Immovable Mage

– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 218, Season of the Setting Sun, Day 96 –

“How in all that’s mana is he still going?” Jason was collapsing in one of the areas they had secured and fortified for recuperation. He laid flat on the hard rock, assured by the mana he could still sense from it. The mana was proof that Terry’s Immovable Object spell remained active.

“Because he has to.” Chalita tried to push herself up shakily. “So do we.”

“You’re not ready yet.” Zhang glared at Chalita with his sunken eyes. “You’re no use out there in that state. You need to recover some energy. It’s Annabelle’s turn while Rafael assists her. You have to meditate and rest.”

Chalita fell back on her butt. She tried again and gritted her teeth in frustration. “They just keep coming. I refuse to give up.”

“No one is giving up,” snapped Zhang with irritation. He glanced at Jason, who was already snoring slightly. Zhang would normally have called it madness to fall asleep like this on a chaotic battlefield. However, he could not fault the man for collapsing. There had been no end of enemies. They would have been dead by now if not for their fortifications and collaboration.

They realized that they had to take turns to rest if they wanted to keep fighting. Zhang could not help but glance at the reason why they were able to rest at all. The mage from Arcana was not only darting with the frontline fighters into the midst of danger. He wielded the Immovable Object spell like a debilitating mark of death. Wherever the spell transfixed on an enemy, an enemy would perish shortly after. Terry rarely dealt the finishing blow, but he always created the opportunity for their frontline fighters or the dungeon creatures.

Zhang let his eyes wander over the ever-growing rock structure they had created to protect those injured or recovering. The Arcanian had ensured the rock remained indestructible for more than two days already. They were continuously gaining ground by adding more rock in coordination with Terry. It was astonishing how the mage could pinpoint the exact timing for deactivating and reactivating the spell while allowing an artifact or technique to merge a new layer of rock.

But that wasn’t all. Even an indestructible wall would not shield them from all dangers, not to a point where more than a dozen martialists were snoring on the floor as if there wasn’t chaos and death raging less than a mile from them.

Their mana senses weren’t as sharp as Terry’s, but even they could sense the intense guarding spell slicers arriving whenever one of the elven mages attempted to place a flexible casting center inside the immovable fortress. The Arcanian had never permitted so much as a single spell shaping up in their fortifications despite his own participation in the frontlines. All they had to do was move their camp with the frontline to stay within Terry’s range.

Over the past day, the frontline martialists had begun to truly see the translucent golden layers of mana as divine because their sudden appearance regularly indicated salvation from certain death. A corner they had missed. A technique’s timing they had misjudged. The golden layer of protection always vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. It only lasted long enough to deflect an attack or buy time for another assist from one of the frontline supporters.

By now, they had gotten more used to working with each other. There was more trust. There was more teamwork and collaboration. Against the neverending flood of fungus-infested invaders, they had all learned to put aside their grudges and reservations. They fought desperately, because despair was all this battlefield had to offer them.

Terry was their pillar of unflinching hope, but they were not blind enough to believe this could last.

“He can’t keep going…” Chalita tried again to push herself up shakily. “He’s not cloaking his mana anymore. We can all sense it.”

“He’s holding on so far,” reminded Zhang.

“Barely,” groaned Chalita.

“He must have found a way to better conserve mana,” said Zhang. “His mana appears to be dropping more slowly than before.”

“It’s still dropping.” Chalita finally managed to push herself up. “And that’s not even the point.” She took deep breaths and tried stretching her muscles. “I’m less worried about his mana than I am about his concentration. No one can remain alert for such an extended period of time. We cannot afford to have him slip up in the middle of the frontline. If he goes down, we all— I’ll…”

Chalita had a good grasp of everyone’s abilities and skill levels. Everyone that had joined this trial tomb had been considered among the young geniuses of their sects. All of them were strong enough to contribute, but not everyone could be counted among the top. She did not trust those significantly weaker than herself to watch Terry’s back. They only had two of the stronger ones outside at the moment and they both had their own roles to fulfill. This left too much pressure on the Arcanian in her opinion.

A hand was placed on Chalita’s shoulder and she saw an elven man look at her.

“I’ll go, you continue resting,” said Guillermo reassuringly. “I only had to act as support last shift. I can handle going out again.”

Chalita frowned but nodded. The Outcast would do.

Meanwhile, Terry was barking commands at the martialists with him.

“Are you sure?” The woman from the Thunderous Palm Sect hesitated. “I can get you there, but if I carry you, the lightning will—”

“Yes, damn it! Now!” Terry clenched his teeth. If he had been able to utilize his burst techniques to their full extent, he would have long been running towards his target. Regretfully, he had to refrain from using bursts because otherwise, the spore curse might escape to his native realm.

