"Successor, Come To My Tower" V6 Chapter 7 - Missing The Sunrise
He could feel the weight of his own footsteps—
His clothes were a little burnt, and the smell was finally hitting his nose. The bleeding from his forehead had stopped — he'd managed to close the wound. He still felt like his back was separated somehow, probably from the after-effects of the concussion, but it wasn't to the extent that he couldn't walk.
He was heading down the hallway with a feverish look on his face. He was aware that his breathing was ragged, but he just kept moving forward.
It was still night outside the rows of windows.
The blackened sky had a strange reflection on their surface, like some sort of night-themed fair. Even though it was still cloudy and there wasn't any moonlight, his vision was still bathed in a faint glow from somewhere. A cascade of light that diluted the darkness. He struggled, as if he were swimming through it...
Suddenly, his knees gave out and he almost fell. He managed to keep his footing, but he stopped moving — and his knees began to shake.
(Damn you—)
Orphen muttered a curse to himself.
(What is this — Krylancelo? Can't you even walk properly...?)
Then he slowly resumed walking again.
The Whurl Classroom was on the fifth floor of the Tower, and that was where he was heading. He moved through the vast spaces at such a speed that every step seemed firmly rooted to the ground. Strangely enough, there was no ambush waiting.
And, for whatever reason, Orphen had somehow anticipated that there wouldn't be.
(They're... waiting for me there...)
He mumbled, staring at the distant doors of the Whurl Classroom.
(Whurl Karlen...The man who brought me... to the Tower...)
The past floated in and out of his aching head.
(It's ironic, that both the man who discovered my abilities as a sorcerer, and the man who ultimately raised me, were both assassins ... but more ironically still, I couldn't even be an assassin...)
Perhaps there'd been a time where he had tried to be one, though.
He thought about how there was even a time when he hadn't had any doubts about it.
(Azalie—)
What if I wasn't the assassin meant to kill you?
Or at least, what if I had never been told any of that—
(Or maybe I...)
Bam! — Orphen slammed on the door.
Before he knew it, he'd arrived at the Whurl Classroom.
The door was already unlocked — and wasn't even completely closed, slowly beginning to open in response to his pounding. Making no effort to stop it, Orphen stepped aside and waited patiently for it to fully open.
The edge of the door soon passed in front of him without making a sound.
The Whurl Class gave way before Orphen. The room wasn't much different from the one he'd once studied in, the Childman Classroom. This was the same room of assassins that he'd jumped into eighteen hours ago.
"... You're late."
A dim magical light drifted down in the dark room. Those words were the only thing that greeted Orphen. That and the few assassins who formed a protective circle around Whurl Karlen.
Orphen answered calmly as he entered the room.
"Did you really think that an assassin would show up on time—?"
"Poor thing, but you've already lost — I've just received this."
Whurl Karlen announced, standing against the window. He was dressed in a well-worn combat uniform — though without a mask. He casually raised his arm, holding a book in his hand.
A jet-black leather-bound book with no title on the cover.
"I'm sure you know that Suaine took it from that student of yours. As for Suaine..."
He glanced over at the corner of his classroom.
Orphen followed his gaze as well — to the corner. There, he saw a black lump lying motionless on the floor. A disheveled, dirt-covered human carcass. It was Suaine, but he was already long dead.
(Is that the same guy... who first snuck into Tish's mansion?)
He vaguely judged.
Orphen's face stiffened, showing no further emotion, and he turned to Whurl. Whurl was standing with his students — all trained assassins — all of which had taken up positions on either side of him, while Master Whurl watched him intently.
Whurl tilted his head in amusement.
"To be honest, I didn't think your student would get that far. Actually, for that matter, I didn't expect that you'd bring any friends with you when you came to challenge me. I figured you'd always be alone..."
"............"
Orphen didn't open his mouth right away. He took a breath — and leaned back, searching for the wall behind him — and finally managed to speak the words.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out sooner or later..."
"?"
Orphen smiled at Whurl, who had a suspicious look on his face.
"What is it... about times like this?"
"... Oh?"
Orphen took another deep breath and continued.
"When I see that lucky tanuki running arout without a care in the world, even though he hasn't paid me back my money, or that selfish girl who isn't the least bit ashamed of her greed, I sometimes get pissed off and fire... I don't know, two, three spells... Yet when I see a bastard like you doing whatever you feel like — I suddenly don't feel so angry anymore."
He spat.
"The book you have — the World Book, isn't it? That's all you wanted, right? That's why you attacked Tish and killed who knows how many other people."
"You've greatly underestimating me."
Whurl laughed lightly — he flipped through the book with one graceful gesture.
"This book contains the secrets of the world. Don't you see, if the god's world exists, then the god's power must also exist, right? In other words, true magic."
He tapped the cover of the book.
"This World Book, written in the ancient language, holds the key to all things. To Jötunheimr — the infinite power and magic that rules over all things!"
And then Whurl fell silent, and stared at him — as did the other assassins. They all watched him. With nine people — eighteen eyes in total — all staring at him, Orphen remained silent. Rather than trying to fight them, he was just trying to catch his breath because he was so tired.
Before long—
"Ancient language, huh..."
Orphen grinned. He lifted his back from the wall and took off his bandana.
"Well, it must be hard to read."
"... What?"
Whurl groaned, feeling that something wasn't quite right at that line — and for the first time, he dropped his gaze down to the book.
"Th—"
"What is this, is that what you were going to ask?"
Orphen smiled wryly at Whurl's confused frustration — and at the same time, he folded the bandana he had removed and held it firmly. It was just a bandana, crispy with blood, but it might be able to catch a sword at least once.
Orphen continued nonchalantly.
"Cleao's diary was just about the same size — so I wrapped a black leather cover around the original cover. Well, if you choose the right person to sell it to, you might be able to get a little pocket change out of it, right? That'll be nice."
"You...!"
Whurl yelled, flinging the book down to the floor in anger — at the same time, the assassins around him began to deploy.
(Nine enemies — There's no chance in hell I'll win this...)
Orphen's eyes widened as he dropped to his haunches.
"Whurl Karlen! I'm going to kill you."
"So you say!"
Whurl shouted back, but the one to actually come at him was one of the assassins. They were all wearing the same outfit, and even their faces were hidden, so it was almost impossible to tell them apart, even with the slight differences in their physiques. The Whurl Class should have at least a few women, but Orphen couldn't even tell which ones they were.
Even though they were assassins trained in group combat, only two at a time would be able to charge him. However, two people could launch up to four attacks — and the possibility of being able to escape all of them unscathed was virtually zero.
He was further disadvantaged by the fact that the enemy's bodies were wrapped in combat gear, while he had exposed skin in a lot of areas, including his face. He swatted away the first guy's fist, then spun around to avoid the second's elbow, but the third man had a weapon. Orphen was about to thrust his left arm out, looking at the edge of the approaching knife.
(I could use the tendons of my left arm to entangle the knife — but can I really pull that off!?)
It was potentially fatal, but—
Determined, Orphen dared to try it. The moment he felt the surge of pain, he had to twist his arm and hook the blade into the bone before the enemy could pull out the knife or twist the blade to let air in.
It took an instant. He didn't have time to think about it. Orphen just slipped his left arm over the enemy's target.
Shunk!—...
Time froze, but he felt no pain.
(............!?)
The assassin instantly vanished before his eyes. When he quickly took a look around, he saw that the assassin had been thrown to the left — with a single infantry spear plunged through his eye socket.
"Wha—!"
Orphen exclaimed, shifting his gaze along the shaft of the spear that passed horizontally in front of him. The spear had pierced the assassin's skull straight from the open doorway. It killed him instantly, of course — he didn't even twitch, the assassin just crumpled to the ground as he gripped the spear.
"Forte!"
Orphen exclaimed when he saw the man standing in the doorway. Agitated — the assassins in the room began reorganizing as they muttered amongst themselves.
It was Forte Packingum.
He was dressed in combat gear, wearing medium-weight protective armor, two armored belts, and two longswords of different sizes. His cuirass was wrapped with chains holding blades, and the cloak he wore over his armor must've had chains woven into it for protection.
Only, his gear wasn't for basic combat— but rather, for war situations. For a tall sorcerer like Forte to be so heavily armed would be quite intimidating on its own. Orphen stared at him in dismay.
"Forte—? Why...?"
But — Forte didn't answer the question. Instead, he quickly turned to Whurl, and in a matter of fact tone, he said—
"Master Whurl Karlen, and all students."
He continued as he drew his sword.
"You are hereby detained for questioning in connection with the attack on Leticia McCready, a senior sorcerer of the Childman Classroom, as well as the mass assaults and murders of Dragon Worshippers — a request which cannot be denied. This is by the order of the Highest Executive Department."
Then he looked around the room — to Orphen, at which point Forte seemed to have the faintest grin — and continued.
"But before that, you have violated our rules against private fights and duels. If you do not cease fighting immediately, I will destroy you right here and now."
"Forte Packingum...!"
Whurl's voice echoed through the classroom — clearly upset. It was almost like he hadn't been expecting to see him, and he screamed out, almost as if he were looking at a ghost.
