To all aspiring Pathbearers reading my words, I beg one thing of you and one thing alone: If you seek to embark on the quest of revenge, kill your enemies. Kill them. Kill every single one of them, without hesitation, without mercy, and if there are potential dangers, deal with them as well.

Some of you are uncomfortable with the idea of slaying children. That is good. Having a conscience will prevent you from making too many unnecessary enemies, but there are times when you will understand the treachery of mercy.

Warfare and bloodshed are not neat things. For every vile person you slay, there is someone that loves them, someone that might find themselves corrupted by the wounds they bear and the misery you inflicted. They may well come for you, and you might find yourself in a battle against someone you do not wish to slay. A grieving mother or a vengeful child is very different from a murderer or an oathbreaker, but even so, they have made their choice, and if you hesitate to make yours, then understand you may die a most bitter death.

Choosing to hesitate is an action. Doing nothing is an action. Being a Pathbearer is about committing to proper action. It is about facing the pain that comes with every action, and accepting that all things, even good intentions, may have black consequences.

And so, kill your enemies. I am not telling you to necessarily silence the children. I am telling you, however, that you must be prepared to fight another war if you don’t find a way to conclude the one right in front of you.

My recommendation? Make the deaths quiet. Make the deaths sudden. Give them no trace to follow. No hint that it was your hand that performed the deed. Without a figure to direct their rage toward, the loss will become a scar in time, and they will live on, unburdened by the need for revenge.

Ignorance is a blessing. Give it freely.

But above all, decide. Decide. Decide. Or you will be decided upon.

-Valor Thann

226 (I)

Resolved

Clarissa Winters stared at Legend-Headmaster Hades Hymn as he loudly slurped his tea without any hint of grace.

Nearby, the flames of his fireplace crackled. It seemed homely enough, but behind the faint glints of Pyromancy was something, no, somewhere else, entirely. She could feel it, the billowing waves of Dimensionality connecting this place to not merely another place, but another realm, somewhere that didn’t fully belong to the System’s purview.

She wasn’t a proper Seeker herself, but in the time she’d been alive, she had encountered those who dabbled in the eldritch. For a while, she was even raised by a Witch Unchained—a woman untethered from the System.

Clarissa had enjoyed a happy life during that time. She allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy that she, too, might become a Witch Unchained. But as with all things, the sweet days soured on the vine as her father’s assassins first came for her.

That night, her adopted mother died protecting her, drawing too much on power not meant for mortal flesh. And as she turned into a grotesque monstrosity, imbued with the nature of an outsider but not the mind to contend with the mutations, the assassins died, and Clarissa was forced to administer the Heartless Mercy.

In the aftermath, she slowly made her way back to the capital. After the giants, after the wilderness, after the witch, and after a brief stay with a few slave runners, she’d had enough. She returned here to her so-called home to see grievances settled and to find the proper end or beginning of her life.

What she didn’t expect, however, was to be recruited into Phoenix Academy by a chance encounter with an instructor out in the wilderness. She aided an ambushed caravan against raiding Jotuns, and as she tore apart her mother’s people, shredding them in flesh and soul, ripping the frost that kept them alive from their bodies, she found herself regarded not as a half-bred monster or a shame to be covered up, but rather a hero by a recruiter.

And with that fortune came a place at the University. A place that was now disfigured by flame and ill intent.

Over forty other students had died, and it was her fault. Clarissa had closed her heart to pain and relationships many moons ago. But even so, there was a throbbing there that she struggled to endure. It was her fault. She should have gone for her father directly. Even if it had resulted in her death, she could have tried to expose him. She could have finally wounded him in some way, no matter how small.

Hymn interrupted her brooding by dumping the remaining dregs of his tea down his throat with a particularly loud slurp. He smacked his lips and loudly sighed with satisfaction. “You sure you don’t want a cup?”

Clarissa just stared at him. The Legend-Headmaster acted in a manner unbefitting of his Tier or position. He didn’t seem to care about much. There was a looseness to him that few possessed.

When he came for her, he dismissed his militia members, not through verbal orders, but simply teleporting them away, back to their stations. And then he teleported her as well. After that, they came to his office, where he offered her some snacks. And when she declined, he began the process of fixing himself some tea instead.

He explained the history of the tea leaves he had. Taken from another world, they were called Zulip leaves, and supposedly, consuming them regularly induced a permanent sense of calmness in someone’s mind. If that was true was hard to tell, for the Headmaster seemed to be unburdened by all things, even when he explained how many assassins he killed after extracting her. Apparently, he’d noticed a good number of her father’s reserve Interrogators coming for her, and he’d dispatched them quietly and subtly.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

However, he wasn’t the only one guarding her from death.

“So, are you going to tell me about your mysterious guardian?” He grinned at her, and his cheekbones grew ever more pronounced as he smiled. His eyes glowed, one purple, the other translucent, as his overwhelming mana threatened to spill over from his body.

“My what?” Clarissa said, soundly confused.

“You have a mysterious guardian, girl,” the headmaster declared with a roll of his eyes. “Come now, you don’t need to pretend with me. I glimpsed him too. He did pretty good work. He managed to intercept a Chronomancer. I wouldn’t have got there in time to spare you from that fate. You would have been dead without him.”

Clarissa’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, another one of your father’s, the assassin. He managed to steal the attire of one of my academy militia. He was awfully brazen, but good at timing. He went for you when the temporal wards crossed over him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only Chronomancer on campus—and was the lesser Chronomancer at that. Your friend got to him, and your friend decided to conduct a bit of an interrogation of his own before killing your would-be murderer. Very kind of him, wouldn’t you agree?”

Clarissa blinked. She had no idea who Headmaster Hymn was talking about. She hadn’t noticed any assassins, but she did feel something earlier, something coming from behind her. Was that the Chronomancer? she thought to herself. When her expression shifted, she remembered the boy, the one that supposedly saved her from the fire.

Her memory was a mess, littered with broken parts. Panic left her recollections scattered, but she distinctly recalled fleeing from someone who claimed to be her half-brother, someone who wielded fire and ash on a level she couldn’t contend with. Her Cryomancy barely kept her alive, and desperate to survive, she retreated from her dorm room and fled to the basement. He followed thereafter, and when she managed to lose him in the chaos, he set the entire dorm on fire, twisting the magic infused in the mithril supports to further his rampage.

And then somewhere in that mess was that boy, the one who had the physical deformity…

“There was someone who found me in the fire…” she breathed.

“Ah, yes, our miraculous Marcus Unblood,” Hymn said, lifting his hands high as if in mock prayer to the Ascendants. “Did you know that he mysteriously resurrected about a few hours ago?”

“What? He was dead?”

“Oh, supposedly near-dead,” Hymn corrected. “It’s really quite the thing. Apparently, the Jotun raiders who attacked him used a specific kind of poison meant to steal one’s heart. Why they used that specific kind of poison on him when a spear to the throat works just fine on a mere Adept? Who knows? He is rather formidable for someone his age, but ultimately inconsequential to a giant from the north. Adepts litter the ground everywhere, all over this world, and so many others.”

Clarissa didn’t fully know what the Headmaster was getting at, but he clearly shared her suspicions about this Marcus Unblood.

Hymn sighed and rapped his desk with his finger. “Anyway, you’re a very lucky girl.”

“Am I?” Clarissa replied. It was hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I think I’m just a good survivor.”

“No, no.” Headmaster Hymn shook his head. “You are definitely very lucky. There are things you can survive through grit and skill, and things that will see you dead despite them. What you experienced today should have seen you dead, but it seems that the System, or maybe pure fortune, intervened on your behalf. You have a new lease on life, unlike many of my students.”

The Headmaster’s voice grew low toward the end, and he let out a breath. “Unfortunate. So many promising pupils, well, at least some of them would have been promising pupils, cut down before their prime. It’s going to be very annoying to placate those parents. All those years raising a child, making happy memories, lost in an instant because some maniac couldn’t control themselves. Why?”

Clarissa pressed her lips together. She didn’t know what the Headmaster wanted her to say, but thankfully, there was a sudden knock on the door. The Headmaster was momentarily distracted. He blinked three times in quick succession, and his Divination-infused eye grew brighter than the other.

“I thought I told them not to disturb me.” Hymn tutted. “I tell you, girl, it’s very hard to find proper help these days, and obedient help, that’s even rarer. If you can find someone who can listen to and follow your instructions, do everything you can to keep them alive. You may never encounter someone like that again in your life otherwise.”

Hymn rose from his chair. He sauntered across the room, passing by the mithril mantelpiece surrounding his fireplace. As Clarissa followed him, she found her gaze settled on the massive portrait hanging above his fireplace. There, an abstractly-stylized creature that resembled a massive palm littered with bright crimson eyes loomed. Somehow, the half-giant couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. When she looked away, the feeling faded, but her anxiety remained.

The large oak doors were flung open as Hymn flung both handles back with a dramatic flourish and leaned out to speak with whoever was interrupting them.

“Master Mary, I must say, as my secretary, following instructions is an essential— What?” His words became a series of whispers. Clarissa couldn’t fully make out what they were saying, but she heard things about some kind of lord and how they were on campus begging, something about someone crying.

Clarissa got up and crept closer to the door, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. She flinched back; the headmaster was suddenly facing her. She hadn’t even seen a hint of movement.

Before she could open her mouth, he reached out and took her by the arm.

“Well, this has been a surprising turn of events,” he muttered. He pulled her along as if she were a dog on a leash, and the girl was utterly unprepared for this sudden shift in momentum. As he dragged her out of his office, she found herself stumbling past the pale-faced secretary and into the following chamber, where a small army of campus militia and Prismatic Guardsmen were on standby.

“Sergeant Headmaster,” a towering automaton with a cannon-shaped face greeted. “I am Master-Captain Vulcain. I must inform you of an incident happening at the base of your tower, the circumstances of which are most peculiar…”

“Well, good,” Hymn said. “I do so enjoy peculiar circumstances. Mysteries are my favorite delight in life.” He spun on his heel and backpedaled out of his office, pushing through the gathering of guards as if they weren’t there. “Well, come along, girl. I don’t think you want to miss this.”

“What is even happening?” Clarissa asked. Her heart was beating faster and faster. Something was upon her. She could feel it. “What do I need to see?”

“Well, I think you’re about to meet your father. Or so the Hero-Inquisitor claims.” The Headmaster wiggled his thin eyebrows. “Alternatively, Hero-Inquisitor Simeon DeGraille has suffered a psychotic break, the extent of which is unprecedented on Academy Grounds, and is now trying to take responsibility for a fire he didn’t actually set. Quite a stressful job, that, working in the Inquisition. He’s out here screaming that he deserves to be punished. What a breakdown.” Hymn smiled at her. “Let’s go out and see what all the fuss is about, eh?”

Clarissa’s mouth fell open. “He… what?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep