89. Rest (Patreon)

A magic spell came flying directly to my head, but I dispelled it without so much as a second thought as it was a simple seven-star spell that I couldn’t be bothered to remember its name.

“You are quite distracted.” Told the woman who had shot the spell.

She was none other than Sheel, the young arcanist from the Vanguard Order. And although I called her young, she had at least fifty more years on her name than me.

“You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m distracted,” I responded with a tired smile. Then threw a mostly invisible projectile at her. It was a Necrotic Bolt, a grey gaseous arrow of soul mana that traveled between the spiritual and physical planes.

Normally the bolt would have impacted the unexpecting mage, yet she was able to dispel it as this wasn’t her first time facing against the spell. We had been training for an hour now. And yes, it would seem the best solution for unparriable magic was to just dispel it. Easy enough to do with visible projectiles such as Necrotic Bolt, but with complex spells like Astral Self and Mystic’s Dominion, I doubted it was even possible for non-mystics.

“I may have only met you a few days ago, but when a person is looking distracted, it doesn’t matter if that’s their status quo or not. Distraction is distraction.” Then Sheel proceeded to unleash an Arcane Beam.

As my Arcane affinity had been downgraded, all my arcane spells had been debilitated alongside my spellcasting speed with the element. But I knew how to deal with piercing spells, this wasn’t my first rodeo.

It may be a nine-star spell, but a juiced-up eight-star defensive spell that only protected the exact spot where the beam was going to impact was enough to counteract it.

“Hmm, you are distracted, but your reaction speed is faster than average.” The ten-star arcanist commented.

“I think faster than others.” My consciousness was shallowly submerged on the ‘atemporal’ spiritual plane thanks to my status as a mystic causing the heightened thinking speed. It was minimal though. Especially compared to the monstrosities mentalists could pull off.

“I see, I see.” I shot a barrage of Necrotic Bolts as she was talking, but Sheel was able to dispel them without sweating. “I know those spells are powerful, but there are incredibly weak against manaweaving. Six-star offensive spells ain’t gonna cut it against ten-star mages and above.”

My experience told me otherwise.

“Have you fought an eleven-star mage?” I asked after manaweaving out of existence a barrage of Arcane Bolts.

“Nope.” She responded as she dealt with an intensified necrotic barrage. I was slowly upping my game. Now, she almost stuttered. “Have you?”

“Yes,” I added with an exhausted sigh. Also dispelled a nine-star Arcane Missile. I was proud of that one.

“Really? How was it?” Sheel’s eyes shone in expectation brightly enough to make me forget about attacking.

This time I unleashed twelve Necrotic Bolts. My mana reserves were reaching critical levels. At least the ones of my soul. I wasn’t using the physical mana pool much as of late.

“Tiring,” I responded.

Sheel took her time to reply as the spells were getting complicated. A dozen was a considerable number, especially when you had no idea of the affinity of magic you were dispelling.

“Tiring isn’t the word I would use. Shouldn’t it be exciting? Terrifying? Surely you don’t only remember getting tired against THE Ceaseless Storm.”

Oh, she thought I was talking about Fynn. I knew why she thought so, on Lan’el the only eleven-star mages were the Ceaseless Storm and the Arcane Veil. I was thinking about Eygaz. But I guess my spar against Fynn was also tiring.

In a few days, I had gone from spending a decade in peace to fighting three ten-star mages and two eleven-star ones, and no breather whatsoever in between. I feared I was reaching a breaking point. I just wanted to rest.

Damn, actually three eleven-star mages and four ten-stars. I had totally forgotten about Saphar and his father. Though more than a fight, that was a ‘who has it longer’ contest-slash-standoff.

I sighed.

“Maybe distracted wasn’t the right word,” Sheel said, and I realized we weren’t exchanging spells anymore. “You just look tired.”

“Well, slinging spells in my resting time certainly does that to a person.”

“Resting time? Is this your resting time?” She added with indignation. “And when do you rest?” Before I could answer, I got interrupted. “Scratch that, how much sleep did you get?”

“Sleep?” I scoffed. “Last time I slept was... damn, two days ago?”

“What? How are you even alive?”

