Chapter 192 - A Difference Of One (Patreon)

- Present day - Southeastern Prime Cathedral of the Voice

“Are you positive it was Markhiss?” An elderly man whose eyes usually shone with kindness spat, his face twisted in a scowl.

A young man wearing the apparel of a head deacon knelt with one fist planted on the hard marble floor, “Yes, Cardinal. It was confirmed without a doubt moments ago.”

The Cardinal repositioned the wide-brimmed galero on his head, its white and red hues a perfect match for his fine robes and tasseled belt, “That miserable traitor! We’ve no choice but to cease operations in the southern desert then. Recall all our forces in the area, they shall join the assault on those filthy abominations.”

“As your voice commands, so shall I obey,” Deacon Mathayes pulled a sealed talisman from a pouch on his belt and focused for a few scant seconds before the paper vanished in a puff of smoke.

The Cardinal paced back and forth before a massive oil painting of the Voice’s two apostles, when he noticed the deacon had finished relaying his command, he spoke again, “Markhiss’ last mission was to capture Jiran of Feylon after we discovered his return. Now, they have both appeared in the desert near our ransacked outposts and missing presbyters. That’s certainly no coincidence.”

“That was my hypothesis as well, your grace.”

“To think the boy would be clever enough to effectively wield a wilder like Markhiss against us. He continues to surprise. Ultimately, Markhiss’ interference changes nothing. The new mobile portals have already disrupted our plans entirely. We can no longer expect the city to fall with complete certainty. Redirect half of the templari to ensure the rankers and the emperors do not return from their battle. Also, inform the Templari that they are permitted to use the Holy Reterer. If the emperors survive, everything we have prepared will become meaningless.”

“Yes, your grace. Will the repositioning of the Templari not affect the subjugation of the new lands?”

“So far, none of the abominations brought through the new portals have been above the seventh tier. They are far weaker than originally anticipated. A single caste of Templari will be enough to eradicate them. Even if they have stronger forces in reserve, the Templari will be more than capable of handling them.”

“The wisdom of the Voice flows through you, your grace. What of the report that only Jiran of Feylon can activate the gateway to the new lands?”

“That is indeed a concern. What would you suggest, young deacon? Our forces are spread thin and the boy has proven to be crafty. It would be difficult to pin him down even without the presence of the rankers. If you cannot see the solution, then I’ll have no further use for you,” The Cardinal warned as he suddenly appeared behind the deacon.

Kindly eyes set above a warm smile gazed down at Mathayes. He remained calm, despite the higher-tiered hand brimming with an internalized aspect that was held against his throat, “Supposedly, Jiran is quite fond of the abominations. The most vile whispers say he's taken one of them as a partner. If we keep a few of them alive as we take the gateway, then surely, he will come to us.”

The Cardinal’s smile turned predatory as the hand that was about to behead the Deacon instead pat his hair gently, “Excellent, continue to show such promise and the path to the Voice will surely open before you.”

Jiran of Madra

Dokkuun arrived shortly after Jiran released the flare. He rode a massive gust of wind that swept sand into the air. His clawed feet touched down softly and he saluted with a flourish of his wings, “You require my aid, Senior Brother Guardian?”

“Yes, thanks for coming so quickly. Can you hold onto these handles and inject a bladewind into this box? Try to clear your mind and don’t picture anything in particular happening. The less intent in your mana, the better.”

“Certainly,” Dokkuun nodded and did as instructed. Mana Omnis revealed how his mana was converted to wind and flowed down the outsides of his arms before being sucked into the box. Jiran held his breath as the interior was rapidly filled with rushing air and the pressure valves released. A trickle of the stored mana and aura delivered Jiran’s intent into Dokkuun’s elemental energy, which devoured it like a thirsty beast.

Nearly a minute passed before the first signs of the elemental energy being converted to mana appeared and Jiran whooped, “Yes! Looks like I can increase the flow by two or three times without issue, at least for mana as potent as yours. I’ll have to make separate formations for each tier then, but that will drastically increase the overall speed. Thanks, Dokkuun! You were a huge help. Can you call two people from each tier over here? Oh, uh, preferably one from each sex. I doubt that will make a difference but with something this unknown, it's better to cover all potentialities.”

“Yes, I'll gather them straight away. Can I ask what this is about? I wasn't able to follow most of what you said.”

“We're starting your weapon production. By the time you return, your new spear will be ready.”

Dokkuun looked at Jiran like he was crazy but saluted and flew back the way he had come without complaint. He returned a couple minutes later with nine companions in tow. By then, Jiran had constructed four more smithing formations and Dokkuun's spear had finished being constructed.

Jiran popped the lid and tossed the spear to Dokkuun. The elderly ascetic snatched and spun it with a fluid grace that could only be acquired after long years of being stuck at the same tier. He twirled the spear around himself in a dazzling blur as he moved through a series of complex movements that had Jiran itching to join him.

It's been too long since I seriously trained. I've been focusing on my mana and aura exclusively. Now that I can make such powerful equipment, there's no reason to continue neglecting my spear technique.

Jiran’s thoughts were interrupted when Dokkuun unleashed a Bladewind. Elemental wind swirled around his arms and was mostly absorbed into the shaft of the spear. The element was smoothly converted to mana before the spearhead released a rushing, high-pitched whine. As Dokkuun swung, the unused wind swirling around his arms, hands, and the spear, combined with the energy being released from inside the spearhead. Together, they blasted forward in a twelve-meter-tall arc of razor-sharp wind that cut a clean furrow through the sand for half a kilometer.

Not just Dokkuun and the other Forkara, but even Jiran was dumbfounded by the strength of that single slash. Dokkuun’s head ratcheted around until he was looking over his shoulder at Jiran. Combined with the other Forkaras’ hilariously too-wide-eyes, Jiran had no choice but to roar with laughter.

