I Copy the Authorities of the Four Calamities

Chapter 295: The Northern Forest

The alarm sounded at hour forty-one, fourteen minutes into the dwell on the thirty-second marker.

Every band on the field lit simultaneously. Lancelot read the message in one second. He looked at the forest around them—the deep old growth section, the canopy solid above, visibility thirty meters in every direction—and ran the calculation the alarm implied.

Island-level perimeter breach. Not a sector alarm. Not an evaluation suspension for weather or administrative error. The specific alarm from the orientation briefing that existed because the charter required it. The one they’d been told about once and assured they would never actually hear. The one that meant the island’s defenses had failed.

The calculation took three seconds.

Anastasia had already read the alarm and was reading the forest. Her blade was in her hand. Her Blessed by Mana Authority was at low output—the specific suppression she maintained in the evaluation’s adversarial format, minimizing her mana signature to avoid drawing other pairs. The suppression was correct practice for an evaluation.

It was the wrong decision for the next thirty seconds.

"Suppress the Authority," Lancelot said.

She looked at him. She had already been suppressing it.

"Further," he said.

Anastasia pushed it down to the lowest output she could maintain while keeping the Authority active. The near-zero threshold that was the functional limit of suppression for an SSS-rank mana system. The forest’s ambient mana registered the change immediately. The specific warmth of the Blessed by Mana field contracting to almost nothing, disappearing from the ambient environment like a candle being covered.

Thirty seconds after the alarm.

Two small beasts breached the northern forest’s perimeter.

They came in from the island’s northern edge simultaneously, moving through the tree line with that specific efficiency of things that had been in the Abyss long enough that movement through physical space was simply what they did. Human-scaled, roughly. Bipedal, but wrong in their proportions, in the way they moved. Limbs too long, joints bending at angles that shouldn’t work.

The bioluminescence of the deep running in their mana signatures. Cold blue-black, wrong in the specific way that things from the Abyss were wrong. The light of organisms that had never seen the surface carrying that quality with them even here, even now. Even in their world’s forests.

They oriented.

Not on Anastasia. The suppression had taken her below the threshold their mana-orientation system used for targeting. They swept the forest, the orientation adjusting as they processed the available signatures. Looking for prey. Looking for dense mana concentrations.

They found Lancelot.

He was the highest readable mana concentration in the immediate vicinity. Not because his output was high—he wasn’t running any Authority signature, wasn’t projecting any dense mana field outward. Just the raw mana density of a High Sentinel body that had never found it useful to pretend to be less than it was.

The beasts’ orientation locked. They moved toward him with sudden focus.

Lancelot let them come to twelve meters.

The instant strike ran on a decision rather than a technique. The first beast’s mana consumption cycle was distributed differently from anything in the world’s taxonomy. Lancelot had assessed this in the three seconds between the alarm and the beasts’ arrival, reading the ambient field with that perception that had no gap between observation and conclusion.

The cycle’s primary node was not where a normal person’s would be. It was lower, deeper in the body’s mana structure, anchored differently. Alien architecture.

He hit the primary node.

The first beast’s cycle disrupted at the source. It went down hard before its partner had crossed the ten-meter mark. Not dead—the cycle disrupted, not destroyed—but incapacitated. Down.

The second beast adjusted.

Not intelligently. The beasts didn’t think, they oriented and responded. But the adjustment was fast. The response to losing its partner producing an overclock in the remaining beast’s movement output. It closed the remaining distance faster than its initial approach speed had suggested it could. Faster than anything in the evaluation had moved.

Lancelot was already inside the closing distance.

The second strike ran with the same quality as the first. Not more force, not higher speed in the conventional sense. The specific quality of something that had already made an agreement about what was going to happen before the motion began. The space between here and the target deciding together what would occur there.

The node on the second beast was in the same location as the first. He hit it.

Eleven seconds from the beasts entering his orientation range to the forest floor going quiet.

