It is a double-edged thing, being a non-martial. You can see this in the name itself. You are not capable of fighting, or at least not as capable as someone dedicated to the art of combat. And in a world ruled by strife, that makes you lesser.

It doesn’t matter that you are the core of any nation’s economy, that you produce the most goods, that you’re in charge of manufacturing, that you grow all the crops, that you offer the bulk of the arts, that the scientific and magical insights discovered are all tied to you or people like you. But ultimately, how many non-martials rule in government? How many non-martials decide their own fate?

Simply look upon the non-martial faculty at Phoenix Academy. Many of them are brilliant Pathbearers. They’re recognized for their Tiers and expertise, but they are so often traded, tied to other Lords or their own Houses. Their services are offered without their consent, their decisions shackled by means of tenure and binding contracts.

Specifically, the Republic values non-martial pursuits more than a great many other nations. But the Heroes that we deem non-martial all share a trait in common: they are combat-capable, and they have learned to use their initially harmless skills offensively.

The Songbringer is no victim. The Genius is no victim. Councilwoman Chandler is no victim.

And that is the deciding factor. For however enlightened we profess ourselves to be, we are still children of the System.

And until that changes, we abide by steel and spell before anything else.

To think you will live a peaceful life if you choose to stay away from the blade is a delusion. Violence is coming.

–Path of the Harmless

(Essay draft written by Melissa Harrington)

204 (I)

Academy [II]

Concelhaunt and Merrielmel fled into the maze with haste, and the others followed close behind. As Shiv passed between the stone walls, he looked up and caught sight of a crack lining the gleaming material that made up the ceiling.

Through the fissure in the protective dome lining the top of the arena, he could see rows and rows of seats rising upward, and a feeling of wrongness came upon him. There was a haunted feeling to this location, like it shouldn’t have survived its final impact, like it was being forced to serve long after its expiration. There were people here once, sitting above, looking down into the arena, watching games of skill, strength, and magic.

Shiv could still taste some of that magic in the air. The white walls of the maze were shaped by Geomancy. The light above radiated with a bit of Divination between the sprinkles of bioluminescence. But there was also a pervasive sense of coldness in the atmosphere. It felt more like they were on the side of some mountain, where the oxygen was thin, but every gulp of air one drew in was refreshing.

Powerful Aeromancy had to be at work here, which made sense. They were deep underground, after all, and from what they had discovered, the Enchanter and Smith were siphoning mana from the gate positioned right above them.

The more Shiv thought about that, the more questions he had. The repositioning was ingenious. No one wanted to destabilize the foundation of a gateway; there was too much risk involved. Mana did strange things when it was destabilized. Furthermore, with the amount of magic radiating from the gateway, everything here was masked, allowing the two rogue professors to conduct their trade.

And what a trade they were conducting. Just how many people are addicted to this drug shit? Shiv thought to himself. Even back at Blackedge, there had been many chefs on something or another. Too many.

As Merrielmel and Concelhaunt led the others along a winding path filled with sharp twists and sudden turns, Shiv saw more of those crates, and his Biomancy detected more hidden drugs within. But by now, he didn’t need his magic to tell what they were hiding. There was a smell in the air as well, a particularly foul smell that reminded Shiv of burning mold.

“Despicable,” Irons growled as he glared at all the crates stacked against the stone walls. Some of them climbed all the way to the top, and each crate was large enough to hide half an orc. “To think that this was taking place on academy grounds, and to think that I didn’t notice at all.”

“More people than you have failed,” Adam said, trying to placate his instructor. “The Ascendants seemed ignorant as well. The Inquisition, the Guard. It’s not your duty to investigate these things, Captain.”

“I disagree,” Irons shot back. “Their failures do not forgive my own. This was my station. They were my colleagues. You were my student. I had a responsibility to all of you. I still have a responsibility to all of you.”

Shiv grunted in open approval. “If only more people thought like you, we wouldn’t be in this much shit.”

Irons grunted in agreement. Shiv grunted again. They both grunted in disgust as they saw even more crates around the corner.

Adam looked between Shiv and Irons and simply snorted. “I knew this would happen.”

“What would happen?” Shiv asked, looking over his shoulder.

“That you two would find each other good company.” The Gate Lord licked his lips and adopted a serious expression a moment later. “But I suspect they’re not growing this. There’s no soil nearby. Not from what I can smell. I think they’re just holding this for the rest of the Neath. This is a transportation hub, meaning that there is traffic coming here, likely to claim or leave more drug crates.”

Shiv didn’t like that. Frankly, Shiv didn’t like anything he couldn’t fully control. Dealing with the Dragon Brokers was just a means to an end. He suspected he would be seeing one of their representatives soon enough to do some kind of ritual. He wasn’t exactly keen on having one of his skills bound, but considering he could mend shattered skills, breaking the deal wasn’t nearly a permanent wound for him or anyone he was allied with.

