Chapter 27 : Shadow Of Triumph

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"I am… still alive?" Viscount Jackson's voice rasped weakly as his eyes fluttered open, greeted by a canopy of resplendent starlight twinkling above. The gentle swaying of the horse carriage rocked his body, each rise and fall a soft reminder of his fragile state.

His chest, tightly bandaged, throbbed with a dull ache, yet a cool, refreshing sensation seeped through the dressings, dulling the pain with the precision of expert healing. The air carried the faint scent of medicinal herbs, mingling with the earthy musk of the night.

"Who was it that saved me?" The question gnawed at Jackson's foggy mind as he struggled to piece together the fragments of memory. His thoughts felt like a bell tolling faintly through a haze, each chime muffled and distant.

"City lord! You're finally awake!" The familiar face of his butler loomed into view, etched with relief and weariness. The man's voice trembled slightly, a note of gratitude ringing beneath his exhaustion.

"Who saved me? How are the others?" Jackson croaked, his throat raw and hoarse, as though the bellows of his lungs had been torn apart and stitched back together.

"Lord Leylin saved you," the butler replied, his tone steady yet somber. "The two of you were the only survivors of the whole group… His servants escorting you back to the mansion."

"They're all dead?" Jackson's head snapped back against the cushioned seat, a wave of unexplainable sorrow surging from the depths of his heart.

His eyes drifted to the distant horizon, where the silhouettes of Extreme Night City's walls blurred against the starry sky. They quivered, and twin streams of tears carved silent paths down his weathered cheeks, glistening like dewdrops under the starlight. The toll of loss echoed within him, a mournful cry that rang without sound.

The city lord's castle reconnoiter group had been obliterated. News of Viscount Jackson, a Grand Knight, suffering grave injuries spread like wildfire through Extreme Night City, igniting an uproar that refused to fade.

Even after two days, the clamor grew louder, its echoes rippling beyond the city's borders into the surrounding lands. The streets buzzed with whispers, each voice adding to a chorus of speculation and unease that reverberated across the region.

As the ruler of Extreme Night City, Jackson had long relied on his prowess as a Grand Knight to keep the city's dark factions in check. His iron grip had silenced many threats, but now, with his strength diminished, those shadows stirred. The news of his injury sent ripples through the underbelly of the city, a discordant chime signaling opportunity to those who lurked in the dark.

The castle's power waned, its defenses weakened by the loss of the Black Iron Guards and the acolytes who had once allied with Jackson. Grief-stricken and overwhelmed, he faced a storm of challenges, each one tolling a note of despair in his beleaguered mind.

Meanwhile, Leylin, having retreated to his villa on the city's outskirts, caught wind of these developments through hushed reports and rumors carried on the wind. Invitations poured in—from the city lord, from rival factions, each parchment a subtle bell tolling for his attention.

He dismissed them all with a flick of his wrist, their words meaningless against the clarity of his purpose.

"A.I. Chip! Bring forth my current stats!" Leylin commanded inwardly, his voice a quiet chime within the sanctuary of his mind.

[Leylin Farlier: Knight. Level 3 Acolyte. Summon—Great Withering Mankestre. Strength: 6.3, Agility: 6.3, Vitality: 6.9, Spiritual Force: 11.9. Magical Power: 11. Status: Healthy.]

The A.I. Chip projected the data before his eyes, an ethereal screen of glowing text visible only to him, shimmering in a silent chamber. His breakthrough to Level 3 Acolyte had been seamless, guided by the wisdom of his mentor, Kroft.

With his near-fifth-grade aptitude, Kroft had freely shared insights and techniques—tricks to ease the milestone's crossing. Leylin's stats, save for his spiritual force, outstripped those of a typical fledgling Level 3, a testament to his meticulous preparation and innate talent.

'A lot of energy went into the breakthrough and suppressing the soulbound backlash—more than I'd estimated,' Leylin mused, his thoughts resonating with a steady rhythm. 'My spiritual force didn't soar as I'd hoped, but it's still a triumph. I've reached Level 3 and gained a formidable summon slave.'

Within his soul space, the astral form of the Great Withering Mankestre coiled darkly, its presence a silent remainder to the power bound to his will. (Image)

He'd weighed the option of devouring the snake's soul and binding Murphy's instead, but his choice had been deliberate. 'My earlier hypothesis holds true,' he concluded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 'The more similar the devoured being is to me, the greater the boost to my stats.' The resonance of this discovery hummed within him, a clear note of understanding.

Leylin lounged on a plush couch in his villa's study, the room bathed in the soft glow of candlelight that flickered in the stillness. His mind churned with plans, each thought a measured as he contemplated his next steps. His breakthrough had enhanced the A.I. Chip's capabilities, unlocking new depths of analysis and precision.

"A.I. Chip, display the collected data on the Soulbound Devourer, including failed experiments," he instructed, his voice a quiet command.

A new interface materialized before him, rows of text scrolling with clinical precision:

[Direwolves – Devoured: Strength +0.6, Agility +0.4, Vitality +0.2, Spiritual Force +0.05. Notes: Minimal spiritual resonance due to beast nature. Energy yield suboptimal. Most increase observed in strength stat.]

[Red-Eyed Raven(4) – Devoured: Strength +0.4, Agility +0.9, Vitality +0.4, Spiritual Force +0.08. Notes: Minimal spiritual resonance due to beast nature. Energy yield suboptimal. Most increase observed in agility stat.]

[Beep! Beastmen (6) —Devoured. Strength increased by 0.3, Agility by 0.4, Vitality by 0.4, Spiritual Force by 0.15. Minimal spiritual resonance due to beast nature. Energy yield suboptimal. Most increase observed in agility and vitality stat.]

[Level 1 and 2 Acolytes (Unnamed) Soul Bound: Moderate compatibility. Human soul increased spiritual force resonance.]

[Failed Experiment – Merge Attempt (Two, Level 1 and Level 2 Acolytes): Result: Catastrophic destabilization. Souls clashed, resulting in mutual annihilation. Energy loss: 87%. Notes: Merging incompatible souls leads to structural collapse.]

[Murphy (Level 3 Acolyte) – Devoured: Strength +1.2, Agility +0.9, Vitality +2.3, Spiritual Force +4.2. Notes: High compatibility. Human acolyte of similar aptitude yielded optimal gains.]

[Great Withering Mankestre – Bound (Not Devoured): Strength — Level 3 Acolyte. Retained as a summon, devouring bypassed for binding benefits.]

Leylin studied the data, each entry signifying the various levels of his research. "A.I. Chip, begin analyzing a more optimized approach to understanding the Soulbound Devourer's mechanics."

[Beep! Task Established! Estimated Time – Indeterminate. Soul Research Required!]

"Master, your bath is ready," came a soft voice. Anna, his personal maid, the blonde beauty entered with a graceful bow, her presence gentle and warm in the room's quiet. (Image)

Leylin rose, gesturing for Anna to lead the way. "Rede, Shera—join us," he called to his other female slaves. A bath with them was a fitting celebration of his recent victories, a moment to let the toll of triumph ring through his senses.

In the blink of an eye, a month slipped by, each day marking Leylin's consolidation of power. The night was dark and still, the air heavy with tranquility.

Withered trees stood like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches cradling ravens that ruffled their feathers in the moonlight.

Bang! The grass beneath one such tree tore open, revealing a hidden passage shrouded in shadow.

Leylin emerged, draped in black robes, his face veiled beneath a hood that obscured his features. Tonight, he sought the underground lab from which the Great Withering Mankestre had escaped—a relic of a fallen Magus.

The snake had been an experimental creation, a product of an ancient laboratory buried near the withering woods. Such remnants, left by official Magi, were treasure troves of knowledge—valuable data, rare ingredients, high-level spells, and artifacts of immense power.

For magicians, these vestiges were a siren's call, promising wealth and might to those bold enough to claim them. Tales abounded of acolytes rising from obscurity after such discoveries, though just as many perished beneath ancient traps or curses.

Leylin's goal was clear: retrieve all he could and imprison the vengeful spirit trapped within. Over the past month, he'd stabilized his spiritual force, its resonance now a steady hum within him. He calculated that, with persistence and no external aid, he could ascend to Grand Knight in less than a year.

Near the withering woods, beside a towering black granite boulder, Leylin muttered an incantation. The air shimmered, and the ground parted to reveal a dark cave mouth. (Image)

He smiled, stepping inside with confidence. He'd deciphered the spell formation's governing rules and knew the dangers within—more importantly, he had countermeasures prepared.

The tunnel was short, its glossy black walls reflecting his robed figure in distorted angles. Devil Vines twisted across the floor, their thorny tendrils quivering faintly, while Bone Eating Flowers bloomed in grotesque clusters, their petals pale and jagged. Grey slates lined the path, some housing the Gnawing Slate—living traps with teeth eager to bite. (Image)

At the tunnel's end stood a villa door, a circular hole punched through its surface. Beside it lay a corpse, its skeletal hand clutching a black diary that gleamed with an odd luster. The villa's exterior radiated a dangerous halo of magical light, a shimmering veil concealing countless traps beneath its brilliance. (Image)

Hehe! Haha! A childish laugh rang out as Leylin's foot brushed a slate. The stone twisted open, revealing a maw of razor-sharp teeth that snapped at him with vicious intent.

"The first defense—Gnawing Slate," Leylin murmured, a faint smile curving his lips. He tossed a gob of black tar-like substance into the mouth.

Ka-Cha! The trap devoured it, only to Pu!—spit it out in disgust, its red tongue flickering as it expelled yellowish-green spittle. The scene was comically human, an amusement ringing in Leylin's mind.

He strode to the door, snatching the black diary with a swift motion. It was heavy, brick-like, likely forged from rare materials. Tucking it into his robes, he faced the entrance. A layer of blackish-green vines coiled around the door, sprouting red petals that fused into a human's face. (Image)

"Intruder! This is a place you shouldn't have come!" the floral visage warned, its lips moving with an eerie grace, each word dripping with menace.

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