“Impossible!”

  “What did he do?”

  “Where did that bastard go?”

  “…I… I cannot find him…”

  “…Teleported?”

  “…No, that is impossible…”

  “…Not of the lineage of Time and Space…”

  “…Another Glyph Token?”

  “…Did not see one…”

  “And even if he did use one, even Glyph Tokens could not have done this…”

  “…False Ranked Mysteries cannot teleport…”

  “…Then what did he do?”

  “…I do not know, but that Arcanist should still be here somewhere…”

  “But where?”

  “…Even my Arcanas cannot find him…”

  “…This does not make sense…”

  “…How did he do it…”

  “…That is not important…”

  “…Look for him…”

  “…He killed Munal…”

  “…And Isha…”

  “…And…”

  “…Cannot let him get away…”

  “…Look for that bastard…”

  “…Kill him…”

  For a moment, the Wanderers besieging Alnea forgot about attacking him. Even those manipulating the battlefield from outside the barriers. It would not have worked anyway. Not without the useless Arcanist dragging him down, forcing him to waste his strength and Spirit Power to block the attacks. Without the drag of the Arcanist, their target could just let the attacks fall on him and come out unscathed.

  Only if he was tied down by the Arcanist, would they have a chance at forcing him to waste his Spirit Power. So, the moment that Zain vanished, they began looking for him right away. In vain. No matter what method they used, they could not find the man. It truly was as if the Arcanist had been teleported away, leaving his Captain to face the enemies all on his own. But that did not make any sense. Mastering teleportation at the False Rank was impossible. Unless…

  “…A Ritual?”

  That was even more impossible. Rituals that could achieve transportation was even more difficult to get hands on than similar Arcanas and Glyph Arrays of Yul’s lineage. Especially ones that could be used by even False Wanderers. Besides, Orthodox Rituals, in a sense, were just an older and a more complicated form of Glyph Arrays. Unless it was a Heterodox Ritual, which borrowed its power from the Origin Beasts…

  “No wonder he was able to escape from the Heterodox Wanderer,” said one of the Wanderers of the Lotus clan, staring at the man standing still in their midst, leisurely sheathing his dagger, not in the least bothered by what the other Wanderers around him were doing.

  “Escape?” said a blue robed Wanderer. “Are you sure that he escaped?”

  “…I always had my doubts about that part,” said a yellow robed Wanderer. “How could a mere Seed escape from the hand of a Wanderer, that was able to bring down an entire city to its knees? That too, one protected by that crazy Serpent.”

  “Unless, he never escaped…” said a red robed Wanderer, trailing off towards the end.

  “…Unless he became a…” said a pink robed Wanderer, just as baffled as his colleagues at the black robed boy’s nonchalance to the gazes boring into him, scrutinising him, and labelling him as a—

  “—Heterodox Wanderer.”

  Alnea paused in his actions, showing a reaction for the first time to the words of the Wanderers besieging him, before quickly putting them out of his mind, Slashing through the unnecessary thoughts in his Heart. He never cared what other people thought about him anyway. As long as he had a Clear Heart and conscience, it did not matter what the world thought of him. He would do as he wished. That was the essence of Alnea Oathkeeper. That was his Clarity.

  “…What do we do now?”

  “I do not know…”

  “Should we continue attacking him?”

  “…Would that make sense?”

  “Without that useless Arcanist dragging him…”

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  “He can just let our attacks fall on him…”

  “It would only waste our Spirit Power…”

  “Unless we fight him head on with the weapons given by the Lotus clan…”

  “…But…”

  And at the moment, his Clarity was asking him to protect his teammate. To protect Zain. So, he stood still, drawing the attention of all his enemies, as Zain looked for a chance to slip past them. To that end, he had even shifted the core of the Arcana he used to his white robed teammate, making it easier for him to move around. The only thing he had to do next, was to wait. Wait for a perfect chance.

  “Why are you standing around in a daze?” said one of the leaders of the alliance, a brown robed Wanderer, from outside the barriers, glaring at the Wanderers trapped with their target. “Go, take him down.”

  “…But that Arcanist—

  “So what if that useless Arcanist got away?” said the green robed Wanderer next to the brown robed one. “He is not of any importance. At least not at the moment. We can find him later to have our vengeance. Right now, all you need to do is to take him down.”

  “…How?”

  “What do you mean how? Use the weapons in your hands, idiots.”

  “…These weapons,” said a yellow robed Wanderer from within the barriers, glancing at the short spear in his hand, its spearhead glowing in the light of Decay, before glancing at the nonchalant black robed boy in the distance. “Will they really work?”

  “Of course, they will,” said a white robed Wanderer from outside of the barriers. “I saw a dagger almost kill him with my very own eyes. And that was when the one using the dagger was just an Initial Stage girl.”

  “…I already know that. Your clan told us about it a month ago…”

  “Since you already know, then why are you asking that question? Are you doubting my clan?”

