Chapter 17:The Final Performance
His figure, cloaked in a heavy overcoat, receded from the room with quickened footsteps. Using that makeshift elevator to reach the surface would be a pain—and perhaps he needed to leave a few directives for Lancelot. And, let's say, for Eva as well.
*Necessary Underground preparations...*
He sighed.
His form tore a rift through the cold underground air, phasing out of the dimly lit stone corridor. His steps ascended from the rough-slabbed floor to smoother clay tiles.
His eyes traced the silhouette of the now-vast space before him. There were no windows, but compared to his brooding, shadowed office, this chamber held a fair share of light, with golden and blue inlays casting a subtle glow across the walls.
His footsteps echoed with a gaunt scraping sound as he traversed the room, which held little more than shelves of ancient tomes at one end and a bubbling cauldron at the other. His gaze settled on a long drape of golden and blue livery leading to a receptionist-like counter, where a woman with amber hair scribbled furiously with a quill.
Instead of a crucifix, her chained necklace bore the silhouette of a blazing sun, its edges laden with tiny crosses.
Eva—a Sequence 6 Alchemist from the denomination of the Church of the Primordial Sun.
He watched her green eyes widen in surprise as she glanced up at his approaching form.
"Sir Steins!" she bellowed, her voice echoing across the empty chamber. He'd forgotten: she was the direct opposite of Lyra. Chatty. Hyperactive.
"Sir Steins...?"
Another voice—a manly one—sounded from a long chair across the room. A man with dark, ruffled hair and shadowed eyes stood groggily, hand blocking a yawn as he stretched.
Steins's eyebrows twitched. This fellow had been slumping off while he patched together the mysteries of an impending doom.
"So, Sir Steins, what brings you here?" Eva began, her rumblings more to herself, though those big, cute amber eyes fixed on him. "And what's with the request for two Sequence 3 artifacts? Another god? Or a rogue mnemonic on our tail?"
"I guess so, Eva. Send the missive as fast as you can to the Imperial City." He muttered the words, then added with a sly wink, "And you get a free day off."
He watched her eyes light up with ecstatic glee—before the spark dimmed.
"Is it really okay to slack off when we have a rogue entity on our tail?"
"Rogue entity?" The rumpled dark-haired man bellowed in disbelief, his eyes sharpening. His figure vanished from the chair, reappearing before Steins in a blur. "Really? How did I miss it?"
Veins popped on Steins's forehead as he glanced at the fellow. Of course he'd missed it—he'd been lounging about, and Lyra had been kind enough not to tell him.
He sighed. "It's alright, Eva. I can probably handle it alone. Just take a day off." First, he had to move Eva—a non-combatant—out of harm's way. He watched her expression fall, as if she'd deciphered the true meaning behind his words.
"Or perhaps you can make two Astrality Rejuvenation Potions for me." He added the suggestion with another wink, watching her face brighten.
"I'll be in need of them."
He watched her chirpily return to the sheet of paper before her, scribbling with renewed ferocity, a smile plastered across her face.
He sighed again. "Hey! Hey, someone! Anyone! Speak to me—what's going on?" The dark-haired man's voice tore through the air. Well, he wouldn't call him a man—more like a slightly older teenager. The brain never lies.
Steins placed a hand on his petite shoulder, the other waving to Eva across the desk. "I'll be borrowing Lancelot for a bit."
Not even bothering to spare a glance, she dismissed him with a wave. "I don't care."
He stifled a laugh while the man in his grasp turned to stone—quite the dramatic fellow.
But anyway, he chugged Lancelot to a far corner, their forms overlooking the chair Lancelot had earlier slept upon. He could hear the sounds from above: frantic heartbeats, hurried steps of inquisitors.
"So, Steins..." Lancelot gazed at him inquisitively, collapsing back into the chair. His eyes held an apprehensive glint.
A surprising sudden change in character.
It wasn't that surprising to Steins. He'd grown accustomed to it.
"Listen, Lancelot." He locked eyes with him. "A Sequence 4 Harbinger—corrupted—will sprout in Valen. And..." His voice trailed off.
"Wow... that's huge news to take in." After a quick glance backward, Lancelot added, "Does Eva know?"
"Partly. But not the specifics." He clasped his hands together. "Lancelot, I need you to stall this corrupted for as long as you can. Probably until I return from Anubis."
He watched Lancelot lean forward from the chair, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is it actually sprouting now? And Steins—how am I supposed to stall a corrupted that's a Sequence above me?"
He cast a wry glance at the fellow before him. Weren't mnemonics from the Chivalry pathway supposed to be brave? Why was he different?
"Okay, okay." Lancelot muttered, standing from the chair. "Let's say I stall this corrupted. But Steins, there are going to be casualties. I'm talking thousands."
"Don't worry about that." He placed a gloved hand on Lancelot's shoulder. "Lyra has all that under control."
All the dumbfounded Lancelot could mutter was an "Oh."
It seemed Lancelot was already convinced. It had been quite easy this time. Always debating, always sleeping—yet in the field, he was no less than a dreadful reaper.
One of their greatest assets.
The Knight of the Sun.
His figure receded past Lancelot, hands briefly tapping his shoulders. "Tell Eva I'm gone. I'll probably return for the potions. And..." He halted the tapping, clutching Lancelot's shoulder a little tighter. "Don't die on me, Lancelot." He whispered the words.
And before Lancelot's visage could muster a reply, his silhouette was already gone.
Fading like mist from the room.
---
His silver eyes traversed the street lined with luxurious carriages in golden and silver livery, their polished frames gleaming under the afternoon sun. Occasionally, flags fluttered from ornate poles, bearing crests of noble houses..
The air hummed with the clip-clop of horse hooves on cobblestones, mingled with the murmur of finely dressed pedestrians weaving through the throng—ladies in silk gowns rustling like autumn leaves, gentlemen in tailored coats tipping hats with practiced elegance.
The scent of fresh-baked pastries from a nearby patisserie wafted on a breeze, Towering buildings of white marble and wrought iron flanked the avenue, their facades etched with gargoyles that seemed to leer down at the mortals below, as if judging the fleeting pageantry of noble life.
So, this was the adored Noble Realm.
Quite beautiful for a perfect chessboard.
His eyes wandered to a little mortal clutching a bunch of papers in his grimy hands, wearing an oversized cap that flopped over his ears and threadbare shorts that hung loose on his scrawny frame.
"Daily reckoning! Today's headlines available in print!" the boy screamed, his voice cracking with youthful desperation.
The mortal Mephis had loved to read one of those. He tilted his head at the lad, who sensed his stare and recoiled, eyes wide with wariness. Then, as if gathering courage, the boy locked eyes and stepped forward.
"Want one, sir?" He outstretched one of the papers. "Just a bronze val."
It wouldn't hurt to discern the borders of mortal knowledge, after all. Their reckoning was inbound.
He took the paper from the boy's outstretched hand, delving his other into his pocket. With a subtle manipulation of mankind's wish for wealth, he conjured a golden coin and tossed it to the boy, who caught it with a gasp, mouth agape.
"It's for you, little one. Go—treat your mother with it."
The timid boy muttered a shaking "Th-thank you, sir," followed by a sequence of bows that drew curious glances from passersby. Then he darted away, vanishing into the crowd like a shadow fleeing the light.
Mortals... how stupidly easy to please.
Their bodies a mortal complexity, yet their minds ironically simple.
He glanced through the pages of the paper. Headlines jumped out:
*"Everest Declares Siege on the Port of Ophris—A Warning to Avalon."*
*"New Serpentine Condemnation-Class Identified: Mystic Cradlesnatcher."*
He flipped over. He didn't care much about mortal affairs and wars.
"The Seven Wandering Swordsmen Continue Their Plague on East Borough—The Order Yet to Respond."
He flipped through until a headline caught his attention—something alarming to his train of thought.
*"Emergency Congress: Rumors of Thorough Evacuation of Valen."*
His silver eyes lingered on the news with a smile. It seemed he had acted—the one who peered from the future. An evacuation. Quite a bold move.
Just as he had predicted.
The pieces on the chessboard were moving... right in his favor. He sent a subconscious signal to Vortigern, who soared unseen in the skies above.
The sound of music pierced his ears. He glanced in the direction to see a crowd of privileged folk gathered in a semicircle, their forms a blur of velvet cloaks and jeweled fingers. The melody drew him in, ecstatic to his senses—notes pitched together like a perfected symphony of doom.
He couldn't help but be drawn to it. His footsteps approached the crowd, his towering form parting them like mist. His eyes laid sight on the performers: three figures in exquisite masks of porcelain and filigree..
A violinist led the trio, bow gliding over strings with a mournful precision,Beside him, a lutist plucked chords while a vocalist,sang in a voice like aged velvet, low and laced with sorrow. The song , a dreary lament that spoke of empires twilight.
"In towers of bone where the wyrms once slept,
The stars unravel their silver thread.
Whispers of silt from the deeps arise,
And kings in their halls drink the endless night.
No dawn for the crowned, no light for the lost—
Only the tide that claims the frost."
Coins tinkled into a weathered hat on the ground—silver thalers and golden crowns from gloved hands, dropped with murmurs of appreciation. A lady in emerald silk paused, her fan fluttering ,as she let a coin fall. An elderly lord nearby nodded solemnly, adding his own with a sigh that blended into the melody's fade.
When the final note hung and dissolved, the crowd dissipated in a ripple of applause and chatter, drifting back to their carriages and intrigues, leaving the performers tidying their instruments amid the emptying square.
Except for him.
His hands gave an awesome clap as he walked toward the band, who glanced up with wary curiosity at his approach. He crouched toward the hat, a few lingering gazes following him. His hand reached into his pocket.
"Silver and gold I have none." His hand emerged, bringing forth a multidimensional orb, laden with swirling a sphere of darkness within and a faint, ethereal halo...
His eyes gave a silver glint as he placed the orb into the hat.
"Yet this wondrous gift of mine is far worth them all."
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