be slow compared to most lightning spells, but they’re still nigh unavoidable for your average human.” Argrave turned around. “In Mateth and Veiden, I was weak. Once we leave here, I’ll be—no. We’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

#####

Argrave led his horse up the grass hill ahead of him. Anneliese and Galamon waited at the top. Though Anneliese had only ridden horses a quarter of the time that he had, she was already vastly better at it than he was. Such was her talent as one with the [Genius] trait—Argrave suspected she would become a B-rank mage much sooner than he would, too. Strangely, he felt no envy. There was only a fierce desire to work harder.

Once Argrave crested the top of the hill, he slowed his horse and it whinnied loudly. The six pigeons bound to him via [Pack Leader] swooped down, landing on his shoulder. One held a worm in its beak, and strangely enough, it did not disgust Argrave.

“I’m getting too used to bird mannerisms,” muttered Argrave.

Anneliese did not hear him, but Galamon replied, “Release them, then.” He adjusted his bow. It was strung, and he wore it on his back as though the string were a strap. His quiver dangled from his side. It held only iron arrows, for they had no need of Ebonice.

“Not feasible,” dismissed Argrave. “Though, if I ever try to fly off a tall building, please stop me.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Anneliese said angrily.

Argrave was taken aback by her sharp gaze. “Uh… okay, yeah,” he agreed, nodding awkwardly. Her amber eyes turned away.

“I believe this is the place you spoke of,” Galamon pointed, ignorant or uncaring of their exchange.

Following Galamon’s finger, Argrave’s gaze found its way down a small overgrown gorge. A tiny stream moved down into it, mostly obscured by tall blades of grass barely graying in light of winter’s beginning. At the very end, Argrave faintly made out a carved stone structure.

“Indeed. This is it,” Argrave agreed, moving his horse forward slightly. It seemed uncomfortable at the prospect of going deeper—perhaps because it could sense what lay behind those walls, or perhaps simply because the entrance to the gorge was too steep. “Thorngorge Citadel.”

“We should tie up the horses,” Galamon contributed, alighting from his mount. He grabbed it by the reins and looked about for a place to tie it up.

Most of the area around them was plains without a single tree in sight. In the distance, one could see the gargantuan towers of Jast standing against the sky, casting great shadows across the plains. Beyond it, Argrave could faintly make out a single white tower ascending out of the middle of a ringfort.

Argrave touched Anneliese’s shoulder. “Hey. See that? That white tower?”

She turned, looking out across the landscape. Slowly, she nodded.

“I used to own that. Foamspire, it’s called. Sold it for all those rose gold magic coins.” Argrave kept his eyes on the white tower in the distance. It looked small, but it probably towered fifty feet in the air. “It was built atop a sea arch. Arches form on leading-edge shorelines. This is simplifying things a great deal, but…”

Argrave tried to create the image with his hands. “The waves hit a piece of land jutting out into the water and refract, and gradually, the center wears out, creating an arch in the sea. Over time, the whole thing falls into the ocean.” Argrave snapped, but no sound came out because he was wearing gloves. “That’s why I sold it. In a few months, it’s going to fall into the ocean.”

“A good sale, all things considered,” Anneliese commented.

“I might’ve got more if I sold it elsewhere, but we wouldn’t have any money now. Someone had the misfortune to purchase it from me.” Argrave nodded, then said grimly, “Let’s hope whoever purchased it isn’t planning to stay there anytime soon.”

Eventually, their party found a fairly decent place to tie up the horses so that the animals would not be disturbed by either people or the elements. They descended down into the gorge, mindful not to trip over the graying winter grass at their feet.

“Before we enter…” Argrave called out as they grew near the stone door. “Some things to keep in mind. There are some creatures within that don’t have arms—they’re just heads, and they’re immobile. It may be tempting to kill them, but don’t. You’ll attract the attention of some rather nasty things called Dire Eyes. They’re spiritual beings, meaning they attack the soul. Only magic affects them.”

Galamon turned around, a deep frown disturbing his face.

“As for the other ones—if they grab your weapon, Galamon, don’t try and pull it free. Just drop it. This probably won’t happen to you as you’re an experienced warrior, but just in case. Mostly, I think you’ll be using your bow.” Argrave looked about. “Anneliese, you should use the C-rank spell [Ice Spear]; it should kill most things within instantly. I will do the same—it’s why I learned that spell, you see. Always aim for the eyes. They’re very big and very vulnerable.”

“What in Veid’s name is in this place?” questioned Galamon. “You did not seem worried that I would not be wearing my armor, but the things you describe sound dangerous. What are they?”

“Abominations. There’s no better way to put it.” Argrave stepped past and approached the stone door. “The Order of the Rose fell because their members practiced necromancy without discretion. They’re the largest reason necromancy is illegal in the Order of the Gray Owl.” Argrave rapped his knuckles on the stone door. “Beyond these doors, we’ll find necromantic nightmares and horrors sculpted of flesh.”

“This is what you meant by ‘a brief foray?’” Anneliese stepped forward, pulling her long white hair aside and placing her ear to the stone door. “You showed more fear at the Cavern of the Lily’s Death. Am I to take it this place is less dangerous?”

“Largely speaking, these things are quite impotent. Strange anatomies are not conducive to effective displays of strength.” Argrave watched Anneliese as she tried to hear beyond the stone without much success. “Just have to watch the ceilings, make sure the other denizens don’t sneak up on us. That’s what Galamon is for.”

Anneliese lifted her head from the side of the door and looked at Galamon. She quickly reached back and bound her hair in a simple braid. Argrave was impressed at her speed. In perhaps ten seconds, the large mass of white hair descending to her knees was tied back in a ponytail.

“Perhaps next time we may choose a place that is not a dark, dank underground cavern. I am well tired of crouching through narrow places and banging my knees against rocks,” she said with little enthusiasm.

Argrave considered her statement, hand on his chin. “That’s unfortunate. Long-term, I believe there’s to be quite a lot of this.” Argrave looked to the door, head tilted. “On the bright side, I don’t think this place is cramped. There’s plenty of room. Plenty of space for things to hide, too.”

Galamon drew his broadsword, the steel rattling as it came free of its scabbard. He pointed towards the door. “Anything else you wish to share?”

“Hmm… just follow my directions, I suppose. As ever, you’ll take the front.”

“Right,” Galamon muttered. “As ever.”

He walked to the door. It was circular and simple. The years had cracked it, though not enough to let any light through. Galamon placed his hand on its side and pushed. It creaked, grinding against the floor, and then pushed open slowly, grating horribly.

Once it was open, Galamon stood there gazing inside. “Looks to be clear. It smells of blood, but it’s… wrong. Rotten. Debased. Defiled by magic.”

His gaze slowly lifted up. Something dropped down, and Galamon immediately thrust his sword up at it. Whatever was falling stopped, and blood started to drip down Galamon’s blade.

A creature mostly still hidden in darkness narrowly stopped itself from being impaled, two of its many hands grasping the center of the blade. Galamon stared up at it, and Argrave prepared a spell to dispatch it. It started to move, and Galamon heeded Argrave’s words, tossing both the creature and the blade away. Both tumbled, sliding, and then landed just where the sunlight fell into the ruin.

The creature’s body was only a head. This head could not be any smaller than Argrave’s torso. It was bald and veins bulged from its forehead as though enraged. Its neck extended down and branched off into eight arms. The arms lacked joints—its fingers had no knuckles, the forearm had no elbow. It was like a twisted mockery of a man and an octopus. Dazed, it took a moment to settle itself, and then it looked around.

Argrave met its eyes. They were an absolute black with two golden rings for irises, as though someone had poured molten gold into dual abysses. Its nose and ears had been cut off. From the still bleeding orifices, child-like hands emerged and pulled at its eyelids, keeping those dread eyes exposed and bloodshot. Its mouth had been sewn shut, but its sharp teeth pierced its flesh and left wounds from which harsh, uneven breathing came.

Anneliese took a step back, and Galamon readied himself. The creature shifted about, dragging its arms against the ground. As it made to move, a spear of ice hurtled forth soundlessly, taking it in the eye. It slid back a few feet from the impact, slamming into a wall. Argrave stepped forward, hand still outstretched after casting the magic.

“Scary bastard,” Argrave commented, coming to a cautious stop. “There aren’t too many of those in there, but those will be our main opponent. It’s why we watch the ceilings in Thorngorge Citadel.”

Anneliese let out a sigh of relief, and Galamon stepped forward and retrieved his blade, cleaning it of blood on his pants. He peered out into the hallway beyond.

“No use standing around,” Argrave said cheerily. “You first, Galamon. As ever.”