-agoria

After assuring Fiore that I was definitely going to be alright, I arrived at the edge of the castle, seeing father just a few meters from the magical boundary.

Surprisingly, he looked as equipped as a Magus ready for battle. To the unaided eye, the bracers hidden under his sleeves and the leather briefcase was wholly inconspicuous. His lanky but fit figure was hugged by somewhat loose clothing, padded with what I assumed to be protection underneath.

It was obvious that he relied on our art for combat purposes, the dark gleam of several different spirits binded into some of his apparel was apparent when I peeked over my glasses.

That case in his hand, however, was hiding something that had too many signatures for me to count, enchanted with some Mystery to conceal its mystery.

"I've come as you've asked, father. Is there a reason for this sudden excursion?" I inquired.

"The leylines of our territory are suffering a sudden reduction in potency since 5 days prior, originating someplace in the southern section of the land. I plan to investigate the cause of this matter, and see to it accordingly before undue escalation befalls us." He explained, the ever present arrogance in his voice radiating naturally. Not in the sense that he would look down upon you like a pest, but more like he was lecturing you with an underlying yet obvious hint of pity for the uneducated.

I guess it was more like confidence than arrogance in that regard.

He continued, "You are here to accompany me in this case, both as a witness and as possible assistance, should the situation prove itself so. Do you understand?"

I rose an eyebrow, "Why would you choose only me to accompany you? Why not Fiore, or just bring both of us?"

There was…something with this entire thing, something that I just couldn't put a finger on. Whether Landric was over or underprepared was the issue that tickled my senses. Dozens, if not more than a hundred, spirits were keeping themselves concealed within a distance, not linked to the castle itself, but to father.

How he was keeping them sustained could be anyone's guess. From what I could tell, the gap between father and I's circuit power was like a plains and a mountain summit, and between Fiore and I was heaven and earth. So it was either he found a way to create a 'power saving mode' for active spirit Familiars, or his magical output was augmented somehow.

He gave something between a hum and a scoff, "I need not elaborate upon the burden of my daughter's disability. Her, let us say 'insufficient', temperament is something I have considered a factor in this, and I found it fit to not bother her specifically. You, however, are aware of the risk our departure entails, judging by your… accoutrements; at least, I suspect you are. It would be an embarrassing prospect if I expected anything more from a backup heir."

Really, the frustration of each conversation I've had with this man had puttered out after years living in the same castle as him. Twisting words to have double meanings, speaking with enough condescension to make me want to punch his face, and the general aura he gave just crawled under my skin. 

If this was how talking to other magi was going to go, then I pity my future self already.

This time, I didn't bother responding to that statement of his. Instead, I walked past him and looked to the far south of the area, putting my glasses in my pocket. Nothing looked out of the ordinary as I enhanced my vision with minor Reinforcement.

"South area, right?"

"Disrespectful AND inattentive? Perhaps my expectations should continue to be lowered if you resolve to act this way."

Do not punch your dumb ass father, Caules. You still need him to live through the personal hell you're gonna give him… 

-0-0-0-

There were three things that ensured the prosperity of a magus family: the time it takes to advance their craft, the effort that goes into every action they do, and last but definitely not least, the resources it takes to perform magecraft.

Mystery was drawn from the Thaumaturgical Foundations(belief systems) of a land and, as such, drew from belief. To put it as a simple math equation without going too in depth,  Legend+Age=Mystery.

Leylines, similar to the veins of the Earth where Mana flowed more abundantly in the area, was just as coveted as century old reagents and secrets that were applied to the magus' thaumaturgy.

This was where the Second Owner, basically the magical landlord, came in.

Landric Forvedge of Yggdmillennia, despite being from a minor family, was still appointed as Second Owner of the territory thanks to the political pull from the head of Yggdmillennia himself. Our family lorded over the mediocre leylines of the land, and were to administer all supernatural matters in our area. A tax was then issued, whether through currency or through material bartering, to the magus families that registered their names under our care. 

Those who were unsanctioned in our land, however, can be subjected to whatever judgement that the Second Owner wishes so.

And, right now, with Landric's face remaining as straight as it is, I couldn't ascertain that judgement.

The location we were investigating was far west from any civilian houses, thankfully, covered by a small forest and a few steep marshes that we avoided here and there. 

I didn't bother making small talk with him. If he was annoying me as much as I was trying to annoy him, then the feeling was mutual between us.

Not trading any information with him on this mission, though, would just be an illogical action to do. 

This was possible life and death, and if a danger did present itself, I wanted to rely more on the experienced magus rather than rely on myself.

"Still no sign of anything…" I mused.

"True," Landric said, looking down on a compass that was glowing with a calm light, "My misgivings of this event have not been unwarranted, it seems. Whomever saw fit to not only intrude, but to exhaust this land of mana, will pay a steep recompense once I find them."

"And how steep would that price be?" I made sure my eyes never strayed too far or too slow; things had yet to add up, and I was reinforcing my senses to the best(but still safe) level I can manage for now. 

"I have yet to decide that." 

Maybe it was the paranoia creeping on my spine(or probably just one of the tarantula Familiars that I brought along with me), but I was a proud believer of Murphy's law. I don't exactly know if it had saved me in my past life, but when I believed in my inner caution this much, then it should definitely mean something.

A flare of prana from father drew my eyes; he was sending more of those spirits to scout for him.

We continued walking.

A few minutes later, the click of his tongue had expressed as much frustration as I needed to hear. Some of the karmic lines I saw on him having been cut off just a second ago. His scouts were eliminated.

"The fool hides in a crypt by the west. Follow me, boy!" 

The man who I reluctantly call father just dashed to towards the direction of said crypt.

Meanwhile, I was chasing after him with VERY doubtful thoughts. Mainly, it could be summed up to: What the fuck?

It was fortunate that my skill in Reinforcement could help me catch up to the full grown man, because he really needed to hear what I had to say.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" 

I tried not shout - I really did. But when a single action can be the difference between successful task and colossal fuck up, I think my anger was completely reasonable.

Thankfully, my focus was enough to not run into a tree.

He sneered, "Cease that tone, boy! I will not let this chance go to waste. The instigator's Boundaries are one dimensional, his faux undead are weak, and his evocations can barely stay manifested! This wretched amateur - I will make sure he never sees the light of day again!"

Thank Root that he was at least compliant.

The anger in his face magnified, "Now he seeks to flee!?"

Scratch that, now I have to deal with an enraged magus seeking to do glorious, and possibly GOREgous battle.

Note to self: experienced magus does not equal good tactician.

80 meters; I spotted the telltale sign of magical phenomena. Dead violet and wispy black auras exposed themselves in the distance.

Around 12 seconds. That was as much preparation as I was going to get before we arrive at the site, since ol' Lanny was going on a self-righteous rampage.

"Hesitation is defeat." I muttered, immediately feeling the hold of cold rationality and hard determination kick in. Trick the mind; trick the spirit. Self-Hypnosis was a powerful thing once you realise the potential in the art. 

A minimal amount of prana for a maximal effect of mind trickery.

8 seconds. A line of fire came into sight - it was the bounded field set up by the intruder. 

I launched the spiders from my sling bag and let the tiny crowd loose, specific runes etched on a 'backpack' for each crawly with different functions for each set.

A startling caw was the only warning I needed to bisect a crow Familiar coming at me, its beak glowing with the blackish red taint of a sickness curse.

I didn't stop my sprint and, by the looks of it, nor did father as I caught a glimpse of the swarm of cursed wasps being released from the briefcase, tearing through the rest of the crows while dying in the process. 

Kamikaze yellow jackets, then. I'll try to compliment him on how metal that was later.

4 seconds. The mound of earth that held the entrance came into view, and so did the small, unorganized horde of undead and Black Dogs that littered around it.

They were Mysteries that I grew familiar with since I was four, some of the many notes of lore I'd written down just for the sake of it. The undead were the re-animations of corpses as servants, a subset of necromancy that generally involved anything related to corpses. The evocation of Black Dogs were gained(copied would be a more accurate term) from the Mystery of the phantasmal species it was named after, a type of faerie that appeared at crossroads and places of execution.

Admittedly, I expected someone a lot older when I layed my sights on the young man - early or mid twenties, pale skin, shaggy black hair, and bloodshot eyes - robed and holding onto a black grimoire. It was probably the RPG nut within me, but a senile old madman sounded like a better fit rather than hobo Edward Cullen here.

