KRISTOFF’S POV:
He had finally finished the business that had occupied him for several weeks, revolving around the trade of exotic spices back in Mercuria. It had brought him a tremendous profit, thanks to their value surging due to the new Elvish recipes that had recently become popular over there. A few weeks of calculated work had successfully earned him two gold coins; an extravagant sum that matched the very amount he had once spent to buy and decorate their family home. His mood turned sour, however, as soon as his thoughts wandered toward the slums, a place where his throat would be cut for a mere fraction of this wealth.
He had visited the district once before, and now curiosity and a flickering hope drove him to see if the situation had improved. He wanted to know if the military mages who had visited his own house had truly succeeded in eliminating the culprits who had turned the slums into a festering wound. Before setting out, however, he was careful to exchange his well-tailored suit for something much humbler. He chose worn, nondescript garments that allowed him to blend into the shadows, stripping the target from his back before he dared to step into the rot.
He decided to alter his path slightly once again. His gaze remained focused as he set his course toward the cluster of gray, decaying buildings in the distance. The first thing that assaulted his senses before he even reached the perimeter was a pungent, cloying stench. It was a miasma of bodies, rot, sweat, and dirt, all combined into a singular, suffocating odor that he remembered all too well from his last visit.
As soon as he passed the first of the gray structures, which looked as if they could collapse at any moment and bury their inhabitants in rubble, he realized with a jolt of horror that it had somehow gotten even worse. How was that even possible? The atmosphere of dread was so dense it felt as if a giant were slowly tightening its grip around his throat, squeezing the very air from his lungs. The gazes of the people he passed were hollow, their eyes reflecting the vacant stare of dead men walking. Even the number of guards moving through the streets with a certain, frantic goal was staggering, yet they looked scared out of their minds.
As he walked further down the dusty, uneven road, gray buildings passing him like tombstones, he began to stop and listen to the faint, eerie conversations echoing between the walls. He moved silently, trying to piece together the fragments of their terror. After listening to several of these hushed, haunting exchanges, the full picture finally came into light, and it terrified him to his core.
He felt as if the rays of the sun had suddenly turned cold, plunging the world into a mid-winter chill that pierced his skin like needles. Three of the exalted Tier 2 mages, prominent figures in the military hierarchy, along with a whole garrison of Tier 1 soldiers, had vanished overnight. They had simply disappeared, never to be found. What the fuck was happening in this Kingdom?
ADAM’S POV:
As they had spent much less time than anticipated on the market streets, mainly because Adam's mood for buying anything had long since vanished, they set their path straight for the Grand Library. As they passed the Middle District and the final guarding post, a completely different world opened before Adam. It was a world he now despised.
Great mansions lined both his sides, looking even grander and more decadent than when he had seen them from a distance. One and a half gold pieces per month. These mansions were monuments to a luxurious lifestyle built on rot and corruption, while the less fortunate starved while fighting for scraps in the mud. To Adam, it was a complete joke. His mood was sour, leaving only a tiny spark of anticipation regarding the Grand Library. He hoped to find something of interest, something that could offer him real help. He was planning to search every tome regarding obsidian and the name that haunted his thoughts: Albert Rosterrian.
Soon, as the miniature castles grew even more pompous and the air became filled with increasingly delicate, artificial scents with each step they took, he saw a huge tower that dwarfed everything he had ever seen. It looked as if it were having a conversation with the clouds, its peak lost in the gray shroud of the sky. The sight made his heavy mood and bitter thoughts pause for a moment.
“Wow, it truly deserves its name,” Adam said aloud, completely stunned by the building that served as a home for the world's knowledge.
Berto laughed at his reaction, evidently sharing his feelings.
“Yes, it is truly grand. The only place I actually like here,” his Master replied.
Soon they found themselves before the massive gates of the building, which were guarded heavily by men in polished armor.
“Lord Ander, welcome. If we may ask, who is the person with you?” asked one of the guards, presumably their leader.
“It is my personal student and a Tier 1 Mage,” Berto replied coldly, without any pleasantries in his voice.
“I understand, Lord Ander. We welcome you too, young Lord,” the guard said, bowing slightly as the heavy gates creaked open.
What hit Adam first was the overwhelming scent of dust, ink, and ancient parchment. As they walked in, thousands of books began to stretch before his eyes, delicately placed on bookshelves and sorted to the best of the librarians' ability. He could feel himself becoming amazed yet again at the sheer scale of what he was seeing.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“So Adam, I assume obsidian, as you stated before, and our certain person, yes?” Berto asked mysteriously, yet Adam knew exactly what his Master meant.
“Yes Master, exactly that,” he replied shortly, his gaze still lingering on the spines of the books.
He was scanning for every bit of writing that dictated which section he was looking at. Soon, his Master took the lead, and they made their way toward the history section. It did not take them long to reach their target, as his Mentor knew exactly where to go.
