Immovable Mage

– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 218, Season of the Setting Sun, Day 85 –

“It has a core!” The woman slashed at the construct with gleeful greed.

“It’s mine!” The man next to her tried to push her away.

Core.

Terry was instantly jolted from his thoughts. He examined the mana core inside the earth giant, stretching his own mana sight to its limits to disentangle the exact mana signature from the mana of the Aspiring Soul curse.

He did not immediately react when the two martialists were slapped hard out of the mountain by a violent rush from the earth giant.

Before Terry realized what he was doing, he had already transfixed the weapons of the other martialists that were about to charge into the fight.

“What’s going on?”

“Who cares? Not like a mana core is going to do us much good without a ticket.”

“The other two are unconscious, do you think they might have a ticket?”

“These weaklings? No.”

“Seriously, what’s with my sword?”

“Ask the Arcanian.”

Terry was still staring at the constructs while concentrating on his mana sight.

“Oi, unhand my sword!” An angry martialist with a bushy beard demanded and pointed at the transfixed weapon in the air.

“Don’t move closer.” Terry did not take his eyes off the constructs. “You’re out of range now, but…”

The line is moving.

Terry could barely make out a faint change in the ambient mana. A change that was spreading from the mountain and outside. He jerked his head and stared into the distance. He pushed his own naturalized mana as fast as he could, yearning to have his mana touch confirm his suspicions.

This mountain was not the only location with the change in mana.

It had just been the first.

Vicious.

Not a coincidence…

“Oi! Sword!”

“Shut up! What’s wrong with the Arcanian?”

“What range?”

“Idiot, the constructs aren’t attacking.”

“Is that what he meant? Okay, these things are this stupid after all…?” A slender man was moving closer to taunt the earth giant.

“Don’t…” Terry muttered.

Too late. The ambient mana change had spread over the taunting mana martialist and the construct had landed another teeth-crushing slap.

The man was lucky that he had reacted in time to avoid the worst of the blow. He complained: “I thought you said it was out of range?!”

Terry blinked and faced the martialist. “The range is extending.”

“I’m out.” Apex stepped up to him. “We got the little shitstain, but as much fun as it was, the third flash is looming.”

Terry’s eyes shot open. He was still trying to make sense of what was going on and he had not expected Apex to change topics. “Wait—”

“As if,” scoffed Apex and used her own exit ticket without hesitation.

“Terry!” Another familiar face forced itself into Terry’s view: a leopard-spotted felan. This time Rafael was not wearing a mask. “Look, I… Do you have a ticket? Please! I cannot die in a place like this.”

“Rafael?” Terry retrieved his own exit ticket. “I only have this one.”

“Oh, come on!” Rafael involuntarily inched his hands closer to the ticket, which caused him to pull it back.

Terry firmly held the ticket in his left hand, now aware of all the hungry gazes focused on his ticket. He reflexively moved his mana into the king spear in his right hand and lightning began dancing threateningly around the spear’s pole.

“Do you think we can take him?”

“And then what? Hundreds of people. One ticket. We’re past the second flash. Everyone with a ticket and a shred of common sense has already left.”

“Then why is the Arcanian still here?”

“A sadistic streak? Gloating one last time?”

“Yeah,” spat Rafael with hatred in his eyes. “Come on, use it then? Preaching to me even though you’re just a hypocrite. You’re only looking out for yourself, just like everyone else. So be it, but get out of my face!”

Terry did not even hear the bickering voices anymore. His mind was completely absorbed with his mana perception and his own thoughts. He knew that the clock was ticking, but…

…but he could finally start to see the pieces falling together.

Or at least he finally had a theory why they had never fit before. Not once during this whole year in which Terry had been trapped in this battle-lunatic asylum, had things made sense entirely.

Dungeon marks, but no dungeon activity.

High-level magic, but sprinkled with all kinds of mechanisms and contraptions that ranged from masterful to amateurish.

Runic inscriptions, but mixed with martialist artifacts and projections.

Terry remembered a passage from Thanatos’s essays in The Warlord. A passage about the difference between dealing with an individual, a nation, or a clan.

Terry had never been interested in politics, which was why that particular chapter had failed to really catch his attention, but the current situation had knocked the memory loose.

Different actors. Different times. Different motives.

Terry shook his head. He was unsatisfied with himself at not having thought of this sooner.

Seeing both the Aspiring Soul Curse and the dwarven House insignia finally caused him to catch on. These two were both known as Faithless Saints. They had both worked together with the Veilbinder. However, they had never worked with each other as far as Terry knew. They had been allies with the Veilbinder at different stages and in different battles.

More than that, the Aspiring Soul Curse had been lost to the ages. How could it appear on constructs that he could swear were of dungeon origin? Even though there was some overlap between the appearance of dungeons in Terry’s realm and the Faithless Wars, the overlap was short.

This is a dungeon.

Terry clenched his king spear tightly. This all felt too familiar. The earth giant construct. The sensation from below. The difference in mana harvesting speed. Only…

No. This IS a dungeon.

If Terry was completely honest, this was nothing but a strong hunch, but the clock was ticking and he did not have time to scribble all possible theories into a notebook. He had one chance to think the situation through and he had to think fast.

If it is a dungeon, then it must have been one of the first.

If it is a dungeon, then someone must have done something to it. To change its behavior. To preserve the construct-empowering Aspiring Soul. To fold the space. To…

Why would Dalia’s mark be here?

As far as Terry knew, Dalia had fought only a few battles in Terry’s native realm. She had spent most of her time leading the charge against the False Gods in the native realm of the dwarves instead. Finding her insignia here, and as a dungeon mark, would imply that she or one of her descendants had come back after the Faithless Wars.

What would bring two Faithless Saints to one and the same dungeon?

No, not just Faithless Saints.

Friends of the Veilbinder.

The Veilbinder’s last sacrifice.

At this point, Terry’s pulse had accelerated to a point as if he was in the middle of battle. The Veilbinder and his companions had departed the realm, but only some of his companions had returned.

Saint Petra had chronicled the Veilbinder’s plan to change the Veil, to strengthen it around the allied faithless realms in order to shield them, to allow them to develop their magic until they could thwart all invasion attempts.

The Veilbinder had succeeded, which was one of the main reasons why the False Gods had never retaken their realms, even after the threat of the god-slaying mage was no more.

However, something must have gone wrong. According to Saint Petra’s account, the Veilbinder was supposed to return after binding the Veil. Unfortunately, the champion of mortals was never seen again, to the loss of all the faithless realms and to the sorrow of his old companions.

If Terry had to wonder what might lead some of these companions to the same location? A location with a dungeon at that?

Terry was familiar with Samuel’s theory about the nature of dungeons. He had personally seen the Veil tear apart and the madness it inspired in the dungeon covering the tear.

He had no clue what caused some creatures to inspire dungeon madness, while others didn’t. Canans, lizans, felans were recent newfolk. Even dwarves and elves were originally not native to Terry’s realm. In contrast to hellspawn, these folks did not create a scrambled defense and attack reflex from dungeons.

It was evident that originating from a foreign realm was not the only criteria by which a dungeon judged a being. Nevertheless, it appeared to play a part.

Vicious.

Terry believed that it was Vicious that had caused the dungeon’s behavior to change. Specifically, whatever ability the cultist had unleashed as his last resort. The constructs had only emerged then. The dungeon had ignored Vicious’s earlier activity and mana abilities.

The Realm’s First Line of Defense.

Terry instinctively raised his king spear to the back and extended it just towards the neck of the martialist that had been trying to make a move on him. He did not even have to move his eyes to know exactly where to point his spear.

“S-sorry, man. Can’t blame a fella for trying.” The martialist backed away with raised hands. “If you don’t want to use your ticket, you could, you know, make a donation.”

Terry wasn’t listening.

Fact: The dungeon reacted to Vicious’s otherrealm ability.

Fact: The dungeon started moving at exactly the same time as the first orange pulse from the moons. Or perhaps the other way around. They did coincide no matter which way.

Fact: The orange pulses were known before. The siblings warned me, which means that these pulses happen around the time this tomb opens for people to exit.

What…? Why…?

Terry got the bad feeling that these orange flashes always signaled contact with otherrealm mana abilities. He was distracted from his thoughts by a change in mana inside the ticket in his left hand.

I don’t have time… Huh?

Unexpectedly, he could also sense a change in the king spear in his other hand.

This is all…

For the past year, Terry had wanted nothing more than to leave this damned pocket realm. To get away from these insane battle-junkies. To return to his family.

He should be happy that the moment to leave had finally come.

He should be ecstatic that they had managed to kill Vicious before.

Victory!

Everything Terry had asked for!

He knew it. Even so, Terry did not feel it. His mind was circling around the strange puzzle in front of him. He felt compelled to solve it, if only for the connection to the Veilbinder.

No one has ever told the tale of what happens after the tomb closes. No one has ever been seen again.

Orange flashes. Otherrealm mana.

Dungeon activity. Veil tears.

The tickets…

Terry thought about the way the tickets worked.

Many may enter, only one may leave.

Dungeon.

Terry could not help but think back to the earliest dungeon pioneers. Before the logistic problem of dungeons had been solved by dimensional storage items and transportation magic, pioneering often required suicidal resolve. No one knew how deep a dungeon might be or what was waiting. If you were not prepared for a one-way trip, then…

Not pioneering, no… This place has been marked and mapped.

Dungeon.

Veilbinder. Sealed space.

Terry remembered the fallback plan the Veilbinder had used during the Second Great Crisis.