Father was, surprisingly, holding his own as the majority of EVERY hostile was trying to dogpile him, bringing to the battlefield the numerous humanoid spirit Familiars I once sensed from before.

Only a few undead and minor spirits tried to pick me off, and I wondered if I was just being ignored as I stabbed, jabbed, and sliced through my fair share. Hypnosis was truly a blessing; I didn't feel a hint of hesitation.

"Halt your steps and get back here, coward!" Landric yelled after the retreating figure of the necro-evoker.

The enemy magus flipped him off.

What father then said was something that shouldn't be uttered at a dinner table, or just any public place, really.

So I really AM getting ignored; that was good. That meant I could do 'this'.

I pointed my left glove at the man, already finished offing the 5th Black Dog that pounced at me, with a stab that chaotically distorted the spiritual entity, "Target Set: Restrain."

The strings unraveled, around a quarter of the glove transforming into thin threads and homing onto the opponent.

Each of these strings had the magical potency of a D rank Mystic Code - the equivalent of the spear in my hand - and with more than a dozen of them restraining my target? What it lacked in quality sure made up for it in quantity as it binded the enemy magus legs first, tripping him and restraining him from shoulders to feet.

Swell, now I just had to wait for Landric to rip and tear his way through the horde, so that he can pass judgement on-

"Straße Gehen!" The man yelled, freeing himself from the threads as they dissolved into silver dust.

-or the necro-evoker could use an elementary destruction spell and ruin my hard earned work. Man, that sucks.

The magus took his time(no more than a second or two) to…grab his book and point his hand toward me? While standing in place? Like a sitting duck?

What?

Hobo Edward Cullen began to chant, "Ye mask of blood, I worship. Thy god of sin, thine name be-"

"Denied!" I threw my pole arm at the chanting man, the rune of travel speeding up the weapon even more.

It struck true, eviscerating the outstretched hand, all the way forward to the bicep, and elliciting the most pained scream I've heard in two lives.

What, did he actually think I was gonna stand there and take it?

Suddenly, the book he was holding - the ominous thing with distorted shades of red, violet and black - burst into crimson flames as he dropped it on the ground.

My eyes didn't trail down to the item, of course, that was left to my peripherals. There was an enemy in front of me, and only a fool would look away in a duel to the death.

A chunk of the man's forearm plopped down with a grotesque squelch, scarlet mixed into the dusty ground, painting a bloody picture.

His body was trembling, his already pale skin almost chalk white, whether from the sudden blood loss or shock didn't matter.

I just stood my ground, not wanting to get in range just in case the magus had an extra trick up his sleeve. 

And then he laughed.

He practically exploded into laughter, "You- ha, you're too late! Not a second more. Not. One. More. Second. That was all I needed from my chant - my aria - MY GREATEST WORK for it to enact. And now,"

The pale magus spread his one good arm in a beholding pose, "You, child, will not leave this place alive. Fear not, I will make sure to use your lifeless vessel for a more grand purpose. This I swear as Jaegar Rotunstein IV."

The air then felt heavier - my limbs somewhat struggling to lift my weight. It was a draining feeling, fatigue magically seeping into my body.

In the next moment, I saw. 

A tint of red suddenly obscured everything in my sight - no, this was bounded within the dry and dead clearing; the hazy mist acting as the siphon, and I as the victim.

He - Jaegar, as he introduced himself - didn't look like that much of a fool now. Standing here was like being constantly bombarded with weak Gandr curse shots. Each passing second led to more and more of my health getting deteriorated, and the momentary pause of judgement I was having didn't help it either.

He continued to stare at me with a maniacal smile, ripping out and throwing away the spear embedded in his bloody arm…

And the appendage began to regenerate.

-0-0-0-

AN: Ok so, I'm back, but the mind juices aren't really flowing properly. The next chapter is still in the process of being written. 

I'm not some muse-filled writing machine like Einlion-sama, ideas just click at random times for me, so I apologize if my schedule is as spontaneous as it is.

Meta In-Story Update: Circuit Quality has been buffed to B rank, and quantity has been changed from 25 to 23, cuz prime numbers make monke brain go *insert happy monkey noise* and literally does nothing to change my overall planned plot.

This is Not_A_Bot, and you're reading a crappy insert~ :)