“Here is the history section, Adam. I will leave you here and do my own research in another section regarding our person of interest. But I must ask, why are you interested in obsidian?”
Berto’s gaze was fixed on him, full of genuine curiosity regarding his question. Adam could tell that his Master believed his earlier lie. It pained him deeply to betray the only person he felt he could trust with every detail, yet the reality was that Adam’s vision of the whispers had changed. He knew it was not something his Mentor would approve of, let alone understand.
“I am interested as to why it is, even if briefly, similar in feeling to a Mana Stone.” He decided to go with that. It was not a complete lie, merely a fragment of the truth, stripped of its dangerous context.
Berto nodded approvingly. “That is actually a great question. Maybe we can find something that will take us one step closer to knowing what a Magic Stone exactly is,” his Master answered after a moment.
He then made his way toward a section of the Library unknown to Adam, the echo of his steps quickly fading into the oppressive silence of the stacks.
Adam focused on his task, set on finding anything worthy of the voices that had guided him. He began searching through books, completely lost in their intricacies and the dust-choked details they shared. Minutes turned into hours, and soon the harsh sunlight that filtered through the high windows was replaced by the cold, ethereal glow of the Moon.
Adam closed the last book for today, his mind deep in thought. Obsidian was truly made of lava that had cooled off. The thing was that if placed in a spot with high mana density, obsidian could actually be used to create magic equipment. This was one of the things the dwarves stood out for. They used such obsidian to masterfully engrave runes upon it that would turn it into magic equipment, such as a sword that would flame ablaze and many other uses depending on what they wanted to achieve. It was called runesmithing, and it revolved around using a specific language whose origins were lost with the track of time. It would basically, from what he understood, create runes that could emit a will upon mana and guide it toward a specific outcome. It did not burden the user, but rather the runes and the item itself, which would be destroyed after a specific amount of uses.
He found that extremely interesting, but it created so many questions he had no answers to, and probably only dwarves had any clue regarding it. What language could not only emit its own will but guide mana at that? Where was the visualization and gestures that were required to channel? He was set on visiting the Dwarf Kingdom at some point and trying to find the answer on his own.
For now, he looked carefully upon the ring itself, trying to find anything that would resemble runes on it. Yet he found none of such a thing. He merged his will with mana and tried to probe the ring, even meditating with it on and off, yet there was nothing unusual. It was just a plain ring made from obsidian, yet the thought of the voices scamming him did not make sense. Maybe he was too weak, or there were other aspects he had no idea about. It would have to wait until he knew more about runes and obsidian itself.
Next were the vague pieces of information he found on Albert. Firstborn of Jonathan, the true heir to the throne. Apparently, he was extremely talented, taking three weeks to reach Tier 1 and eight years for Tier 2. As for the time needed for Tier 3, it was nowhere stated. He took longer than Adam himself to reach Tier 1, which made Adam wonder exactly how talent worked and if Albert could hear voices even back then. Were they different? Weaker? He did not know.
There was not much else to know about him, as he was supposedly a known hermit who would hide in books and meditation. Adam perfectly understood that, if he had to be honest with himself. The only other information he found was the same his Master had brought him days ago: Albert supposedly went mad during his meditation because of certain voices. Yet, looking at history, even when he was labeled as mad, there was no proof to that except for what the secondborn claimed.
Did he truly go mad, or did he get a glimpse of something from the whispers that made others claim it? Adam had two possible theories. Both revolved around Albert getting a glimpse of something far greater from the whispers, though the outcome changed. One was that the price he paid for the knowledge was his sanity, and he truly went mad. The second was that he paid the price for the knowledge, but not with his sanity. When Albert shared his glimpse of knowledge, far greater than everything else, only then was he stated as insane and killed. For now, the answer was not clear.
His internal dilemma was interrupted by his Master coming back. “And did you find anything, Adam?” Berto asked, appearing from behind the shelves.
Adam was so lost in thought he had not even heard his steps. “Well, not much for our person of interest except for what you shared with me, but I found something interesting about obsidian,” he answered calmly, meeting Berto’s gaze.
His Mentor did not answer, waiting for him to continue.
“Well, basically, in the right place, obsidian can be turned into magic equipment by dwarves and their runesmiths, which sounds extremely interesting, but it also made me have a million questions I cannot answer.”
Berto’s eyes shone upon hearing that. “I see. I did hear about magic equipment, but to be honest, I never saw it as the prices are astounding and this equipment is extremely rare in itself.” He answered after a moment, his mind evidently occupied with the topic. After a while, he continued. “As for the runesmiths, I know exactly what questions you mean, Adam, as I share my curiosity in those questions, but sadly you will not find any answer here.”
His voice turned sad at the deeply rooted curiosity that had probably been there for years but could not be satisfied.
“I myself did not find anything useful, but I think the trip was worth it anyway. Let us go back, as we still have to talk.”
And like that, they took their pace back, leaving the ink-stained silence of the library behind.
