R-a - Volume 4 - Chapter 16

R-a - Volume 4 - Chapter 16 (In editing-v2)

“A Seer… I see. So that’s how you came to save these old bones of mine.” Myla Hannis muttered as she stared at Micheal, her eyes lighting up with a fiery gleam.

The duo were standing alone in an immaculate wooden hut. If not for the crude materials, Micheal might have mistake the room as one in a highly rated hotel on Earth. There was a finely carved wooden table, plush chairs, Farian artwork on the walls and perfectly crafted glass windows. The room was even nicer than the Farian Council Chamber he had visited just a few hours prior.

‘What an utterly selfless man.’

The elderly Farian studied the human that sat across the table next to her, a human that had moved her hardened heart.

She had always told Gregor to believe in the best of people, whether those people were Farians, humans, or some other species. But on the inside, after witnessing betrayal after betrayal, even the Wise Lady herself had grown weary.

She said those words to Gregor more out of obligation than true belief.

The Lord Justiciar of this generation was an unprecedented warrior. It would not be amiss to call him the strongest Farian throughout the entire history of the Tribes.

Gregor’s personality was that of a benevolent hero. However… if that personality ever should shift to something more negative or tyrannical…

The mere thought was enough to make her shudder.

The Lord Justiciar was a walking weapon of mass destruction.

When he went on a rampage, no one could stop him.

She thought of him as one of her greatest friends and allies, but Myla was also realistic. It was, after all, her duty as the Wise Lady to plan for the future of the Farians.

She was no idealist.

However…

Standing before her right now appeared to be the very type of idealist she thought no longer existed in their world.

‘We owe him nothing, and yet, he has risked everything to save us. To save me. He did the impossible with ease.’

‘How ridiculously skilled is he..?’

Myla was unable to hold back a small smile as she looked at Micheal.

‘He reminds me of Gregor.’

‘…’

‘So this is what it feels like to be saved by a hero…’

Myla kept her thoughts to herself as she listened to the human’s reply.

“The knowledge I have of the future is frayed and incomplete, but it was enough to lead me here.” Micheal explained as he glanced at Myla.

“And… it was also enough to let me know how to fight back against the enemies that are attacking you.”

Several hours had passed since the attack by the Monster Class Morenkai. The Lord Justiciar had split away from Micheal to rebuke the security forces that were supposed to be guarding the Farian encampment.

In that time, Micheal had patiently meditated for several hours, calming his mind, body, and Soul. There was no use worrying over things he did not understand and could not control, like the unprecedented appearance of the Morenkai on the Second Layer. Instead, he opted to take a brief, relaxing break. His life was hectic enough as it was, the brief respite was one well earned.

A few hours into his meditation, the Farian Council ended up taking a recess. No decisions were made, but during their break, to Micheal’s delight, Myla Hannis reached out and asked to speak with him.

He immediately took her up on her offer, ending up where he was now.

Micheal went on to explain to Myla everything he knew about the Vile King, the Beast King, the mind manipulation powers he believed each had, and how that related to the tracking method Myla had developed.

He conveyed the information in a succinct manner, giving a speech he had rehearsed countless times in preparation of this very moment.

As a result, it took less than 5 minutes to convey everything he needed to share.

The Wise Lady was silent for a few moments as she took what Micheal said in, a small frown appearing on her face. The soft, warm look that had tinged her face was nowhere to be seen now as her eyes grew sharp and focused.

“The Beasts of Providence…” She muttered the name of the enemy group, her voice dark. The number of Farian lives that had been lost to them was not a small number.

Several more seconds passed as Myla narrowed her eyes, her brow creased as she concentrated intensely. Her gaze drifted off into the distance, looking past Micheal.

Finally, the Wise Lady turned her focus back on him.

“I have a question for you, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

Micheal tilted his head to the side slightly before nodding his assent.

Myla pursed her lips, hesitating for the briefest moment, before letting out a sigh.

“Young hero, you’ve already done so much for us and I dare not ask anything more of you… but I don’t think you’re done with us.” Myla phrased her sentence more as a statement than a question as she went on,

“So…” Myla hesitated for the second time before asking,

“What are you planning on doing next?”

Micheal began to smile.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“Leaving already, eh? I can’t say I’m surprised.” Gregor’s deep voice resounded in the Farian Council Chamber as he stood face to face with Micheal.

The Lord Justiciar had a faintly annoyed look on his face, though not because of Micheal.

Another hour had passed since Micheal’s talk with Myla. In that time, the Farian Council had reconvened briefly, coming to a decision.

The Tribe Leaders would begin consolidating their forces in the aftermath of the Life Festival to prepare for a large-scale offensive. It sounded good on paper, but, because the Farian Leaders couldn’t agree on a more specific plan of action, the Council would have to meet again in a week’s time before anything else got done.

The Lord Justiciar had his work cut out for him if he wanted to get the Tribe Leaders to move as one. Micheal didn’t envy him one bit in that regard. The Tribe Leaders notoriously did not get along with each other, even during the midst of the first timeline’s Great War.

“Time waits for no man, especially not a Seer.” Micheal returned with a shrug.

Gregor eyed him for a moment, his face expressionless.

“Time might not wait, but the world isn’t going to end if you take a break.” The Lord Justiciar’s eyes held a hint of concern.

Micheal returned his look with a self-deprecating smile.

‘If only that was the case.’

For all Micheal knew, even a single day wasted could mean the difference between saving humanity and not, in the end.

“I’m serious, Micheal. I don’t know if you see it, but I do. You’re pushing yourself hard, too hard.” Gregor shook his head,

“No one can do that forever.”

Micheal shrugged.

“I don’t need to last forever. Just long enough.”

Gregor raised an eyebrow at that.

“And when is enough?”

Micheal's smile widened slightly, touched by the Lord Justiciar’s genuine concern.

He quoted the first half of a Farian proverb in reply.

“Death ends all duty…”

“…but duty’s end is not death.” Gregor grimaced as he finished the proverb, heaving a sigh.

“You’re surprisingly well informed on Farian culture.”

Micheal tapped his head twice and smirked.

“Perks of being a Seer.”

The Lord Justiciar chuckled despite himself.

“Alright, alright.” He waved at Micheal and shook his head, giving up on persuading him.

“Well, before you go, take this.”

The Lord Justiciar abruptly hurled a long, thin object at Micheal’s chest, pulling it out of seemingly nowhere.

“It’s a reward you’ve more than earned.”

Micheal’s hands snaked out and grabbed the package mid-air. Somewhat embarrassingly, he was forced to spawn a Time Bubble that slowed down time in order to react fast enough to catch it. Gregor’s eyes gleamed as he saw this, his curiosity at Micheal’s unusual powers clearly still going strong.

“A sword?” Micheal muttered as he ran his hand along a long, grey leather sheath. The leathery hide was carved with long, sinuous patterns that looped up and down it, stained a faint red.

He slowly pulled the blade out, unleashing a faint blue glow into the Council Chamber.

‘Is this..? It is.’ His eyes quivered for a moment as rubbed the glittering blue blade.

‘It’s a sword made out of Blood-Refined Mithril.’

It was a reward that he absolutely did not expect to get… a fantastic reward.

Throughout the entire population of Farians on the Second Layer, the number of Blood-Refined Mithril weapons that existed could be counted on a single hand.

It was a weapon crafted from a type of magical ore, enchanted with the life force of tens of thousands of Farians, smithed into existence by a grandmaster smith. Each weapon was ancient, forged in the days where tribal warfare was commonplace and sacrificing enemy Tribemembers was acceptable.

‘If it was listed in the Shop, this sword’s value would be tremendous. Easily over 300,000 Points, 400,000 Points, maybe more.’

Blood-Refined Mithril weapons were indescribably durable, had the ability to regenerate from any damage sustained, could perfectly convey any energy that was imbued into it, and had the ability to adjust their shape, scale, and even weight to match the preference of its owner.

‘Each Blood-Refined Mithril sword is considered an Ancestral Artifact of the upmost value.’

Micheal tore his loving gaze away from the sword and looked back up at Gregor, a far too warm smile appearing on his face.

Gregor shuddered.

“Don’t look at me like that, just take the damn sword and go. I don't want to hear your thanks.” The Lord Justiciar flared his hand out and made a brushing motion, as if to blow Micheal away.

“I have paperwork to do, even now, in this damned apocalypse.” Gregor sat down at the table of the Council Chamber, grumbling as he pulled out a large stack of parchment.

“The sword’s name is Lightshorn. Don’t lose it.”

Micheal nodded quietly as he looked down at the sword for a few more seconds, only the sound of paper rustling in the still air.

He then took a deep breath and turned around, his gaze growing fierce as he began to walk towards the exit.

Just before he left, the Lord Justiciar’s voice echoed one last time.

“Try not to die out there.”

Micheal looked back at Gregor and gave him a rather cheeky grin.

“No promises.”

.. .. .. .. .. ..

A cool breeze ruffled over Micheal’s hair, carrying the refreshing scent of flowers, trees, and desolated, smoky earth.

Micheal glanced at the forest that spread out in front of him to the South of the Farian encampment, the aftermath of his explosive attack on the Beasts of Providence staining the ground not too far away.

It was time to go…

But this time…

Micheal looked behind him at the more than 200 Farian warriors garbed in grey leather armor, powerful members of the elite Shadow Guard, armed to the teeth.

Standing at the front of this group was a thick, muscular warrior with stark yellow hair and a grizzled yellow beard that had a few hints of grey, wearing a two meters long stone pillar on his back.

Right next to the older warrior was a younger female Farian with long brown hair that complemented her lean, tanned physique. Her face was dotted with freckles and her eyes glowed with a red fiery gleam.

“Shadow Captain Sprel.” Micheal looked at the veteran fighter,

“Disciple Apparent Serena.” He turned his gaze to the younger adult female, the direct, and only, disciple of the Wise Lady herself.

It was time to go…

But this time…

Micheal’s eyes crinkled in a smile.

This time…

He was bringing an army.

“Let’s go.”

.