The most important thing when it comes to duels of words and rhetoric is control. If you can control someone’s emotions or the flow of the topic, you can win. For ultimately, it’s not about a debate of truth, but more often, who can make the other betray themselves, make them debase themselves in public?

Who cedes more power to their adversary?

This is why there is a base wisdom in children. They see the world for what it is on the surface, and from there, they glean our deepest fears and our overpowering insecurities. After all, how many proud and wise intellectuals have we seen laid low by countless insults? Comments about their appearance and their failures. Comments about the ones they lost, the ones they couldn’t protect.

Control, my sweet fellows. Control yourself, and control the one who stands before you. That’s what makes you beautiful in a clash of words.

And if you can provoke someone to bitter rage or sorrowful tears, you can also just as easily guide them to love you, to adore you. Because once you have a measure of control, they are driven to engage with you, and from there, you can sculpt the experience, gradually feeding them positive emotions rather than negative and conceding on points you don’t care about—perhaps never cared about—until finally, in their eyes, you are redeemed.

You are their friend or lover, and all is well until you decide to crush their heart once more. And the dance goes on.

Because, as always, to not seek control is to surrender yourself. And though there is something sweet and relaxing about giving away the keys to your heart, understand that the life of a fool is a passive one, and you will be as if a dog, waiting to be euthanized.

–How to Make Fools and Break People by Kathereine of Chandliere

209 (I)

Admission [III]

Before Magnolia could bring down her axe and deliver a final invalidation of Marcus’s supposed resurrection, the door behind her burst open, and in walked a Pathbearer clad in heavy plates of adamantine. For a moment, Shiv failed to recognize Captain Irons. In Shiv’s defense, Irons was dressed differently last time and had his face exposed.

Now, he was encased in heavy, magic-resistant armor with a frog helm that sprouted wings from the sides, masking his face. He kept his halberd and shield combo but swapped out the exact weapons he used. It was only when he spoke that Shiv felt a trickle of tension slip away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Irons said. There was no heat in his voice, no fear or anger. It was simply a flat question imbued with the authority of a veteran Pathbearer. Behind the captain were the priests, and they stared at Magnolia with wide eyes and muttered to each other in hushed exchanges.

Magnolia froze. Her mouth fell open as her eyes flicked between Captain Irons and the holy ones who’d allowed her entry into this morgue. She was like an antelope that had spotted a hunter at that moment, and she couldn’t make up her mind. Her body language still screamed of violence. She wanted to swing her axe down.

She wanted to kill Marcus once and for all and reap what pleasure she could from his death. But there was something else emanating from her: a weight of fear. Not exactly of Irons, but of defying the Republic’s laws and becoming a fugitive for the sin of slaying someone she barely regarded as a person.

Psycho-Cartography: And that tells us that her hate is not as strong as her desire to self-preserve. We can use that too. Take advantage of it. Break this conflict before it can spiral. Breaking her composure was our means, not our ends.

Heeding his skill, Shiv went on the offensive once more. But this time, he did so on Magnolia’s behalf. Because if he actually condemned her, everything would be put into question.

So, he was going to save her instead. But that didn’t mean he had to be nice about it.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Shiv said, standing from where he was seated. He added a stammer as a flourish to sell his guise as a nervous student. “Master Magnolia was simply speaking with me about…” He clenched his teeth and tried to hide a look of pain. “When we were ambushed by the Jotun, there were many of them. The others fought. I tried to…” Shiv swallowed. “We wouldn’t have made it here without Master Magnolia. But she blames herself. She came here to apologize to me.”

Suddenly, her eyes were on him again. Her nostrils flared. The look of utter disbelief and near-explosive outrage made Magnolia spasm as if lightning was surging through her body. Shiv couldn’t help it. It seemed like his new skill veered toward the offensive, and he’d been using it to attack people more than to praise. He couldn’t help but get a few more jabs in, even when he was protecting her ass from legal prosecution.

“She thought it was pathetic that she couldn’t protect most of us,” Shiv said and shook his head. Audaciously, he reached across the table and audaciously seized Magnolia’s half-risen axe. Slowly, he begged her to lower it, and though she resisted for a moment, eventually she capitulated. Her arm was like a rusted lever as it fell, her every movement twitching with barely withheld anger.

“It’s not your fault,” Shiv said, somehow keeping a straight face. “You are the only reason any of us made it here. You are the only reason why I

made it here. And I forgive you.”