The woman he had once bribed to kill her own sect members grabbed him by the arms. Her mana resonated with the ambient mana and the image of a black horse with white lightning marks manifested.

The next thing Terry felt was burning pain and intense whiplash from being pulled at incredible speed. Fern-like scars were slowly creeping onto his face. A mark of the lightning that was relentlessly assaulting him during the frenzied dash.

As soon as Terry had the charging giants in his casting range, he pushed himself away from the martialist woman and began unleashing his only spell. He had chosen to suffer the lightning of his ally and get further from their fortifications than he felt comfortable with. Given the worrying state of his mana pool, he truly had little choice. He had to conserve mana and that demanded more severe trade-offs, taking chances and following opportunities.

At least he liked to justify his current recklessness in this manner. Deep down he hoped that this wasn’t just his mental exhaustion catching up with him and muddying his judgement.

A dozen fungus-infested giants were charging furiously towards a group of immobilized dungeon beings when the club of their vanguard became immovable mid-lift. The vanguard snapped his wrist and lost his grip. The following giants charged with their full momentum into the immovable object. Two of them were outright crushed by the weight of their allies. The later ones bumped into their fleshy predecessors and tumbled backwards.

Terry steadied himself on immovable metal and infused mana into his bidirectional attraction glove to slightly adjust the position of another giant club. This one was in the hand of a tumbling giant. It transfixed at knee height in a horizontal position that further tripped up the giants that had already lost their balance.

When the colossal bodies fell, an exceedingly unpleasant sound reverberated through the area. The sound of snapping bones, pressed flesh, and blood being squeezed out of the fungus-infested division that had been following along in the giants’ charge.

Terry allowed himself a moment of satisfaction when the mana of the elven healers dispersed within the mass of rising spores.

Worth it.

In order to achieve comparable devastation without exploiting the giants’ momentous charge, Terry would have to invest an order of magnitude more mana. He felt himself grabbed by hands and grit his teeth. If he had chosen another option, he would have had to invest more mana, but also suffer a lot less pain.

Priorities.

With another agonizing dash, Terry was brought back to an acceptable distance from their fortifications.

“I’m spent,” said the martialist woman and darted towards the rest area.

Terry nodded without looking at his departing ally. He expected as much. She had barely used up three quarters of her mana, but few of them ever did except in extreme situations. He did not know if it was a sign of a lack of trust for their allies or just to hold something back in case of unexpected situations. It did not matter either way. He could not expect his allies to adjust, so it had to be him that did.

Terry focused on his breathing while observing their progress. They had done well in his opinion. They had eliminated a few groups of earth mages, but perhaps the more important influence was the utilization of his Immovable Object spell. The indestructible floor worked as a great drain of mana for enemies trying to target them from underground or to use the rock in their own fortifications.

The number of active enemy healers was about half of what he had sensed in the early battle – and that was in spite of the continuous reinforcements for the fungus-infested army.

Fortunately for them, their targeted assassination of healers had a compounding effect in the battle thanks to the dungeon’s own forces. The less healers there were, the more easily the dungeon could take out the others. A slight shift in the number of healers made a large difference at a battle of this scale and this difference only amplified over time.

Terry had two remaining major worries. With every new arrival of another fungus-infested division, he feared to see a different composition of abilities. Stronger creatures, or worse: more healers. To his relief, his fears had not manifested so far. Although that only begged another question…

Why not?

Terry subconsciously clicked his tongue and could not help but follow the train of thoughts that refused to let him properly concentrate. He was still wielding his spell and inscriptions skillfully, but mostly by reflex.

If I was in command of the enemies, I would have broken the structure. Given our targeted assassination of healers, their balance of healers to non-healers is upset. Wouldn’t the correct response be to adjust the ratio of incoming forces accordingly? Less of the mana-corrupted beasts and more healers or suitable protectors instead?

Terry darted up into the sky and glanced over the battlefield from an elevated position. He could see the fungus-infested army react to the situation in front of them. They were obviously not mindless zombies. They were thinking.

Their tactics on this side seem reasonable. They’re not dumb. Why don’t they adjust the incoming forces? Is their strategy too inflexible? Are they not able to re-group on the other side? Or do those on the other side not know the situation here? Is my own understanding of the situation lacking and adjusting the ratio would be a bad idea for them?

A corner of Terry’s mind reminded him that it was unwise to second-guess himself and that it was even worse to get distracted in the middle of battle, but the questions kept gnawing at him. There was a common lesson in both the Path of a Mage and the Warlord’s Inquiries: the paramount importance of understanding your enemy.

In the face of immortals and self-proclaimed gods, the Veilbinder insisted that everything can be beaten and even the Twin Gods of Death eventually perished in front of the persevering mage. Everything had a weakness. If there was none, you simply had to create one. If you did not know how, you were still missing a piece of information. Knowledge was paramount.