“Sheel, ellari can survive weeks without sleeping, not doing so just atrophies mental acuity and capabilities.” My inner healer talked.

“No.” The arcanist added with a touch of unbefitting seriousness. “You are killing yourself. Go to sleep.”

I stood up looking at her. Was that an order? Different feelings boiled inside me.

“As your superior, Corporal Tulle of the Vanguard Order, I command you, Private Nightfallen of the Vanguard Order to rest and get some sleep!” Sheel shouted with feigned dignity.

I stood a few seconds looking at her, her pink gaze devouring me, and shrugged. I doubted a Corporal had enough power to order a Private around, but I didn’t disobey. I didn’t know how I was even maintaining my consciousness.

As I blinked, I failed to notice I was already laying on my bed. Still wearing my teal uniform.

“Oh.” I groaned, looking through the skylight to find it was night already.

My mind had erased the memories from the moment we ended the training session to when I went to sleep. The memories still existed, I could see them with Perfect Recall with true clarity, my brain had just filtered them out in a lapsus.

I sighed. “Am I this tired?”

I looked at my violet hands, they had a vaguely pink-fuchsia tinge. I had problems recognizing them.

Worry settled in my mind, doubts of control or mental manipulation. But as I shifted to the spiritual plane, I could affirm this was, indeed, my body and mind. I was just suffering from a spiritually aligned dysmorphia.

I snickered as I dismissed something as worrying as spiritual dysmorphia.

The breach between body and soul expanded, ever-so-hastily.

My spirit’s memory spell reminded me of Eygaz and Amyr’s words. They both said something about Mystic’s Dominion. I couldn’t recall it exactly, and I didn’t want to dip more into True Recall, but it was something about constant use. About how it shouldn’t be possible.

Did I worsen my state because I abused the tenth star spell? Most likely.

I dispelled Mystic’s Dominion for the first time.

Strings cut.

“Huh.” I felt blind, as I could no longer see the spiritual plane. At least not as instinctively as before. My thoughts became sluggish, not in exhaustion as before, but because of my disconnection from the spiritual plane. I wasn’t boosting my mental faculties anymore.

I turned my head upwards to look at the skylight, yet it took me two seconds to do so. I couldn’t tell where that delay came from. But I felt something hot coming.

“Augh!” Then I puked blood all over my bedsheets, dying them magenta.

I grabbed my heart in numb pain. I felt nothing, but I knew this was bad. My vision became blurry.

“Ah...” I was dying.

I wasn’t as healed as I had thought. The moment my connection from the spiritual plane was severed, my soul and body also disconnected. How I was even alive currently, I couldn’t tell.

But I didn’t have much time left.

Regeneration wouldn’t cut it. I needed to reconnect my body and soul like I had done in the leyline to pseudo-resurrect me. But I had dispelled Mystic’s Dominion. I didn’t have enough time to cast a ten-star spell as my life was rapidly vanishing.

I tried, nonetheless.

A quick, shallow breath filled with as much air as blood. A blink, blurry and slow. A twitch, involuntary as mana cycled.

An instant.

Strings regrew.

“Augh.” I exhaled in pain.

Mystic’s Dominion had been casted. Already.

I looked at my arms and slowly caressed my cheeks with my burned hand. My sense of touch was there, along the coarse and burnt skin. I wasn’t imagining things.

This wasn’t a mirage caused by being at my life’s edge. I had casted a tenth-star spell in a matter of seconds. As if it was an eighth star spell or lesser.

“How?” I observed the magenta-tainted bedsheets.

Statistically speaking, Mystic’s Dominion was my second most used spell, right after Soul Sight. Even though I had learned it only a while ago, it had been always active and in use. Unlike my passive defensive spells, I was using the field-type spell constantly. Especially when empowering lesser spells with it.

“But is this enough?” Is it enough to bring down a ten-minute casting time to a couple of seconds? “No.”

I examined my soul, but I couldn’t feel like my affinities had changed. Nor Arcane, nor Soul. That wasn’t what had changed.

But my thoughts become muddy, exhaustion kicked in. Death whispered nearby, even if it couldn’t catch me. The bells of the River of the Damned echoed in a muted toll.

“Ah, I would kill for a rest...” My consciousness fade as I was left drenched in magenta.