* * *

Time flew quickly as the rest of the smithing formations were completed after a few more tests. Jiran ended up creating fifty for spears and another fifty for their curved swords, as well as one hundred for armor. Each formation had a line nearly a hundred long, waiting anxiously for their turn.

The armor he chose after consulting with the elders was a simple chest piece that folded around the torso and was sealed in the back with straps to avoid their wings. The chest armor was matched with a conical helmet with internal padding and a complex series of straps that took into account the force of directional changes when performing high-speed aerial maneuvers. The leg guards were an interesting design that took into account their reverse-jointed knees and clawed feet. Like all the pieces of equipment, they were crafted to be aerodynamic and lightweight.

Each held internal pockets laced with several layers of graphene that, when combined, formed a single cohesive formation that would flood the body with healing mana upon activation. When fully charged, which took nearly five entire manapools for a tier seven, they would have enough energy to completely recover from any injury dozens of times, so long as the wearer wasn't killed outright.

Jiran was dead on his feet as he finished with the last smithing formation, but he didn't allow himself to rest. He took to the air, surveying the current situation on each front. Both sides had long since cut down the avenues of approach with the Unbrokens’ walls of ice. The stone fortifications and obfuscating domes were holding strong, drastically reducing casualties. However, the buildup of beast corpses was climbing high enough that the monsters would soon be able to leap over the walls. The new shrapnel wards were still performing perfectly which was no surprise considering who made them. Though they were already nearing eighty percent mana capacity and it had only been a few hours since they were first activated.

As for the Graymin, the number of tier five knights mixed in with the pawns had steadily increased. Now, the ratio was nearly eight to two in favor of the pawns. At the current pace, by nightfall, there would be more tier fives than three and fours combined.

This was not his first trip back to the front since beginning his work on the formations. He had needed to return after every dozen to restore his mana. He flew high, hoping to attract any rooks, and as usual, was disappointed when none made their presence known.

Where are they? There definitely should have been a few by now. I’ll check in with Olive after this. One more thing to do before I can sleep. How many days has it been now? Two, three?

Even a pile of sand to curl up in was beginning to sound like an irresistible siren’s call. Not wanting to be separated from the embrace of sleep for a moment longer than necessary, Jiran got to work. From his vantage above the horde, he could see the beasts eagerly awaiting their turn on the front lines. They hungrily sought to murder his allies, his people. The few dead Forkara he had not been in time to save flashed through his memory and pure rage spread through his limbs like living fire. At that moment, all he wanted was to avenge them, and to teach the Graymin how foolish it was to invade his home.

He could hear their voices, calling out their incessant demands. He wasn’t sure who exactly they were looking for, but hearing them speak only incensed him further.

If they can talk, they can think, if they can think, then they can despair!

Mana Omnis revealed what should belong to him and Enthralling Touch stretched to its limit to fulfill that instinctual demand. The mass below him writhed as he pushed beyond those limits, reaching into their manapools that glistened like reflections of light off the surface of gently rippling water. The mana answered his call, eager to become part of something greater, something dominant.

The mana flowed through the air; tiny, individual creeks connecting into ever-larger streams that eventually joined into a complete river of energy that flowed into his body and armor. Jiran’s reserves were full in less than a second of connecting with that river. He directed it to flow down toward his various allies. It passed through hundreds of them at a time, the energy within reluctant to leave his control but unable to deny his commands.

The Forkara screeched a cry of victory as their manapools were restored. The Unbroken only appeared more restrained on the outside, their jubilation displayed through shaking leaves that bloomed and fell in dazzling waves of vibrant colors. The Imperials were the least responsive, their shock at suddenly being flooded with fresh mana understandable.

Once each and every one of his allies' manapools was brimming with energy, Jiran directed the rest of the river back to his side. There was nearly a third of it left and he stared at the immense glob of power with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he felt the need to giggle maniacally at the insanity of the situation, on the other, he truly feared the idea of becoming drunk with the sensations of absolute power that threatened to burst from his chest.

His exhausted mind made the choice of what to do next a simple one. He separated the remaining mana into a dozen balls of gravity that he compacted one at a time with the aid of the framework. Each ball was surrounded in an extra-durable coating of mana that prevented them from releasing their devastating suction.

When all twelve were stable, he created a chakram of spinning elemental fire and shot it directly at the first gravity bomb. The bomb was swept away in the collimated stream of plasma, arriving deep into the ranks of the Graymin a fraction of a second later. The elemental energy rapidly broke down the mana protecting the bomb and the moment it struck the ground, its payload was unleashed. A gaping sphere of darkness swallowed every beast and particle of matter within a kilometer, compressing it all into a ball the size of Jiran’s head. When the gravity bomb’s mana petered out, the matter was released in an explosion that encompassed far more space than the initial attack.

The rush of enjoyment from single-handedly controlling such a massive battlefield was beyond his wildest dreams. Adding fuel to the fire was the sudden realization of how far he had come. It wasn’t that long ago when he was nothing more than a denless boy who only dared dream of survival. Now, he wore the mantle of leader for three races whose people were gazing up at him with fanatical adoration. He was indebted to them for being here, for choosing to follow him. He would rather die than disappoint them, and he would do whatever it took to get as many of them home alive as possible. For the first time since asking them to risk their lives for him, he truly felt like he was delivering on his promises to empower their races. And he was only getting started.

Jiran could no longer hold back his emotions and he roared to release them.

Unshed tears blurred his vision as he flew further north. He shot another bomb every few kilometers so the beasts would trickle in at a slower pace for the next few hours. With his final task complete, he headed toward Olive’s command to ask about the missing Rooks with eyes that no longer drooped from exhaustion.