Thanatos, on his part, devoted more than a dozen chapters to correctly gauging the motives and values of your enemies. If you were unable to accept their mindset for the sake of exercising your own mind, then you were doomed to fail when attempting to predict their actions.

Terry was desperately trying to figure out the correct mental model for thinking about those fungus-infested enemies. They were reacting to his targeted assassinations, but only while they were happening. They prioritized their healers and tried to defend them, but as soon as he and the martialists were successful or pulled back, the fungus army prioritized the dungeon.

They were acting like inscribed constructs. Intelligent, but without any shred of their own will. They followed a protocol. They did not hesitate but they also did not show any other initiative. They did not care about the fallen comrades around them. No retaliatory inertia whatsoever.

Even the dungeon-assimilated creatures showed more agency than these fungus-infested folks. When injured or strongly tempted by innate instincts, the living dungeon forces broke rank and lashed out exactly like their core-less counterparts would. The fungus army showed no such agency.

Terry was not sure what to make of the persistent ratio of incoming enemy divisions. The make-up itself was demonstrating intelligent planning. They paired different specialists together to support each other and allow their specialties to synergize for greater effect.

The lack of adjustment showed… what? A lack of communication? A lack of care for the dying combatants? Something else entirely that he was missing?

Every moment that Terry had time to think, his mind drifted back to the question. Deep down, he still carried the hope of detecting the curse mage behind all of this. If there was a whispering individual that directed the actions of the army, then there was hope. Hope not affected by the neverending nightmare that was the fungus-infested army.

Terry despaired to cling onto this hope, because he could not see much else to inspire confidence. They had done well, but so what? Nearly everything had gone according to plan, but what was the point if the enemies just kept coming? There was a limit to how long they could keep this up.

Rock projectiles were darting towards Terry from the hostile earth mages. As soon as they made contact with his little mana bubble, his expelled mana constricted and shaped into Immovable Object spells.

The enemy mages did not remain idle though and the rock propelling spells were paired with more spellwork to enlarge or shrink the rock projectiles. Aside from the additional burden of overpowering the spell-innate mana for these spells, Terry now also had to prioritize the shrinking rocks before they could shrink beyond his spell compression ability.

Seeing a huge boulder seemingly about to crash the Arcanian into paste, an elven martialist in green-golden combat robes charged forward frenziedly. The mana resonated from Guillermo’s martialist technique and a pair of large wooden arms with a metallic sheen rushed forward to block the incoming boulder and protect the pillar of their defensive position.

Crap.

Terry frowned and was less than appreciative of the helping hands. He had intentionally given less priority to transfixing this particular projectile because contrary to how it looked, the larger rocks posed less of a threat to him given the characteristics of his only spell. He had been confident in transfixing the boulder at a later moment.

Naturally, Terry’s thoughts were unknown to his frontline allies. Even if they had known, they might still judge it an unacceptable risk for a person whom they relied on so much. All it took was one slip in timing. One single spell failure and Terry’s mana-preserving calculations would translate into significant injuries. The Arcanian would fall and with him, the immovable fortifications that sheltered the martialists.

Crap crap crap.

Terry rotated his mana bubble into a sequence of mana refractors. In his opinion, Guillermo’s overprotective intervention had left another martialist unnecessarily exposed. The woman in a dark blue uniform was barely able to vanquish a group of attacking sabertooth beasts while being pelted by enemy spells.

Terry himself had transfixed the elongated teeth of beasts that were in range and placed divine mana barriers to act as shields against the spells, but he could not protect his allies from everything. While the woman had been able to edge out a win, his mana sight informed him that there was more to it. He could detect tiny spots of mana rising from the blood of the slain creatures and floating eerily towards the woman’s own bleeding cuts.

Terry had seen similar unnatural movement from the spores before. Unnatural, because the way the air moved, the spores should fly into another direction instead of gravitating towards blood. The influence of magic was evident to Terry’s mana sight. His best guess was that this was related to how the curse was spreading.

He had seen one fungus-infested martialist earlier on this day – a man that had wanted to hide and had refused to join the group assisting the dungeon. This confirmed Terry’s mana-curse hypothesis. Even though he did not know the exact conditions, he could surmise an educated theory. The spores infected wounds and worked by entering the victim’s blood stream. The curse could overpower a living being similar to the zombie plague.

Terry created a wave of disrupting spell slicers to wash over the curse spores. Except specialized spellwork, the best defense against the zombie plague was intense mana naturalized to another signature. Powerful mana cultivators were less threatened by the zombie plague than manaless folks.

While the martialist woman was not exactly manaless, she was running low on mana and ready to retreat to the fortifications. Terry felt compelled to assist with his own naturalized mana as an additional shield. He could not afford to let an ally fall. Having the spores enter the recuperation area with all their injured combatants he could afford even less.