“We’re here,” Merrielmel cried from in front. Shiv didn’t know where ‘here’ was. From what he could see, looking over the shoulders of the goblin and elf, they were staring at a dead end. The ugly surface of a stone wall greeted him. The only thing special about it was the crack running down its center. Then Shiv saw the first specks of static leaking from the crack, and he realized what was happening.

A moment later, the wall tore open, revealing a hidden space inside. It was like one of Adam’s dimensional rips, except when it expanded, rather than revealing a pathway, it just opened a pocket of space that resembled the insides of a cavern.

Shiv guessed that there were fifteen meters of room within the pocket, and at the center was a large furnace that churned with boiling-hot bursts of Pyromancy. The walls and floor here were cluttered as well. There were several workbenches littered with a variety of tools, half-cut metal sheets, and discarded metal bars piled on the ground.

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At the center of the room was a basin, filled with some kind of mercury-like liquid that drew Can Hu’s attention. “Interesting,” the Penitent declared, and Shiv soon understood why. It was the same kind of glowing mercury that Can Hu could wield thanks to the mana core’s special Skill Fusion ability.

As everyone surveyed the room, Shiv was surprised to find even more mechanisms to his left and right. There were tall, distillery-like apparatuses, and churning sounds rattled from the brass tubes connected to them. At their base was a slot. Most of the apparatuses held nothing within their slots, but one of them gave a final ringing cry and spat out a piece of alloy. It was in the shape of a ring, perfectly smooth around the sides, and it was shaped with precision and quality.

Then, at the very far end of the room was a wall with a series of capsules installed on it. The capsules glistened mithril-bright, and within came the muted glow of mana. Something magical was stored within those capsules. Shiv counted sixteen sphere-shaped containers on the wall, and Concelhaunt made for the rightmost one on the bottom, punching it in the middle, callously, for seemingly no reason at all.

A second later, it opened with a click, and the goblin reached in. His automaton chassis flared with a rush of mana, and soon, a layer of stone clung to the chrome exterior he piloted. There, in the right hand of his chassis, was a mana core, small and bright, pulsating but crystalline in material. He handed it to Merrielmel, and they briefly exchanged a few whispers. Both of them turned to regard Shiv, and then flinched away as they realized the Deathless was glaring at them.

“Ahem,” Merrielmel cleared his throat. “So, your mask. It was a substantially powerful piece of equipment, and it will require a good amount of mana to fix. Furthermore, its damage is severe, and it’s been destroyed for some time. It will need to have a few skills invested into it to make up for what is lost, and that might require a period of delicate care.”

Concelhaunt sniffled. “It’s also going to need to be rebuilt.” The goblin gestured toward the pool of mercury. “We’re going to chuck it in there first, and then we’re going to use that Geomancy core to make it all soft and shit. Now, I’ve got to warn you. There’s a chance that it might not work out.”

“A chance it might not work out?” Shiv growled. “I brought my item for you two to fix, not for you two to tell me things ‘might not work out’.”

“We’re just being transparent,” Merrielmel said, holding up his hands placatingly. “But it is not a high chance. We are both Heroes, you see, and we are well-versed in preserving a piece of equipment. Why, you know, restoring something and repairing something is far easier than creating something new. The chance is small, very, very small.”

“Well, I hope you can make it non-existent,” Shiv said calmly, “because if I can’t use that mask, you’re gonna have to make me another one. Or, odds are, that notification that keeps popping up in front of you telling you that I’m the Deathless, trying to provoke you into killing me… That’s going to keep going off for everyone, and sooner or later, someone’s gonna follow me back here.”

Shiv ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth as both Concelhaunt and Merrielmel flashed bright, their bodies briefly resembling glass. His fists throbbed with a trembling force. “The people after me are mean and vicious bastards. They’ll come after you, they’ll break everything you have, and then they’ll break you. We don’t want that, do we?”

“No, no, no,” Merrielmel said, shaking his head vigorously. “We can make sure that the repair goes smoothly, but that will take some time, perhaps a day, twelve hours at the very least. You have to understand, though I have seen a great many enchantments in my time, Perfect Semblance is a very rare enchantment, very rare indeed. Actually, however…” Merrielmel coughed.

Concelhaunt eyed his fellow professor and then groaned. “Really? You gonna do this fucking right now? Shit, if you are, just ask him.”

“Ask me what?” Shiv said.

“I would like to take a look at the enchantment in deeper detail. It might add some time, but it might also…” Merrielmel began to steeple his fingers together nervously, “…let me build something for the others, potentially allowing me to replicate the enchantment of the mask and apply it to other items. I would be most obliged. In fact, I would be thankful. We can discuss…”

Shiv waved him off. “Look, I don’t really care how long it takes, so long as it doesn’t take a month, and so long as you don’t break the mask in the end. Well, any more than it’s already broken.”

“Of course, of course,” Merrielmel chirped. “So, uh, we can begin. In the meantime, well, we might not have specific living quarters set up here. This is not exactly, uh… technically, uh… What do the people of the Neath call it?”

“A safe house,” Concelhaunt provided.

“Yes, it’s not exactly a safe house, but if you wish to make yourself comfortable here, we would not be against it.”

“Not be against it, he says,” Helix scoffed viciously, “as if these two can protect themselves, as if they can decide anything at all.” The orc Biomancer stepped up and regarded the other two intellectuals. He gazed down upon them from the bridge of his nose, and his glasses hung low in a demonstration of his scorn. “This is pitiful. What use the Neath can find in you is beyond me. What purpose is there in pursuing knowledge if you cannot protect it, if you cannot protect yourselves?”

Suddenly, Merrielmel and Concelhaunt’s postures changed. They were still terrified, but there was a slight shift in their demeanor. The goblin had his chassis reach down and wrap its fingers around the hammer it carried. It also wrenched the anvil from its back. Merrielmel, meanwhile, slid one of his hands under his tassels. Just then, Shiv caught the smirk crawling up the left side of Helix’s face. The Deathless realized what he was trying to do and put an end to it.

“Hey, if anyone starts fighting each other right now instead of fixing my mask or doing something else that’s useful, I’m just gonna kill them myself.” The tension in the air burst. Three sets of eyes fell upon Shiv, and Helix gave his Insul a frustrated sneer.

Shiv remained unimpressed. “I’ll find some way for you guys to scratch your itch soon enough,” he said. “In the meantime…” Shiv trailed off, not sure what they were supposed to do in the meantime, but he had a few thoughts.

***

For the next half-day or so, the group convened and recovered. Solzimort remained hidden underground, and the orcs began going over their equipment and taking stock of what they had. Adam rested as well. But that didn’t mean the Gate Lord was idle, for during this period, Adam’s Shattered Star flared bright, and a restorative radiance alleviated everyone’s exhaustion—and Can Hu’s damaged body especially.

Frankly, it had been a while since Shiv had had any downtime at all. Not actually particularly long, actually, but a lot had happened since they moved out of Gate Piety to intercept the Inquisition and everything went to shit thereafter.

He still wouldn’t consider this much of an actual break, but with no one killing him, no one hunting him, and with no other matters demanding his immediate attention, he could finally have a moment to just sit down and catch his breath alongside the rest of his fellow fugitives.

Across the room, the two rogue professors tossed another mana core into the mercury puddle and continued channeling their own magic in the process. It was the fifth time they repeated this—citing significant mana and item damage. They also argued incessantly as they worked, hissing at each other in harsh tones as they debated on how best to restore the Mask of False Paths.

Every now and again, they would cast a nervous glance at Shiv and the orcs. They also whined about how the Neath’s liaison hadn’t arrived yet, leaving them to deal with this themselves. Shiv was curious about that as well, but it wasn’t too surprising, with the city under lockdown and Harlock running around.

For a while, things in their impromptu safe house were quiet. There was plenty to talk about, but everyone was spent, and even with Adam’s Shattered Star, some took longer to recover from their wounds fully. Information and business could wait for a while. Candles spent his time lying on a crate and looking at flickering lights on the ceiling, lazily waving his arms at them and giggling every now and then. Five picked at damaged cybernetic implants in his arms with his claws, trying to reattach some severed wires, while Gone paced around the room, seeming happy to be able to move around in a space larger than a jail cell for the first time in ages. Irons, Adam, and Kura seemed content to stand and watch the professors work.

For a few hours, Shiv just flipped his new pan in his hand and nursed his mind on jumping thoughts about Blackedge and their immediate situation, trying his best to keep his mind from wandering toward Udraal and his history.

The moment, however, didn’t last, as Shiv was also aware that the Educator spent the entire time glaring daggers at him, and if he didn’t address that, he would try to throw his pan through her face at some point.

Fuck this, Shiv grumbled internally. I’m tired of this overdramatic tension bullshit. We’re getting this dealt with right now.

“Educator,” Shiv grunted. The Forgotten Ascendant kept staring at him without ever bothering to offer him a response. “We need to talk about Udraal. Actually, we need to talk about all your former friends too. Let’s get a few things straight. Or, let’s skip straight to the violence if we can’t decide on that. I’m tired of wasting time.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep