Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 35: Outside

For completing your first Rift, you are granted the title [Riftwalker].

[Riftwalker - Title]: You can now use any active Gates in the Broken Lands and Haven’s Reach to travel. No extra source will be consumed.

For defeating a Riftmaster more than twice your current level, you are granted the title [Foe of the Damned].

[Foe of the Damned - Title]: You have proven your potential to be a strong enemy of the Damned. When you are in the Broken Lands, your scent will draw the attention of lesser Damned, marking you as their natural adversary. However, this also will stir attention in greater Damned, making them more cautious in engaging you. Additionally, you gain increased resistance to shadow-based attacks and a small boost to damage against creatures of the Damned.

Ding! [Inferno(Adept) has reached level 8!]

Ding! [Fireball (Adept) has reached level 8!]

Ding! [Gravitating Earth (Master) Has reached level 3!]

Ding! [Lifesurge(Master) has reached Level 10!]

Ding! [Lifeward(Master) has reached Level 10!]

Ding! [Apathy(Master) has reached Level 10!]

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

…

You have leveled up! 5 Stat Points granted!

You have reached Level 100!

For reaching Level 100, you are granted your First Trial!

[Trial of the Arcane Healer - I]: She watches from the depths of the crimson waves, her court silent and waiting. Nigh is the time she’s meant to awaken, but one must silence the whispers before they become a scream.

Valens breathed in deep against the flood of notifications. There were too many of them to count, and some of it made not entirely much sense to him. He knew from the status page that titles existed, but just now he came to realize what it really meant.

And I’ve reached Level 100.

That was more than what he expected, if he was being honest. Not only did he got a bunch of levels from dealing with the Necromancer, this Queststone also gave him a lot. Then again, it was only right since Duality Guild had brought hundreds of people into this Rift just for this Queststone.

Though that Foe of the Damned title didn’t seem like happy news. For all he knew Broken Lands was this giant place where the Damned roamed and lived in clusters. That was why this title looked more like a punishment than a reward. Attracting creatures of unknown origins … He didn’t know how he should feel about it.

At least I got more stats, right?

He shook his head as the ground underneath his feet trembled. Gravel started raining from the ceiling. Valens could swear those walls were closing in on him.

“This Rift is about to be closed,” the Lightmaster said, giving his men a hard look. “Take the Riftshard and the Necromancer’s corpse. Gather the wounded and deceased. We’re going back home.”

Celme and Marcus nodded at the order, and immediately got to work. They hauled the Necromancer’s corpse from the ground, revealing a shining gem the size of Valens’s fist under his body.

[Riftshard - C]

Valens scowled at it. The gemstone oddly resembled the ones he had in his thigh, but this one was bigger and brimmed with mana inside. Meanwhile, the Undead Lich and his horde didn’t seem to care much for the shard. But the amount of mana inside of that jewel… Valens shivered.

“A word now that we’re done with the Queststone?” Lord Zahul said as he moved over to the Lightmaster, and peered across his own tide, eyes agleam with green fog. “Been a terrible war, don’t you think? And to your merit you’ve brought an awfully inept bunch to this Rift, and for that, the Legion paid a grim price. I’ve lost valuable men today, men I’m hoping fill their void by relying on the dead of your Guild. And I’m also compelled to tell you that the Ninth Legion will be waiting for your King’s additional compensation for our painstaking efforts in this Rift.”

“You want more?” Lightmaster’s eyes widened at him, fingers clenching tight. “My brother has already promised you more coin and steel than you can dream of, and yet you seek to exploit him? There was something wrong with this Rift. We could barely use our spells. No one could’ve predicted this. And we battled against a Necromancer. Your honor was at stake—“

“Honor doesn’t mean much in the Depths,” Lord Zahul cut him off with a tap of his cane. “Honor doesn’t give my men the arms they need against the creatures of the Depths. It was your King’s gamble, or may I say foolishness, to believe a fledgling Guild such as yours has the might to challenge a Rift of this magnitude. Outside influence or not, we were to provide aid and support as the Undead Legion, not to press into a heated battle against the minions of that fool.”

Lord Zahul waved a hand across the cave, toward where his men were busy piling up the listless skeletons of the undead. “Yet we have found ourselves in the thick of it. So then, you can understand why I’m expecting more from your King. Or, do you suppose we should bring the matter to my Lord’s ear? Surely he would like to hear your reasoning.”

“There is no need. I understand,” the Lightmaster said with a frown. “I will speak to the King, and make sure your men are compensated for the effort.”

“Excellent! Then there is only one thing left,” Lord Zahul said, and winked at Valens, which made his skin crawl. “It’s not often you see a Healer Mage courageous enough to walk a path untrodden. Or should we say reckless? Either way, we can presume that he’s not long for this world. Might as well let him spend his days however he wants.”

“What do you ask for, Lich?” the Lightmaster said.

“Help him,” Lord Zahul said with a cold voice.

The Lightmaster’s eyes bore down on Valens like two burning spheres, golden light spilling from the edges of them. “Arcane Healer,” he muttered, doubtful. “A Healer who can guide the Inferno like a third limb. He’s not of the traitor’s cult, for I would’ve caught his reek the moment I laid my eyes upon him. Another Order, perhaps? Tell me, young man, whom do you serve?”

“I serve no—“ Valens paused when the Lightmaster’s face hardened. He knew that look well. Knew it too well that Apathy almost slipped from his mind. A look of fear, that one, of anger and hatred so deep that nothing could quench its intensity.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But Valens wouldn’t have it anymore. Not in this world.

“I serve no one,” he said, voice hard through clenched teeth. “Nor I’m a part of a cult. I’m my own man, Lightmaster. You do not need to fear me.”

“A godless healer?” Lightmaster uttered, slightly shaken. “And a powerful Mage, as well? You have a special class. A dangerous one—“

“I asked for your help, Lightmaster, not your superstitious ignorance against anything that doesn’t quite fit with your small mind.” Lord Zahul tapped his cane on the ground, and dozens of eyes snapped at the sudden sound. Under the dark of the cave, spheres of gleaming fog were staring deep at the Lightmaster’s face, weapons glinting sharp under their light. “He’s… not what you think he is.”

“What are you—“

“Enough!” The Undead Lich demanded, and swept his hand over the air. “Take good care of him for me, and be aware that I will know if you try to do anything stupid. Now, back to your little paradise. Off with you and your kind!”

A tremor across the cave. The walls groaned as they started peeling off like the scab of a wound. Giant rocks and countless stones, the ground slipping away, Valens staring wide-eyed at the sight.

Then Valens caught a familiar figure in the din. Nomad with his sword resting over his shoulder, a conflicted look in his face. He turned as if he felt Valens’s gaze, and flinched back. Slowly he lowered his chin, and masked his eyes, then vanished into the undead horde when Valens was about to go over to him.

He didn’t give him a chance to speak.

Why?

Valens couldn’t understand as light spilled through the cracks over the stone walls. It was dark a second before, then burning light coated over the cave and swallowed everything in his vision.

“Forgive me, Val. I have no other choice,” came a voice, resounding deep in his mind as wind drifted over to him and stuck to his skin.

He cast his gaze about him, but couldn’t see anything. Then he was lifted off the ground, light as a feather, breath catching in his throat before he was shoved into one of those streaking lights, Nomad’s voice still in his ears, mind drifting away… away until he was no more.

…..

Weightless through the stretch of dark, gliding wilfully like a leaf too lost in an invisible storm. Void was everywhere around him. Valens felt its unmistakable touch around the core of his being, like ghostly worms nibbling at his innards, stealing his breath and dragging him down toward somewhere he couldn’t see.

His ears popped and a faint ringing sound began building deep inside his mind. Thrumming still as a bright dot of light appeared in his vision. An explosion of frequencies rushed from inside of it, filling into the Void’s muted Resonance as though birthing of a new life. Slowly, everything gained a luster of shimmering hue, illuminating the darkness with different colors that belonged to a different world.

His bare toes tapped over the solid ground as Valens pulled his mind with Apathy, and blinked through the blurry vision. His chest rose with an invigorating breath as he registered the sight that welcomed him.

Dark clouds over the restless trees, stretching ever so sharply toward the sky, leafless and bald, like rusted nails stabbed at the naked earth. Under this grim sky rested a dozen tents with men and women squirming around them, all holding their arms against the sudden wind that appeared with the men of Duality Guild. Bedraggled, and beaten-down husks of men, half of them wounded and a quarter of them being hauled over the shoulders, dead beyond remedy.

“Tend the wounded,” came the Lightmaster’s booming voice, his figure straight like a rod as he swept his gaze across his rather sorry looking army before waving a hand toward the tents. At his command, dozens of people clad in brown robes rushed forth, aiding the warriors to carry the wounded. “Where’s Marcus? Tell him to—“

“Master, I’m here,” Marcus said, wincing his way through a number of groaning men, plated legs all patched up and trembling, one hand fixed over them to keep the armor from crumbling down. A cursory glance showed Valens that the muscles were pulling up tight in those legs, and Marcus pushing himself hard through the pain wasn’t making them any better.

He looks sick as well… He needs a rest.

“How many?” the Lightmaster said gravely, only to pause as his eyes narrowed at the figure of a lithe woman that stood by the tents, to which he pulled a hand up and beckoned her rather furiously. “Why is my daughter here? She should’ve been waiting for us in the Fort.”

“I—“ Marcus swallowed as that young woman came bounding across the distance, tails of her leather coat flapping against her legs. She slowed down, and stopped a step away from the Guild Master, looked him up and down, then threw herself into his arms.

Her silent sobs resounded in the silent patch as she cried her tears out.

“He has a daughter, then,” Valens muttered as he felt Celme’s presence near him. The woman was staring at the two as one might stare at a distant memory, eyes clouded and mouth curled into an unreadable smile.

“Two of them,” she said a moment, and a long sigh after. “But the young one’s harder to chain. She’s a handful.”

“I can tell. I happen to know someone like her.” Valens tapped a gentle palm round Celme’s shoulder, which earned him a beautiful smile. A rare relief in this dark world. “Wish we’ve had the time to say a few words to Nomad. We crossed eyes, but I suppose he didn’t want to risk it. Most of the undead were still under the influence of their Lord’s fog. Do you know what’ll happen to them?”

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

Celme gave him a quick look. “They’ll go back to the Underworld where they’ll continue with the Eternal War. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. You’ve done whatever you could.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Valens said as a trickle of frustration passed through the steely net of Apathy.

His eyes swivelled toward the wounded men as they were being carried to the tents by their fellow guildsmen, golden armors smeared with dark streaks of blood. At the side a group of warriors were busy picking up the fallen weapons and armors. Tears were either shaded under heavy hands, or got blended into muddy stains and dried blood of the wounds.

The air reeked of a lingering stench of rot, and it was full of nothing but songs dying out slow, painful deaths over the Resonance.

“Where are the Priests?” Valens said, scowling out into those tents. When he squinted his eyes he could barely make out the rows of carriages waiting on a path that sloped downward beyond the tents, but there was nothing suggesting a disciplined effort being carried out for the men in need of immediate attention.

Celme glanced away into the dark sky, and said silently, “There must be some in those tents, but not nearly enough to care for over hundred men.”

“What do you mean there aren’t enough?” Valens couldn’t believe his ears. “The Lightmaster just said to tend to the wounded, did he not? So how were you planning on keeping these men alive if there aren't enough people that’s up for the job?”

“We’ll get the rest to the closest town,” came an answer from behind. Marcus dragged himself lurching by their side, holding in his hand a dark, wooden box from which spilled waves of Void mana. He nudged with the tip of his chin toward the sloping path, face twisted with a grimace. “There’s Elmbury an hour’s ride from here. A little town, but they have a Sun’s Church there with a number of Priests.”

“An hour’s ride from here?” Valens glared at the man. “Are you mad? Some of those men can’t effort to waste ten minutes on a stretcher, let alone a bumpy ride down some mountainous road and in those horse-drawn carriages! You want them dead, eh, little Warrior? Seems you’ve forgotten the time when I’ve fixed your legs straight in that din. Should’ve stabbed them right up into your brain, I should, perhaps that would’ve opened some clogs in that empty skull of yours!”

“You—“ Marcus stammered, but Valens shouldered past him without giving him a look, through the groaning men and right toward the Lightmaster who was way too caught up with her daughter’s presence to pay heed to his own men dying by the second.

“Enough with the tears and your emotional reunion. Have your men gather the wounded into one of those tents,” he demanded with a jab of his hand, to which the daughter yipped like a scared squirrel with a foot over its tail. The Lightmaster himself scowled, and that was Valens’ cue to continue. “I’ll first do a check on those Priests. Meanwhile, you bring me whatever useful stuff you have here, and a pair of men who are clear minded, and not too spent to carry dead bodies should there be a need for it.”

“Arcane Healer?” the daughter muttered shakily. “Who are you—“

“Let’s not have this talk now, shall we, Miss?” Valens said. “We can always get to know each other when I’m done with your pitiful bunch.” He turned to the Lightmaster then, with a fierce glare at his hesitation. “Tell me, old man. You wish to wait for some heavenly play to bless your wounded, and get yourself another group to be buried, or have some godless healer fix them so that they can at least see whatever there’s left from their families once again?”

“The Sun’s Church won’t like a Healer meddling with their effort…” the Lightmaster swallowed as he took in the sight of his wailing men, of the dead bodies piled up under the naked trees, of the women and men staring senseless at their own hands. The grave scene seemed to make the decision for him. “Tell me, then, how much do you want?”

“Wha— Money?” Valens gawked at him. “I don’t need any payment to do what’s right. Just let me do my own thing, and don’t ask any questions. You can do that, can’t you?”

“No payment,” the Lightmaster echoed, as if he was trying to work his brain into believing these words. Then, with a snap of his head, he beckoned at his men like a true Master. “Gather the wounded. Marcus and Celme, do whatever he asks. And make sure nobody hears a word of it.”

Valens was slightly offended by that last part, but for the sake of the occasion, he decided not to think too much on it. Before he got to work, though, there was one thing he wished to ask.

“Celme, er… Do you have anything I can wear?” he asked as he tried to keep his voice straight. The woman chuckled when she looked him up and down. “I wouldn’t mind a simple robe. Anything, really—“

“That’s fine.” Celme patted him on the back. “Come on, let us get you a new set of clothes before you start ordering about the Priests.”

“Why would I do that?” Valens paused. “And why do you think I would do such a thing? A Magus should keep an open mind. That’s one of the Codes.”

“Not sure.” Celme shrugged. “But something tells me that you’re not going to like what you’ll see in those tents. The Priests are, well… Not as sure-handed as you in the matter of healing.”

“Oh?” Valens was intrigued. “I can’t wait to see them at work, then. Show me the way.”

….