Terry followed the woman in his mana sense to make sure she was properly handing over her sword artifact to the next martialist stepping up to the frontlines. He needed them. He needed their mana to power the artifacts so that they could hold on.

By the hour, things were looking more and more desperate. The martialists stepping back up to fight were less and less in a condition to fight. Despite all of his mana preservation attempts and risky calculations, even Terry’s mana was beginning to bottom out. He was forced to sacrifice mana from his external mana bubble reserved for parallel spellwork and disruption fields. He had no choice but to retract his mana touch scouting because he urgently needed the mana to not die.

The price for surviving was the loss of hope. Without his mana touch, there was little chance of spotting a cloaked curse mage even if there really was one. Without the hope of a single decisive blow, the only thing left was to stare into the abyss of endless enemies.

In his moment of despair, Terry’s eyes were glued to the shining flame symbol on an enormous six-legged dungeon construct. The Aspiring Soul Curse was a trade-off between intensity and durability. He wished he had a similar trade-off available, but no matter how much his mind raced, all of his ideas were unworkable due to a single deafening rebuttal.

I need more mana.

Terry was forced to evade an incoming barrage of poison-aspected magic attacks. Working on instinct, he chose the action with the least requirement of mana. He circled his mana into the magic brooch and stepped into the shadow plane.

The silence in the shadow plane seemed absolutely surreal when contrasted with the raging cacophony of battle in the normal world.

Terry knew that he could not linger in this peaceful plane for long or else he would risk the battle shifting too much for him to ever safely step out in the same position again. Before he left, he caught sight of another one of Dalia’s House insignias. The double crescent moons with their open ends connecting to each other.

Moons... Reptile eyes… Lizans.

He suddenly heard Damian’s voice again: There is no bottomless supply of easily absorbable mana without a catch.

Terry hesitatingly retrieved the small blue crystal egg he had taken from the treacherous lizan prophet. He had pretended to use it as part of a ruse in Thanatos, but now he was considering using it for real. Damian’s investigations had apparently shown that it was a fiendish item. An item that tried to take over the user’s mind.

‘…the effect depends on the user’s mana control. It’s gradual. Even with your mana control though, you would lose eventually. The more mana from that egg in your system, the more intense the influence becomes.’

Terry was wary of using a fiendish item, especially one related to the creepy lizan. He still remembered the ominous draconic eye on a chain that had caused strange hissing sounds to invade his mind.

However, did he really have a choice? He could not think of any other options aside from dying. Perhaps death wasn’t the worst that could happen? What about the threatened dungeon and, by extension, his own native realm?

If Damian’s investigation is true, then using the mana will be a race between my mana control and the item’s mind control.

I am confident in my mana control, but what if I lose?

Terry could not help but think of how his aunt Sigille would cuss him out for even considering playing such games with his mind. Then again, he did not plan to offer his mind up without a fight. He planned to resist.

What if I lose?

What if I’m inviting something even worse?

His cousin Matteo had successfully relied on a fiendish katana that housed the vengeful soul of a dragon. It was risky, but it worked for Matteo’s own peculiar situation. The mind of his cousin had been lost to elementals of different factions to begin with. The fiendish blade only helped to upset the balance and allow Matteo to wrestle back control.

Different factions…

Terry recalled the strategies of Tuara, a past leader of the Stonewardens and another of the Veilbinder’s allies.

‘One enemy is a challenge. Two enemies is an opportunity.’

Terry resolved himself. He did not know what this blue crystal egg represented, but he doubted that the lizan prophet would have been able to unleash a bigger threat than this fungus-infested army with just the fiendish crystal. Otherwise, the lizans would have been able to overcome the white wyvern and escape the Elusive Fog of Frost on their own.

Even if I’m inviting something worse than expected, as long as it’s another faction than the fungus-infested army, it might still be worth it. We would only have to worry about the difference and even if I lose— Stop.

Just stop.

Enough about contingencies.

Terry lifted his foot and stepped back into the normal plane. A crystal egg had appeared in his left hand and he began siphoning mana from it. If he had to do this, then it would not do him much good to think about losing from the beginning. He did not see any other option. He had no time to indulge in second-guessing. He had to fully focus on his mana control if he wanted to preserve his mind.

Like a river’s spring, Terry was dumping mana at a pace that was visible even to the recuperating martialists’ mana sight.

I wonder if naturalized mana from a distance counts as being in ‘my system’?

Terry had thought of one last trick to increase his chances in the looming battle over his mind.

Meanwhile, the martialists were taking courage at the sight of the Arcanian that, contrary to all expectations, was not only persisting but even demonstrating casting and disruption waves of much larger scale than ever before.

They had seen Terry fighting to conserve mana. Now, they were beginning to see the mage limited not by the available mana but by his mana control alone.

***