Lancelot turned.

Anastasia was where he’d last registered her. Eight meters to his left, the blade still in her hand, the Authority suppressed to near-zero. She was looking at the two beasts on the forest floor, their bioluminescence fading as their cycles failed.

Then she was looking at him.

Her expression didn’t perform anything. She’d been watching Lancelot operate for two years in four practicals and a year of proximity. She’d built a thorough model of his baseline. The model had been wrong since September.

She was updating it now. Revising it in real time.

"The orientation system," she said. Her voice had that specific quality of someone stating a conclusion rather than asking a question. "It reads Authority signatures."

"Primarily," Lancelot said. "Dense mana fields. Authorities are the highest available signatures in a population of Sentinel students. The suppression reduces your targeting priority."

Anastasia looked at what remained of the two beasts. Looked at the forest around them. From the island’s direction—northeast, the Academic District’s bearing—the ambient mana field was doing something that wasn’t a sound but was felt through the ground’s mana-conductive stone. Vibration. Disruption.

The specific quality of large-scale mana disruption at multiple simultaneous points.

Everywhere. Nyx had said it from the sector threshold. It is everywhere.

Anastasia looked at the Academic District’s direction. Looked at the spiral hill’s bearing. Looked at the evacuation stream visible through the tree line—pairs from the sector moving toward the assembly points in the controlled urgency of people following protocol.

Moving toward the Academic District. Toward the direction the ambient field was loudest from.

She moved.

Lancelot stepped in front of her.

She stopped. Looked at him with those eyes that had been watching him for a year and had built a model and revised the model and were now carrying something they hadn’t had a name for since the northern forest’s thirty-first objective.

"There are students on those paths," she said.

"Yes."

"The shelter points—"

"Are in the direction the breach is loudest from," he said. "You know this."

She did know this. She’d read the ambient field the moment the alarm sounded. She was Rank 4 with an SSS Authority and she’d been in four practicals and she knew exactly what the frequency distribution in the island’s mana field meant about where the breach was concentrated.

She looked past him at the evacuation stream. At the hundreds of students moving toward danger without knowing it.

"I can help them," she said.

It wasn’t an argument. It was true. Blessed by Mana at full output against small beasts was a significant force. She could hold a path, redirect a breach point, buy time for students to clear a position. She could save lives.

"Yes," Lancelot said. "And every mid-sized beast that enters the island will orient on your Authority the moment you activate it at full output. You will draw them from every direction simultaneously." He looked at her steadily. "You are not a defensive asset in this breach. You are a beacon."

The forest was quiet around them. The evacuation stream continued through the tree line. The ambient field continued its low terrible resonance from the island’s direction.

Anastasia stood with this. With the weight of it. With the terrible choice between what she could do and what she should do.

Lancelot waited. He didn’t repeat himself. Didn’t argue with her silence. Didn’t push. He simply stood between her and the direction she wanted to go and let the calculation run at its own pace.

Because it was her calculation to run. She was going to arrive at the correct conclusion. Forcing her there faster wouldn’t make the conclusion more hers. It would just make it his, given to her instead of reached.

She looked at the evacuation stream for a long time. At the students moving through the tree line with purpose and discipline and trust that the protocol would keep them safe. Trust that the Academy knew what it was doing.

She looked at him.

She looked at the forest floor where the two beasts had been. Where they still were, cycles disrupted, bioluminescence fading.

She looked at him again.

"The upper tier," she said quietly.

"Yes."

Anastasia turned toward the spiral hill. Toward the upper tiers where the villas were.

Lancelot walked beside her through the forest. Not behind her. Beside her.

When the tree line opened onto the hill’s lower path and the island became visible in its full compromised state—the Academic District’s towers dark, the lower sections wrong in ways visible even from this distance, the small beasts already in the paths between buildings—she didn’t stop walking.

She kept her Authority suppressed to near-zero.

She walked up the hill.

He walked beside her.