The Lone Wanderer

Chapter 645 – Rekindled hope

Countless gloomy thoughts swirled within Percy’s tired mind as his host flew back to the inn. Tall, metallic buildings engraved with colourful runes and an endless, watery abyss stretching beneath a thick layer of glass were mostly ignored as Percy went over his brutal defeat for what felt like the millionth time.

He wasn’t very used to getting his ass handed to him. He generally tried to pick his battles wisely and, as long as there was even the slimmest hope of winning, always did his utmost to grasp it. Granted, he’d cut it close many times before, but he usually succeeded in the end.

‘Not this time, I suppose.’ He sighed.

A part of him had admittedly expected this outcome for months. After all, Percy had watched the three elites utterly destroy their previous opponents and he was well aware of his host’s shortcomings. Still, the reality of the situation made Percy reevaluate the choices that had led to this moment.

Should he have used Circulation?

It would have definitely made a huge difference. The extra power would have been enough to burn through the Inimit’s defences. Even if the two-cored mage had used both affinities from the start of the battle, Kassorith’s additional mana, faster regeneration and overall boost to his senses and magic would have given him a decent chance of winning.

‘No. Hiding it from the Void Hand was the right call. It still is,’ Percy concluded, reaffirming his decision.

Even if it meant losing his only path to a third mana core, he didn’t want to give the alliance such a precious gift. The amount of pain and suffering it could cause at a cosmic scale would be unprecedented.

These weren’t good people. They weren’t necessarily bad people either – not exactly. They just did what they had to do in order to survive and prosper, much like every other faction in the universe. However, those at the bottom were always the ones who paid the price.

Percy would never forget how Nergal had permanently twisted the Ollorians’ bodies, how Emah-Nuub – whoever that was – had casted a Decree that relied on perpetual child homelessness, or how the Maradorians couldn’t even trust their guests not to butcher their civilians.

Hell, the World Tree would have never ended up splintered into a dozen saplings if not for the greed of the peak factions. How many people – no. How many planets – would suffer if the Void Hand suddenly acquired the power to conquer their rivals?

Besides, revealing his boosting art would inevitably draw a lot of attention to Kassorith. Sure, the Thess’kalan would claim to have personally invented the spell – which would have been a perfectly reasonable explanation under different circumstances – but Percy didn’t want an even larger spotlight on them or Lanthaniel.

‘Maybe I should have delayed joining the void tournament until Kassorith and I were stronger though.’

The ticket that they had earned from the regional competition hadn’t come with an expiration date, so they could have theoretically waited a few decades – or even centuries – to enter.

Then again, joining this early had also been a conscious decision. Percy couldn’t afford to let Metatron know that he had advanced twice in just over a decade. The titan was already aware that Percy was a Red-born.

Even jumping from Red to Yellow in such a short time would have been extremely suspicious, let alone from Orange to Green. Perhaps he could claim to have fused with yet another aspect at a higher grade, but it was unclear how much Metatron could discern about the details of his soul.

The only alternative would have been for Percy to postpone his main body’s artificial advancement by a few years. However, he understood that he was currently living on borrowed time. Machaon might complete his preparations any day now, and Percy would need all the strength he could get to defeat him.

No matter how he looked at it, there wasn’t much that he could have done differently.

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He’d delayed the trip for as long as he could, done everything in his power to improve Kassorith’s odds, and used all the tools at his disposal to beat opponents that he and his companions had no business facing. Sadly, that simply didn’t include everyone.

‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Micky consoled as they slithered into their room. ‘Remember that we’re not aiming for the top spot in our group. Second place gets the same rewards and qualifies for the elimination phase.’

Percy mentally nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. The two-cored Inimit wasn’t the only opponent that they were unlikely to beat. The female Denyte appeared to be even stronger, and there was still the two-cored Maradorian.

The good news was that the frog person’s second core was only at Green, and they wouldn’t have to face him until their sixteenth match. Assuming that they managed to defeat him and everyone else without making another mistake, they might get through the second round with only two losses.

In the worst-case scenario, that would still result in a deficit of two points from second place, but it was somewhat salvageable.

‘The way this is going, there are four ways to get our hands on the Decree,’ Percy said after a few moments of deliberation, this time making sure to include Kassorith in the conversation.

‘If the Inimit loses points to someone else,’ the Thess’kalan tentatively offered, pulling a previously chilled bottle of Maradorian ale from his spatial pin and downing its contents with a single gulp.

They’d bought the beverage before the match, knowing that they would probably want it afterwards regardless of the outcome. Percy had hoped to drink it in celebration of an unlikely victory, but its bitter flavour was admittedly a better fit for today’s mood.

‘That’s our first win condition,’ Percy agreed, before frowning. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not something we can control. It’s also rather unlikely. I can only see the female Denyte beating him, but that won’t mean much if they’re both ranked above us and defeat everyone else.’

‘So, our best shot is to make up the point difference in the special events,’ the Huehuan concluded.

There were two events, with the first taking place right after Kassorith’s next match. Ideally, they wanted to rank first in both, though losing to the female Denyte was acceptable as long as they won over the two-cored mages.

Percy didn’t mention what the last two solutions were, as he would honestly prefer to not even consider them. If the first special event didn’t go his way, he would have to reevaluate the possibility of revealing Circulation. He would probably end up sticking to his original decision, but he wasn’t a saint. It was best to avoid even the temptation of compromising his morals and safety like that.

The final option wasn’t much better. It was also one that Kassorith wouldn’t be very happy with, as it excluded him – though it wasn’t like the scaled man would even get a vote.

If Percy and Micky couldn’t acquire the Void Decree this year, they could try entering the tournament with a different host. They had previously ruled this out, since returning to Thess’kala or getting someone like Lanthaniel to accompany them was out of the question. However, that was no longer the only way.

Now that they had Oll and Marador Prime marked, they could potentially partner up with a native. Winning a regional tournament or outright buying a ticket wouldn’t be that hard, but that would hinge on picking a host that was both capable of making it far into the void tournament, and willing to essentially betray their homeland for an outsider. Even finding a dying elite like that would be difficult, let alone negotiating with them without exposing their secrets.

‘Yeah… it seems that we really need to win these special events,’ Percy reiterated with certainty as a surge of determination lit his wisp ablaze.

Having made their minds up, Percy and his companions returned to their routine of observing every single match in their group and studying their opponents intently. By now, they probably understood them all well enough to be confident in most of the remaining fights, but they weren’t going to start slacking off when they were already walking on such a thin tightrope.

Their ninth match was against the moss-bearded Aflegian that they had watched on the first day of the group phase. The poor guy had lost most of his fights, placing him near the bottom of the rankings.

As much as Percy empathized with the only other participant that hadn’t come from a founding faction, he couldn’t afford to be charitable. Besides, the Aflegian could always try again next year, which was a luxury that Kassorith exclusively lacked.

The battle itself didn’t hold much suspense – the sheer ease by which they won was honestly a breath of fresh air after all the narrow victories they had clenched over the past few months. However, what came after the match was a great deal more stressful.

All eighteen members of their group – even those who had long stopped bothering with fights that didn’t concern them – had made their way to the stadium today, standing side by side in the middle of the arena and waiting patiently for the details of the first special event to be announced.

The only sound that reached Kassorith’s ears was that of his own heart, pounding like a drum as the crowd went silent. Percy couldn’t help but clench his host’s reptilian fists, fully aware that the next few moments would determine whether his ambitious mission stood even the slimmest possibility of success.