Paragon of Destruction

As Lord Sevaril showed Arran the rest of his treasures, the man’s mood soon seemed to improve, and before long he was once more bragging about the items in the treasury. Shocked though he might be by Arran’s revelations, it appeared that boasting about his riches brought him at least some comfort.

Arran, on the other hand, found himself unimpressed by most of the treasures. Although there were plenty of them, few seemed to have any useful powers.

There was a staff that could create Force Shields with the user’s Essence, but the shields were weaker than those Arran could produce himself. There was a small green rod that could heal injuries, but when Lord Sevaril bragged that it could heal a broken bone in days, Arran knew his own Body Refinement techniques were more potent.

Each time he thought he had found something truly useful, soon after there followed an inevitable downside that negated much of the item’s value.

Most of the items, it seemed, converted all kinds of Essence into a single specific type, and then used that to form a spell without the user having to cast it himself. With this, mages could cast spells they did not know, using kinds of Essence they did not possess.

Yet impressive though this sounded, the power of the items was disappointing at best. The effects all seemed like weaker versions of real spells, and Arran soon began to suspect that most of the Essence was lost when the items converted it.

In the end, only two of the items truly caught Arran’s attention.

The first of these was a black armored coat, which Lord Sevaril said could withstand all but the strongest magical and physical attacks.

Although Arran suspected this was an exaggeration — the man seemed incapable of restraining himself from boasting — he also suspected it wasn’t much of one. Something about the coat emanated an aura of power, even if he could not Sense anything out of the ordinary in it.

The second item was something that Lord Sevaril called a Duskcloak — a cloak that would render its wearer invisible if Essence was channeled into it.

Arran suspected that it created some version of the Shadowcloak spell, albeit with a predictably weaker effect — where Arran had witnessed a mage use the Shadowcloak spell while moving, the Duskcloak’s effect required its user to stay in place.

Still, after some thought, Arran decided to pick the Duskcloak. Although the effect was limited, it was the kind of thing that would certainly be useful on his travels — something that might even save his life if he found himself pursued by more powerful opponents.

But more importantly, when he tested the cloak for himself, he found that he could vaguely Sense how it used Shadow Essence to form the spell. Although Sensing other mages’ Shadow Essence was impossible, it seemed that the Essence used by the cloak was still bound to him even after it was converted.

If his suspicion was correct and the Duskcloak created some version of the Shadowcloak spell, then studying the patterns of the Essence would be a perfect way to learn the spell — far better even than having a spell scroll or a teacher.

"I’ll take the Duskcloak," Arran said, mind made up.

"A good choice," Lord Sevaril replied. "Although I noticed that you were interested in the armor, as well."

"I was," Arran said. "But I prefer the cloak."

"Then let me offer you the armor as a token of my friendship," Lord Sevaril said. An obsequious smile formed on his face as he spoke, and it was obvious that he was hoping for some sort of favor.

"What do you want?" Arran asked bluntly, trying to impart his words with the kind of arrogant confidence that would befit the apprentice of a supremely powerful mage.

The directness of the question left Lord Sevaril visibly startled, but after a moment, he regained his composure. "Earlier, I asked you to arrange a meeting between myself and your master," he said. "But in so grand a conflict, I fear my contributions would be of little value to him."

The man carefully chose his words to avoid offending Arran’s master, but it was clear that he regretted his earlier request. Now, it seemed, he deeply desired never to meet Arran’s master — a wise choice, had Arran actually been Panurge’s apprentice.

"You do not wish to earn my master’s favor?" Arran gave Lord Sevaril a stern gaze, as if the very idea offended him.

"It’s not that," Lord Sevaril replied hurriedly. "I merely question whether I am worthy of it. My power is limited, and I have little to contribute. For you to ask your master to meet someone as weak as I am... I fear it would be an insult to his power."

Arran barely suppressed a smirk. It was obvious that Lord Sevaril’s true concern was that in a conflict between Chaos and the Academy, he would be squashed like a bug. A reasonable fear, Arran thought, and one that he himself shared with the man.

"I understand your concern," Arran responded. "Where bulls fight, ants get trampled."

Lord Sevaril gave a small nod in response, no longer trying to maintain the pretense now that Arran had seen through it.

Arran pretended to give the matter some thought before speaking. "Very well," he finally said. "I won’t inform my master of our meeting."

Lord Sevaril let out a deep sigh. "Thank you for your understanding, young master."

"Think nothing of it," Arran replied. "It would not do for me to repay your generosity by forcing you to join our cause." After a moment’s pause, he added in a severe tone, "But I think you would do well to rethink your position. In a conflict of this scale, one cannot remain neutral forever."

Lord Sevaril paled slightly at those last words, but he still managed to make a forced smile appear on his face. "I am in your debt."

Arran gave him a slight nod. "I believe our business here is concluded. I trust you will have the Essence Crystals delivered to my room promptly."

Lord Sevaril quickly assured Arran that both the Essence Crystals and Arran’s empty void bag would be brought to him as soon as possible, and relief was clear on his face when Arran finally departed.

Arran, on the other hand, forced himself to keep calm as he descended the stairs and made his way through the keep. Only when he was finally back in his room did he dare let out a deep sigh of relief.

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