A plane shift. If you are uncertain about beating an opponent, buy time.

Terry did not like where his mind was going.

Not at all.

Tickets. Many may enter, only one may leave. Suicide mission.

Dungeon. Otherrealm mana. Periodical sealing.

Crap.

Terry subconsciously closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Tomb is right, but not the way they mean…

This isn’t a trial.

Terry opened his eyes and clenched his king spear tightly. This is a tomb of… “War.” A battle bigger than a single cultist like Vicious.

Whatever was causing the orange flashes in earlier cycles must have come from another realm that had caught the attraction of the Veilbinder’s old companions. Whatever it was, Terry doubted that it was anything good.

Didn’t the siblings also say something about the realm closing earlier recently? We might have triggered it by forcing Vicious’s hand, but…

Not good.

Terry involuntarily imagined all kinds of possible horrors spilling into this folded space from who knows where. The dungeon defense weakening with time. Until the first line of defense had been whittled down completely.

By all common sense, the cold shiver on Terry’s back should have caused him to depart quickly. However, there was a second scene that unfolded in his mind: the folded space unfolding and the horrors marching into his home to threaten the people close to him.

Terry was desperate to go home, to finally have a peaceful day with his loved ones again. To see his friends and siblings. To apologize. To hug his accepted parents if they were still alive.

Terry was yearning to follow the person he wanted to become, to stand proud like the Veilbinder, or at least to learn more about what had happened.

He felt the different parts of him wrestling with each other. He was pushed to hurry by the intensifying mana changes. The ambient mana. The moons in the sky. The ticket in his left hand. The spear in his right.

To Terry’s surprise, it wasn’t the picture of the Veilbinder that stood out the most in his hesitating mind. No, it was not the distant character of legend. It was a smaller character. Literally and figuratively, because it was the familiar image of his dwarven aunt.

‘My kind of family.’

‘If that’s where the fight is, then that’s where I intend to be.’

‘I believe in choices.’

Terry inhaled deeply and raised his left hand while his gaze followed the crumbled ticket. He saw the mana changing.

He felt the orange pulse even before he could see it.

He saw something change in the ticket.

There was no tugging sensation like with an unanchored spatial transfer since he had not activated the ticket, but Terry burst his mana just in case. He was staring with grim resolve at the evaporating exit ticket in his hand.

Everyone else was staring aghast at Terry as if he was a strange beast.

“The imbecile…”

“I heard he was mad, but who would have thought the Arcanian was the most insane in here.”

“What the—”

“Shut it!” barked Terry with a flare of his mana. He pointed at two of them. “And step back.” He pointed next at the lingering constructs. “Their range is extending.” He glared at the martialists that had been slapped away earlier. “I’ll personally push my blade into the next idiot that dares to attack the constructs.”

“Piss off! What are you going to do, huh? We’re all dead men walking anyway.”

“Who are you to give orders anyway? Do you think we’re afraid of you—eeek?!”

Before the martialists had finished his posturing, he found a green-blue spearhead right in front of his eye. The extended orange pole was lying on the Arcanian’s hand without shaking even the tiniest bit, as if it weighed nothing, which caused the shocked man to reflexively shrink back and gulp.

“Terry…” Rafael was staring at his former coliseum ally in bewilderment.

“Here is what I think will happen.” Terry pulled back his spear and searched for a few familiar eyes among the sea of lunatics. Guillermo, Zhang, the sister from the Blazing Sun Sect, even Rafael.

“Something will open underneath us.” Terry pointed down. “Deep below. Something will come up. Something bad.” He gestured at the constructs. “The dungeon will fight against it, but I suspect it won’t have an easy time.”

“What dungeon?”

Terry swallowed down his frustration at having to explain everything. “You’re standing in it.”

“Has he gone insane?” “Definitely.”

“Terry, this is not a dungeon.” Guillermo said with some concern for the Arcanian. “The trials are man-made.”

“Yes, they are, but that does not change the fact that this is a dungeon,” insisted Terry. “It might not have been before, but it is now.”

“Definitely an imbecile.” One martialist sneered. “I’ve been to dungeons. Even a child can recognize the difference.”

Terry recognized the man. He had tried to rob Terry before. The only reason that this person was still alive was that he had not bothered to kill him back then.

He saw that the man was standing inside the changed ambient mana. For a split second, he considered thrusting his spear into the man’s brain to prove the point.

Fortunately for the man, Terry saw a more appropriate target appear in his sight. It almost felt nostalgic. Only back during Terry’s first dungeon dive, it had been his uncle Samuel that performed the demonstration.

He slashed his spear while extending the pole right into the unwitting mana-corrupted rat that had attempted to bite and poison one of the martialists.

“Eek!” “Insane.” “You dare?! I’ll fight you!”