  “…I am not doubting anyone,” the yellow robed Wanderer said, shaking his head. “I am just saying that these weapons are of no use if we cannot match his skill.”

  “That’s right,” said another Wanderer from within the barriers. “Even with the Arcanist dragging him down, he was still able to dodge all our attacks. How are we supposed to take him down now?”

  “By using your heads,” said the purple robed Wanderer next to the Whitebud man. “There are over twenty of you, and he is all alone. Not to mention that he is just at the Advanced Stage. Probably at the Second or Third Level. Maybe the Fourth Level, and that is already a high estimate, even with his talent into account. You, on the other hand—and by you, I mean all of you.

  “All of you have already made considerable progress in the Peak Stage. Even with the most conservative estimates, your Spirit Power is twice as high as his. And that is not even considering the Spirit Power he has already wasted up until now. Do you think that the Arcanas he used did not cost him Spirit Power? He is almost at the end of his rope now. You just need to keep attacking him in waves, and force him to use the last shred of his Spirit Power. Everything else will fall in its place on its own.”

  “…But—

  “Do you want everyone’s sacrifice to be in vain, Boris?”

  “…No—

  “Do you want us to fail in our mission?”

  “I did not say that. I just think that there must be better ways.”

  “There are no other ways, Boris. You also know how tricky our target is. None of our usual attacks work on him. And none of us can match his speed. If he wants to run away, then no one will be able to stop him. And if we put away the barriers before taking him down, then he might even be able to turn the situation around. By then, we really would not have any choice, but to face the punishment for failing our mission. You do not want that to happen, do you, Boris?”

  “…No.”

  “Then do as we say, and take him down,” the brown robed Wanderer said, before glancing at the rest of the Wanderers within the barriers. “Stop standing around in a daze. Attack him before he can recover any more than he already has. We will also try to harass him from the side and distract his attention, but it will be up to all of you to complete our mission.”

  “…We understand,” said the Wanderers within the barriers, before gritting their teeth, and rushing towards the black robed boy. In an organised way, of course, attacking him in rings of six, taking turns to switch between front and backlines, using the time in between to breathe a little, while the Wanderers outside the barriers continued to harass the boy with all sorts of attacks, both elemental and poisonous.

  It was only a matter of time then, for Alnea to begin feeling dizzy. The drain on his Spirit Power aside, just the strange toxins in the air alone were enough to make him miss his steps from time to time. Thankfully, he switched to his sword before his enemies rushed towards him. If he was still swinging his dagger, he would not even have known who skewered him.

  Though, even with his sword, he could only try his best to not let his enemies take the advantage. And that too, only while he still had the strength the wield his sword. When the sword became too heavy for him to handle, and his Spirit too exhausted to urge his Aspects, he finally found himself being overwhelmed by his enemies. A cut on his arms, a slash on his chest, a stab on his thighs… In time, Alnea became too weak to fight. He became too weak to hold on…

  Forcing himself to open his eyes, Alnea tilted to the side to avoid the spearhead that came stabbing towards his head, before bringing up his sword to his chest to block a slash, glowing in the light of Decay. And though he succeeded in keeping the Decay away from him, he could not stop the overwhelming force behind the edge carrying the Decay to send him flying towards the barriers. The crash that followed thereafter knocked his breath out of him, while his fall to the ground made his mind go blank.

  Or was it the headache? It did not matter. Nothing did. As he pushed himself to turn over and lay on his back, glancing at the barriers above his head fading away into the fog, Alnea could not help himself from letting out a smile. Who cared about the Wanderers walking over to stand around him? Who cared about their ugly smiles? He would be the one having the last laugh anyway. He—

  “What are you smiling at, Tresting?”

  Alnea did not even need to turn towards the voice to know who was speaking. The man who stabbed himself with an eerie crystal, and kept clamouring about miracles. And somehow, also the leader of the Lotus clan’s alliance. The Whitebud man.

  “…At you. I am smiling at you,” Alnea forced himself to say, not bothering to turn towards the Whitebud man. It was too tiring. And he did not wish to see the lunatic’s face either. But the lunatic did not seem to take the hint. And neither did the other Wanderers. Instead, they moved aside to clear the way for him, allowing the Whitebud man to walk over to his side.

  “Just imagining the faces that you will make when your plan fails fills my Heart with immeasurable joy.”

  “…It looks like you are still in the mood to joke,” the Whitebud man said, squatting down next to Alnea. “I hope you can keep that up in a while. It will help the miracle last a little longer.”

  “…And I hope you can be just as optimistic when all your efforts go down the drain.”

  “Are you still trying to deny your fate, Tresting?”

  “My fate is not for you to decide, Whitebud.”

  “…Maybe. But I do not need to decide your fate. I just need to use your help to summon the miracle.”

  “…Give it up. Like I said, your plan will never succeed.”

  “Oh, but it already has,” the Whitebud man said, flashing a grin, before placing his hand on Alnea’s chest and summoning the miracle.