Her face was changing colors now, going from a stricken paleness to a furious red.

“I forgive you,” Shiv said again, and this time she glowered as if a crystal cup kissed by a vicious sunrise.

Irons’s frog helm turned to look between Shiv and Magnolia. He clearly tasted the tension between them, but he said nothing.

“If you need a moment,” Shiv said, “I think you should take it. And if you want to talk again, maybe we should do it under proper circumstances. This is a lot to take in for both of us.” Then he leaned in a little closer and let his voice drop. “But I just want you to know that I won’t forget this. That everything you did for me, I will someday do for you. And just as you’ve come to seek me in my moment of need, I will come looking for you. And probably someday soon, I suspect.”

With that subtle threat delivered, Magnolia blinked. Her mouth opened and closed several times, and she bit back a snarl. Her fingers curled and straightened, the motion reminding him of a dying spider. Then, in a rush of movement, she tore out of the room, pushing past Irons, barreling through the priests, and fleeing. Shiv followed her using his mana hydra for as long as he could, and then pulled away as she departed the building.

A faint snort sounded from behind Shiv, and the Deathless clenched his teeth. He directed his Psychomancy into his cape. “Hey guys, uh, will you shut the fuck up? Do not blow my cover. I didn’t do all those mental acrobatics just for you to screw me over.”

Tequila’s mind somehow produced the sound of sarcastic clapping, and then Shiv brushed Whisper’s consciousness as well, tasting a wry amusement from the orc. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dangerous situation handled like that before. I am going to remember this one. Insult the target of your loathing, and use the laws and social taboos to both protect and provoke them. Very, very amusing.”

Helix, meanwhile, just let out a huff. “Well, I, for one, think it was pointlessly risky, and frankly, you could have disabled her by giving her a disease. Oh, wait, no, you couldn’t have, because you’re not nearly versed enough in terms of Biomancy or Practical Metabiology. A shame. Those options are lost to you.”

Shiv tried not to roll his eyes. Helix could be such a one-trick pony sometimes. As the priests and Irons looked down the hall where Magnolia had fled, Shiv sighed loudly. “Don’t worry about her,” he said. “It’s a very emotional thing. She probably needs a few moments to herself. Her daughter lost her life in the ambush as well, and I feel for her.”

At that, the postures of the priests turned fragile. They all made signs of the Republic, slicing crosses through the air before parting the initial symbol down the middle.

Irons studied Shiv through his visor for a few seconds before he approached. “Marcus Unblood,” Irons said. “I am Master Irons of Phoenix Academy. I was dispatched alongside Master Magnolia. I represent the administration and the will of the Headmaster in this matter. Your survival is an auspicious sign for both your legend and the Republic.”

“In their light we flourish,” the priests spoke in unison.

“In their light we flourish,” Irons echoed with vastly diminished enthusiasm. Once more, the priests backed away from the door, but the elderly goblin held Shiv in his gaze for a few seconds longer. Shiv could taste the slight suspicion there and knew he’d left an impression.

Impressions aren’t good when you’re trying to lay low. I need to rein in how casually offensive I can get, Shiv thought to himself. Kind of bullshitted my way out this time, but that’s not always going to work.

When the goblin finally closed the door behind him, Irons removed his helmet and looked down at the splinters that remained of the table. He let out a quiet breath that almost approached the territory of a sigh. “So, how did this mess happen?”

The man was to the point, and Shiv gave him the details straight back, the details Shiv could piece together, anyway. As Irons listened, Shiv tried to read the man’s expressions but got nothing. Without an extreme incident provoking him, Irons was practically a wall, and in some ways, he reminded Shiv of Uva. Both of them had formidable barriers when it came to guessing at how they felt or what they thought.

“Unfortunate,” Irons said, “but also sloppy. This is information that should have been provided to us by the liaison.”

“Probably,” Shiv replied, “but it’s also a rough job. Frankly, I’m surprised they managed to get me in place so fast. How is everyone else?”

“I’m not sure,” Irons admitted openly. “I don’t know most of them well enough to judge. I have no desire to get to know the orcs. Your fugitive fellows keep away from me out of distrust, and Adam…” For the first time, Shiv saw something on the captain’s face, a hint of uncertainty. “I don’t truly know the Young Lord anymore. He has changed greatly in a short time. Battle does that to a Pathbearer.”

“How’d Magnolia get to me before you did, anyway?” Shiv asked.

“She was the senior Pathbearer in charge of the expedition running from Old Brunswick to the capital. She was likely informed by notification. I just so happened to be near the administrative building at the time and volunteered.”

“Unforeseen circumstances,” Shiv muttered. “Well, at least that mess is handled.”

Irons pressed his lips together and almost frowned. “You were being sarcastic?”

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Shiv shrugged powerfully. “She didn’t hit me with her axe, so I’d call that a win.”

“I’m uncertain if you should be proud of that. Without my intervention, what was your plan?” Irons didn’t say the next part, but Shiv could guess what the man wanted to know. Were you going to kill her? Were you going to murder someone to get your way?

“Don’t know. I was kind of hoping that she’d have a loud enough outburst to draw the priests over or to drag things out long enough for you to show up. You showed up, and the priests came over. So yeah, I guess things did turn out. And if you didn’t, well, I guess I’d just do something messy then.”

“Something messy,” Irons repeated. Shiv was getting a feeling that this man disapproved of blind improvisation.

“Not like immediately killing her, just like choking her out and leaving her stuffed somewhere or something. I don’t know.”

For a beat, Irons just squinted harder at Shiv. “Just… choke her out and leave her somewhere. That was your plan?”

“Yeah, you know, wouldn’t be hard. I’d do it quickly. Pinch her blood vessels and make her go out in seconds. When she wakes up, she could accuse me of doing that. But you know, if I’m going to choke her out, I’ll just stop time and do it, so she won’t have the memories to implicate me. And if she accuses me, I’ll just deny it and say she’s suffering from battle stress or something. You know, who’d believe her anyway? I’m just an Adept right now.”

Shiv chuckled. Irons stared.

A few more seconds dragged on. Irons let out a grunt and didn’t say anything else. He turned and made for the door. As soon as he walked out, Shiv realized he was meant to follow. The Deathless stepped over the broken pieces of the table and trailed behind the captain. Something tumbled inside him as he tried to decipher whether Irons was fine with what he just did, or if the Tac-Strat instructor disapproved.

As he continued through the well-painted halls, Irons said nothing. He never looked back, and Shiv wondered if the man was doing that deliberately as well.

I can’t tell if he’s socially indifferent or has some kind of social resistance skill, Shiv thought to himself. Maybe both. Maybe you have to be socially indifferent or really good at masking your feelings to hide them. Psycho-Cartography’s barely giving me anything about this one.

Psycho-Cartography:Because he offers little. He might be a Master, but he is a veteran also. You’ve come into power in a short period of time, Shiv, but this man has taken the long path. And if he fights like how he talks, then he wastes no energy. There is no half-hearted swing, no blind, thoughtless attack. He is an instructor of tactics and strategy. Nothing he does is without consideration.

So, deliberate, Shiv concluded. He could appreciate that about Irons; it gave him someone to grind his awareness and Psycho-Cartography on.

They encountered the priests once more on the way down, and Irons offered them his thanks for their summary communication and praised the Ascendants thereafter. The priests repeated their prayers, and each of them reached out to brush Shiv’s body. They grabbed at what they saw and felt to be Marcus’s shoulders and back, but functionally, they were slamming their hands into Shiv’s low abdomen and pelvis. Kind of weird, but he put up with it to keep the masquerade.

“Remember you are blessed, boy,” the goblin priest wheezed. “You have been returned from that final rest to do something great. I can feel it upon you, the touch of the Ascendants. As such, strive, strike, and be true to yourself in our Republic. This is a reward few will ever receive.”

“This is a wound few heal from,” Cripple’s priest continued.

“And this is a chance to repay the divine for all that you have been gifted,” the elven priestess proclaimed. “Do not doubt yourself and give yourself entirely to the faith. I hope that with this miracle, your connection to the Ascendants can be strengthened. I would like to invite you to the Endbreaker’s communion at—.”

“Prophetess Sheega.” The goblin sighed. “Must I remind you again of the rules?”

“Ah.” The elven priestess bit back a wince. “I apologize. I was a missionary before, and the duty to proselytize has never left me. I did not mean to offend or steal a potential follower from you, my kindred in faith. I merely wish for Halsur’s glory to be known.”

“As do we all,” Cripple’s acolyte said. “But deepening one’s tie to the Ascendants, or any individual Ascendant, is a private matter, and we should not pressure our young friend here unduly.”

All of them bowed their heads and prayed a final time. After that, they let Shiv and Irons descend the steps to finally depart the Royal Morgue. After reaching the lowest level, they had to take a winding staircase that went straight up back to the lobby.

Why the architecture of the morgue was so convoluted, Shiv couldn’t tell, but it seemed like it gave the lobby access to every single level and kept the morgues further separated from chambers of faith and rooms where blessings and last rites are administered.

There’d been places of faith back in Blackedge. Shiv had been bloodied and wounded on the bottom steps of a temple by a War Priest. As such, he always harbored a lingering animosity toward the faithful.

But simply by being here, by walking through these halls, and then stepping through the front doors to see the sheer amount of gold, mithril, and iconography that decorated the Royal Morgue left him briefly stunned. Faith mattered to the people of the Republic. Faith, art, and propaganda were all fused. He saw it in the frescoes, in each of the Ascendants depicted along thirteen panels of painted glass lighting the top section of the morgue.

He saw it demonstrated by the many acolytes who walked down the streets, with armored Pathbearers proclaiming the glory of Halsur, with singing maidens composing odes to Kathereine, with scarred and maimed worshippers who dressed like paupers yet held their heads high, as if members of the highest nobility. And then there were those who were veiled in shadows, with cloaks of darkness gliding along their bodies.

Everything around seemed to have something to do with the Ascendants, and the people were parted into cliques or bore multiple artifacts on their bodies, symbolizing their Ascendant of chosen worship.

“The faith is new to you?” Irons asked.

It was only then that Shiv realized the captain had stopped and was watching him. Shiv looked around and drank in the sights, listened to the revelry, breathed in the air, and relished the fact that the System didn’t betray him. For everything Shiv had on Marcus Unblood, the latter wasn’t hunted. The latter was a free man, and once more, Shiv could move in public without someone coming for him.

“Yeah,” Shiv admitted. “Didn’t really realize how big of a deal it was.”

Irons nodded. The craning of his neck was so subtle Shiv almost missed it. “Whatever you think, it’s grander than you know.”

With that ominous statement, he led Shiv to one of the Jump Towers. A massive spire of mithril speared high up into the air, and the Deathless looked up to see a chain of mana connected to it. Flowing spellstuff gushed into the Mithril Tower, and Shiv followed it back to Flamecrown Castle, back to the wards and spells woven tight over the Yellowstone Supervolcano.

Every few seconds, there would come a blast or a ripple of mana, telling Shiv that the fight was still ongoing, that the prisoners were trying to break free, flinging their collective might against the defenders, and that the Poly-Magi were there to rebuff them alongside the Ascendants.

But here and now, mere kilometers away from the battleground, life continued on. There was no hint of fear or worry in the air. The worshipers didn’t seem to mind that there might have been a mass breakout of prisoners occurring. They simply believed that their Prismatic Guards would protect them, that their Ascendants would guard them.

Faith was a strong thing. But faith was also control. And for the first time, Shiv wondered how it would feel if he held the collective faith of a people himself, what he could make them do.

Psycho-Cartography:Or what it might do to you. Remember what Georges said about being deprived of consequence. What makes you a good chef?

Trying until something isn’t shit, Shiv remembered. Godhood is powerful, but it also insulates you. It protects you from what’s supposed to hurt.

Within the mithril spire, Shiv found himself waiting in line. A trail of worshippers glided ahead, and they marched through a checkpoint of magical wards to stand before a massive sphere of Dimensionality. There were guards here as well—Jump Mages interfacing with the sphere on floating platforms and calling out to the incoming Pathbearers; keeping them organized.

Shiv watched a towering automaton at the very front of the line stomp forward and arrive beneath the dimensional sphere. The sphere was the size of a small building, and every few seconds it grew larger, swelling with greater intensity, until it detonated outward. It swallowed the automaton, and then in its place appeared eight goblins. They slipped past an interior checkpoint and departed the spire in an instant.

Soon, Shiv and Irons’s turn to pass through the wards came. Though he didn’t have much worry about the Divination mana lining the spell, he wondered how the wards would react with his Shapeless Tides and other Magical Skills.

“Time to keep myself loose,” Shiv whispered. His vectors went still for a beat, and he let his Biomancy and other fields go slack. He prepared himself for anything, however. He was used to things going wrong, and he knew the System was out there waiting, biding its chance to drag him into another pointless battle. Pointless, Shiv thought to himself. Maybe pointless to me, but I’ve been feeding the System plenty, so much so that it specifically listed me as an item on its all-you-can-eat buffet.

Holding his breath, he stepped through the wards and felt one glide hard against him. It was as if air resistance was pulling at his body, and he tried not to flinch. It flashed briefly, and a net tightened around Shiv. Irons stopped, and his eyes widened slightly. He watched as a weave of dimensional mana crisscrossed Shiv’s body for a moment.

A notification appeared in the Deathless’s perception.

Please hold. Skill status analysis incomplete.

A bright flare of Divination blossomed over him. Shiv gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax. There was nothing for it. Either all his efforts were in vain, and he couldn’t avoid violence, or this was a temporary issue. The notification updated in his eyes, and he was released from the weighty pressure of Dimensionality a moment later. He stumbled forward, and an exhale snaked out from him.

“That’s new to me too,” Shiv commented. Irons offered no response. Instead, they walked forward, waved ahead by an automaton guard.

“We got five Pathbearers coming from another tower,” it declared. “Five, step up. Prepare for transit.”

Shiv, Irons, and three more behind them were directed to stand upon the platform. As Shiv stared up at the expanding sphere, another notification appeared in his eyes, but then it expanded into a wide network. It was then that Shiv realized what he was looking at. This was a map of all the Jump Towers in the capital. And there were many. It was like looking up at the night sky and realizing it was full of stars.

“Think ‘Phoenix Station’,” Irons instructed him.

And Shiv did just that. From among the countless options Shiv had to choose from, one burned brightly, and a thread of silver descended from the dimensional sphere and connected to him.

Teleporting: Now bound for Phoenix Station

It was then that the sphere expanded, swallowing Shiv. A tunnel of pressure gripped him and pulled him across time and space. As he was dragged off his feet, he felt himself pass through a dimensional blanket, just like earlier when he had to plunge through one to slip into the morgue freezer. The same spell was at play here, but on a far grander level. Everything around Shiv thinned. It was like a rain of static needles was being dragged past him.

One second followed, then five, then ten, and after a full minute of transition, Shiv finally felt himself released back into the world. It wasn’t nearly as rough as most teleportations he’d experienced. There was a softening of pressure at the end, and he was deposited out of the other sphere. A draft of Dynamancy met him briefly with the weight of a feather, and he landed gracefully on the ground instead of hammering down like a descending boulder.

He found himself in another Jump Tower, much like the one he’d just departed, and he left without any difficulty. Now he was in the inverse line, without wards to go through, without guards waving specific numbers of Pathbearers onto a platform. Shiv followed Irons out of the light and found a stream of drifting darkness just outside. Shiv tensed.

This was Harlock’s darkness. He was searching for any prisoner that managed to break quarantine, and as the blackness curled around Shiv, he waited to be discovered once more, only for it to wash through him from within his cape.

He felt a presence, a faint incandescent glow that curled through his body, a single tendril that slipped free from his chest, and he knew that Cripple was doing its best to keep him hidden. Veronica likely was as well, and that wasn’t even mentioning whatever Udraal and the Educator were doing.

Sure do got a lot of important assholes fighting over me, Shiv thought to himself with a sliver of wry amusement.

“Alright,” he said, “now which way to the—” His words trailed off as he found Phoenix Academy almost immediately. The four massive towers that climbed beyond the sea of clouds above were hard to miss. Each of them was grand and truly colossal, monuments of mithril and focus crystal that likely cost an indescribable fortune to create, and between the pillars were layered rings of magic. A blend of complicated mana types swirled above the grounds of the academy as if a storm in motion. There were so many patterns and shapes, Shiv couldn’t keep track of them all, but through the chaos, he caught sight of what looked like floating buildings hovering in the air. No, not just hovering. They were flying. Some rose, and some descended. It was a remarkable display of magical dominance to orchestrate a series of floating structures on this scale.

“First time seeing the academy as well, huh?” There was a smile on Irons’s face. It was slight and small, but of Phoenix Academy, he was genuinely proud. Not even the revelations he’d discovered about his own Ascendant or his fellow instructors could shake that.

“First time,” Shiv muttered.

“Come, then,” Irons said. “Let’s give you a closer look. Behold Phoenix Academy, Marcus Unblood. Whatever you are expecting—expect more. It will still be greater than that yet.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep