I should lose some weight.

Not that it impacted his life that much. Normally, he should have been slower. His extra weight carrying him down. But that would have only mattered if he hadn’t been a mage. Physical speed. Given by muscles. Bah! That’s what |Haste| Spells were for. Or, since he was an accomplished mage, a combination of |Decrease Weight|, |Controlled Momentum| and a continually cast |Quickness| Charm.

But no, his weight affecting his speed wasn’t the issue. It was the stomach cramps! Yes, people usually thought that him being a centaur meant that being fat was a mark of shame. Stupid. It was a mark of value. Only rich and/or powerful centaurs got to be fat. Those that were either served by others or who didn’t need to constantly be on the lookout. For his part, Narh was both.

But the stomach cramps…

He drank a quick soothing tonic and went about his work. He knew what gave him those cramps. When he was worried, he ate. Well, he always ate. One of his top secrets was even related to his passion for eating. Beside his magical Class, he had one other. He was a |Gourmand|. And that truly would have been looked as a shame by others. To take a second Class and one as ineffectual as that? Should others know, it may very likely lose him a good amount of standing. But only Regitris knew… probably. And it was a passion for him, almost as much as magic was. But right now?

The tonic worked, but he could still feel the after effects. He ate because he was stressed and the overeating affected him. But the stress caused cramps all on its own, so one could say it was all about stress really. And why was he so stressed.

Kelunad.

That name never left his mind for long. He remembered oh so clearly how the orc completely contemptuously virtually severed his front legs. Like Narh was a particularly annoying a fly, but in the end just a fly. And today of all days, Kelunad might be making his move. He wanted the amulet. Regitris had told him and the others. He would be coming for it. Would it be today? Perhaps. The entire academy was focused on the exams, which made it a nearly perfect opportunity for the Martial. They couldn’t know for sure. So that only left them being prepared.

“Mage Narh, sir.” A white-robed human woman called out. “The wards are all up and running at 100% efficiency. We have enough mana storage to hold them raised for thirty-six hours before we have to worry about decreasing their output.”

“Good. But the trap Spells? If they activate, they’ll drain mana. You’ll need to take that effect into your calculations.”

“Different mana sources, sir.” The woman assured him. “Our |Inscribers| remembered your advice.”

“Very well. Thank you. Tell Clicko to find me, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Narh watched her depart before turning to look at the room. Well… ‘room’. It had been a room. Now it was a hall, thanks to dimensional magic. Narh stood in the central room of the Ascentionalist sanctum. All the original Gnosian ley lines met here and the mana channeling conduits that his faction had deployed were overlapping them. Mana was so pure here that mages had to intentionally underpower their Spells. And they used the magic to turn the room into a fortress.

The amulet was at the center of the room, inside an orichalcum sphere. Not enchanted, since no one remembered how to enchant that metal anymore, but it was guarded by a ring of their most powerful spellcasters. And they in turn were guarded by an inner ward, triple layered, that only let light and sound pass and even those could be turned off. Should something happen, Narh himself would stand there.

Beyond that lay a wide ring of trap Spells. Not only on the ground, though. The Ascentionalists were the faction of progress. Of knowledge and magic. They remembered how to anchor Spells in three dimensions, even if the others forgot. And all those traps were invisible and as undetectable as they could get them without decreasing their potency.

Inside that ring of traps lay magically fortified pockets of space. Hosting their lineholders. Those rare mages who specialized in artifacts and inscribed Spells. Vials of poison and magic fire, scrolls of varied effects and even mages who channeled their magic through arrows instead of wands. Contrary to public thought, Acentionalists didn’t turn down mages who were martially inclined. They just selected those who had the desire to always perfect their craft, instead of using it as a means towards a bloody end.

Outside that ring lay another set of wards. These were focused on slowing the adversary down, instead of outright stopping them. Wards that affected gravity, that slowed down momentum, that sapped stamina. A host of effects. Getting through them would be like fighting through molasses.

The final defenders… no, that wasn’t right. Because should the orc come, they would be the first to meet him. And they were simple mages. Each of them glowing with magic, protected by as many artifacts and Spells they could manage, before the bound magic started to interfere with their own. Fifty of them. Narh wanted more, but there was already too much magic and mana in the air. More than that and their wards would destabilize. But they could make up for the loss in quantity with quality.

That is, if I can count on him.

“Count on who? Me?” a voice asked him.

Narh, turned, startled and saw Clicko standing behind him, idly scratching at an armpit.

Did he just-

Narh just stare at him, incredulous.

“What? I didn’t read your mind, if that’s what you’re thinking. You just tend to subvocalize when you’re deep in thought. And I’m good at sneaking up on people.” The monkey-man grinned.

Which wasn’t an insult. Clicko was part of a race that looked like… a half monkey, half man. Down to the hair and the sideburns. He didn’t know what they called themselves. They weren’t that common to begin with and each time one of them was asked, they would sincerely ask the inquirer not to divulge their name to others. That they only told them because they counted on them as friends and that they trusted them. And each time they gave a different answer.

Pranksters. Tricksters. They enjoyed causing chaos so much that their innate magical abilities were tied in to it. He didn’t know why Clicko was accepted as an Ascetionalist as was even less sure why he was here. But Regitris trusted him and would have to do.

Narh once asked Clicko why he choose to be an Ascentionalist and not another faction. Like the scarcely-known mystery faction. Clicko just looked at him like he was an idiot and asked him why Narh thought he hadn’t chosen the mystery faction.

I have you Regitris knows what he’s doing.

“Mage Clicko-“

“Clicko’s fine.”

“Clicko. You are to lead the first wave of defenders, should Mage Kelunad come after the artifact.”

“Sure. That’s why I’m here.” He said, leaning on his stave.

“Are you certain you can slow him down?”

“I mean… maybe? If he’s too strong, I’ll just switch sides. Maybe he’ll let me play with the amulet.”

Narh slowly reached for his wand.

“Nah, just kidding.” He grinned. “Maybe.”

Narh was saved from having to come up with a response to that stupidity by an alarm going off.

“Incoming.” On of their scouts called out. “One magical signature detected, coming in fast. He’ll be here in… a minute. Maybe less.”

A minute!

The rest of their sanctum wasn’t as well protected, but it was still the headquarters of their faction. And Kelunad just tore through it like a wet tissue.

“Best get behind those fancy wards of yours. I’ll take it from here.”

Narh glanced at the monkey-man and felt a rare pang of guilt. He never liked him. But they were still both Ascentionalists. And they were both here.

“Is there anything we can do to help? I don’t see any personal wards on you.”

“That’s because I don’t need them.’ He said, scratching at his side. “Besides, they tend to mess with my fur.”

That actually startled a laugh from the centaur.

“Luck in battle, Mage Clicko.”

“Go eat a salad, Narh.”

Narh left and he only managed to enter the inner wards for two seconds, before their assailant arrived. Only… it wasn’t Kelunad.

The leader of the Bloodlinked stood in front of the only entry to the room. A crimson ward shone around him, but based on the looks of things and their own tracking charms, the human man was truly alone.

“Greetings.” He said, bowing shallowly. “I’ve come for the amulet. Will you hand it to me or must it be combat?”

“Leave.” Narh shouted. “You have trespassed on our sanctum. That we do not attack you is only because you have not attacked.”

“Combat then. Very well.”

The man raised a hand, but Narh hollered for the first volley before it was even halfway up. A host of |Fireballs|, |Lightning Bolts| and |Acid Orbs| came at him, fired from pre-spelled Wands and Scrolls. No reason to waste mana on the first attack.

Narh expected him to move or dodge. Or just raise a new shield. Instead, the man waited. His crimson ward ate the entire first attack. It seemed to have thinned a bit, but only just.

“Close-range combatants, forwards!” Narh commanded.

The man was powerful, he knew that, but he wasn’t Kelunad. They could attack him directly, while the orc demanded a more long-range assault. The outer mages started to move forwards, but a shout stopped them.

“Hold!”

“Clicko! What are you doing?”

The monkey-man had command over the first wave of defenders, but Narh superseded him. And yet the mages stopped. They were wary. And the monkey man was… angling his head?

“You look funny.”

The Bloodlinked leader simply stared at him.

“Yeah. Funny. And you’re giving me a wrong vibe.”

Vibe? You stopped the assault for a vibe? Kelunad could be coming right this second.

Clicko kept peering at the man from different directions, but in the end he just shrugged. The stave he played around with instantly elongated in a heartbeat and the but of it slammed the crimson ward. The man tried to pry it away, but Clicko spoke.

“|Destabilize Spell|”

A collective grasp was drawn.

…what?

The crimson ward bled away, fizzling out. And with it, the human’s appearance. His figure melted away, turning to blood. And beneath it, Kelunad stood. It shouldn’t have been possible. Not for an illusion Spell, since Kelunad was larger than the man from before. Yet here he stood.

“Hah! Figured it couldn’t have been him.” Clicko laughed. “That guy has a stick up his ass longer than my stave. No way he’d come down here for you, alliance or not.”

“True.” Kelunad spoke, calm and composed. “His help with this Spell was all that I could gather from him. How did you know something was wrong, if I may ask?”

“Magic.” Clicko grinned. “You wanted to bait mages into attacking you directly, huh?”

“I did. Yet it seems you’ve unfoiled my ruse.”

“Ruse. Hah. Stupid. I thought you Martials were better than ‘lowly deception’.” he aped. “Then again, you’re an orc. Not much brain matter to go around.”

“Needling does not work on me, ape.”

“That would be Sir Monkey to you, green boy.”

“Monkey, yes. Incidentally, did you know my ancestors used to eat yours?”

That… that wasn’t something you just said. A lot of the mages at Gnosis had ancestors that practiced unspeakable traditions. That was before the era of magic. Back when the Wyld ruled and the Green enslaved. It was a horrible insult to tell someone of that. But, it seems, Kelunad did it knowingly.

“I do.” Clicko finally responded, at there was no ounce of humor in his tone.

His posture had changed. He stood ramrod straight.

Shit. He’s never serious.

“Come, orc. Let me show you what the Monkey Kings of old did when your kin grew too hungry.”