“Look, you knuckle-brains.” Terry pointed and after a pause, the corpse of the rat suddenly disappeared. Even Terry’s inner Academy student was not entirely happy to be proven right. The implications weren’t that great for him or his native realm.

Why don’t these mana corrupted have cores to begin with? Are they not associated with the dungeon? If they’re not dungeon-assimilated, then where do they come from?

Focus.

Terry moved his eyes over the martialists. “Have you ever seen that outside a dungeon?”

“...”

“Yes, actually back when I visited—”

“Oh, stuff it.” It was the sister from the Blazing Sun Sect siblings that interrupted the martialist. “Of all the possible explanations, which is the most likely?”

“...”

“Has anyone seen this before in this tomb?” another martialist asked everyone present. Silence and shaking heads were the only response.

“Why would there suddenly be a dungeon?”

“And why would something come up? The constructs are already here.”

“Yes, doesn’t this mean that we have to destroy the dungeon and we can go free? It must have been the dungeon that killed our predecessors, right?”

“Wrong!” hissed Terry. “The dungeon isn’t the enemy. The real enemy is what the dungeon is shielding us from. The enemy is what is going to come up.”

“Lunatic.”

“Who here has ever seen a veil tear before?” demanded Terry. He pointedly raised his hand. “Well, I have. I saw a world of hellspawns on the other side.”

“Now we are doing fairy tales? Well, I once defeated a thousand-men army by farting them to death.”

“If you don’t have anything of value to add, why don’t you save your breath instead of letting it leak out with meaningless drivel,” barked Guillermo.

“Oi, you—”

“What?!” Guillermo opened his eyes widely, moved a step closer and stared the speaker down.

The target of Guillermo’s anger cleared his throat, but did not dare to reply again. The Outcast had a reputation of his own.

“Are you saying that hellspawns are going to invade here?” Zhang asked Terry.

“No.” Terry shook his head.

“Then…”

“Probably something worse,” said Terry gravely.

“I’ve seen a behemoth from afar before, what could possibly be worse than that?”

“Something that even…” Terry stopped himself. He did not feel as if explaining the significance behind the Aspiring Soul mana curse or Dalia’s insignia marks was the best use of his time. “Look, something will come. I suspect that this is a regular occurrence and the reason why the space was sealed off to begin with.”

“The legendary senior set up the trials. It has nothing to do with dungeons.”

“Perhaps this would go quicker if we don’t interrupt the Arcanian every three breaths,” interjected Zhang drily.

I believe the trials are newer than everything else. Terry held his thoughts because he knew that allowing the other to control the topic would only make it worse.

He was already getting tired of this conversation. He was not used to talking for this long anymore. He did not like his conversation partners either.

Therefore, Terry explained curtly. “Something comes here. The dungeon fights it. This takes a lot of time. The dungeon might even be at risk of collapse throughout. Given that no one ever survives until the next round, I suspect that the dungeon cannot prevent the things from going wild. The surrounding space magic is what’s buying enough time for the dungeon to reseal the veil tear, which temporarily stops the threat.”

“Or, more likely, the dungeon is killing everyone! We should all band together and destroy the dungeon constructs!”

“That’s literally the opposite of what we should do,” hissed Terry impatiently. “Dungeons don’t work like that. If there is a veil tear, the dungeon doesn’t care about you or me. It only cares about repelling the invasion and tearing the invaders apart. The dungeon is our ally, not the enemy. Destroying the constructs will only worsen our chances.”

“So you say, but where is this tear? Where is this something?”

The question put the finger right on Terry’s own uncertainty and lingering doubt. “Not here yet.” He admitted with much less firmness in his tone than before. “I believe we woke the dungeon up earlier than usual.”

“Bullshit.”

“Enough!” Guillermo unleashed his mana and a mana resonance of wooden arms crossed above his head. “I only see a single person that chose to be here. I want to hear him speak, not any of you fools. The next one that does not know how to hold their tongue, I’ll personally cut it out in a duel.”

Even Terry was slightly taken aback by the Outcast’s outburst. To his pleasant surprise, Guillermo’s words caused a strong reaction. Not only because of the threat of violence, but also because they reminded everyone of the fact that Terry was different from them. He had possessed an exit ticket, an opportunity to leave, but he had chosen to stay.

“If I’m right, then our best chance to survive is to coordinate with the dungeon…” Terry inhaled deeply. He knew that his suggestion would not be very popular. “...which means going down to where the fight is. Joining the first line of defense.”

Terry could see a person, that had been intimidated by the Outcast earlier, mouthing a quiet ‘Fuck this.’ The faces among the martialists showed clearly that no one liked the suggestion. Ganging up on a ‘demonic cultivator’ whom you had a grudge with was one thing. Stalking deep into unknown tunnels with people you didn’t trust and surrounded by looming dungeon constructs was something else.

And it would be so much worse if Terry was actually proven right.

Who in their right mind would sign up for this?

***