"Orders from the Highest Executive Department? You're lying! The department doesn't operate at this hour!"
"There was only one member of the Executive Department who was still going strong at this hour — And you know him personally, old man."
"What do you...?"
Whurl's eyes blinked in confusion. Orphen looked back and forth between the two of them — then he suddenly realized what he meant.
"Hydrant!?"
"Exactly."
Forte nodded quietly.
"At the time that I received the message from Krylancelo, the Elders that were working yesterday were already off the clock — And it's no use begrudging the Elders for refusing to sign anything after their scheduled hours. I summoned the security department on my own, and decided to wait, to see if Krylancelo could disable Hydrant."
He took a directive from his pocket and unfolded it.
"The document is valid, and signed on behalf of Milan Tram, in exchange for letting Hydrant off the hook. Though, judging by his depression, he won't be causing any trouble for a while anyway."
Standing before Whurl, who stood stunned with his mouth agape, Forte pointed behind him and put the order back in his pocket.
"Now then. We have already deployed all security personnel to key locations around the facility and throughout the grounds. Even if a brawl broke out and you tried to escape during the chaos, you wouldn't get away with it. Let me tell you one more thing."
He said, casting a guarded glance towards one of the assassins who was creeping up along a blind spot on the wall.
"I'm not as naive as Krylancelo, and I'm not used to fighting with enough restraint to avoid killing."
"It's eight against two, Assistant Teacher Forte Packingum..."
Whurl warned him, baring the tragic look of a cornered animal. But—
"Am I really outnumbered?"
Psst—
All eyes converged on a single point as the sound was heard.
"Azalie!?"
Orphen shouted in disbelief. He wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but he saw her sitting cross-legged in the window right behind Whurl. She wasn't armed like Forte, but she was still there, dressed in her simple combat uniform, with a slanted smile on her face.
She hadn't been there when he was looking at Whurl earlier — and the windows weren't even open. She must've teleported herself into the room using a magical artifact.
"It's too dangerous on your own."
She chuckled, and Orphen argued back in distress.
"No, you can't show yourself! Even Forte is here—"
She looked over at the doorway at Forte. Yet, among the assassins who couldn't hide their astonishment, not even beneath their masks, Forte Packingum was the only individual who remained calm...
Orphen muttered, somewhat disconcerted.
"Forte — You knew Azalie was alive..."
"For a couple of weeks now."
Forte confessed without hesitation.
"During the 'Krylancelo' incident, my "Network" was only able to catch a glimpse of the assassin's face. However, I still identified him as Krylancelo. Because she was there, right next to him."
"I thought I was hiding pretty well."
Azalie stuck her tongue out. Forte continued, running his fingers through his hairline.
"As long as we know you're alive, there's plenty of ways to make contact."
"Whurl Karlen. I'm sure you were only expecting an attack from Krylancelo."
Azalie was sitting on the window sill, her sharp eyes glaring at the old assassin.
"But Whurl, you were careless — you made an enemy of the Childman Classroom, yet you only kept an eye on Krylancelo."
"Demon... Witch... So Milan and Suaine weren't mistaken?"
Whurl mumbled, shaking with rage — He turned from Azalie to Orphen. He could see the deep, scar-like wrinkles in his elderly skin.
He staggered forward.
"Assistant Teacher Forte Packingum — as well as the Successor of Razor Edge... I see, I guess I was careless... but for my classroom to end like this—"
Whurl stopped there and clenched his fist. In that moment, all hesitation vanished from his face.
"I cannot abide that!"
Whurl screamed — rushing towards him — as if it took no effort at all in spite of his fatigue. Orphen heard Whurl's screams, the strongest assassin in the Tower, both in name and reality now that Childman was dead, and silently accepted it. Terribly fast — he looked back at the sharp old assassin's attack head on...
But the thoughts that crossed his mind were totally out of the norm.
(Successor of Razor Edge, the "Successor of Steel"...)
It was a brief moment — if he could've stopped time with will alone, that would've been the moment to do so. In that split second, Orphen's consciousness burst without a sound.
(I am the only weapon I have to fight against enemies more powerful than myself...)
A rapid chill coursed through his whole body — his vision went dark, and he couldn't hear a sound. Yet, he could still perceive what was going on around him, and he could clearly see Whurl's movements.
(My "past"! The senses of my past — That's what this is!)
Perhaps because of his confusion, Whurl's attacks themselves were almost amateurishly slow. Orphen struck his opponent's hand — with just the tip of his fist — midway between the middle and ring finger. As he deflected Whurl's hand away, he slid halfway towards the inside of the arm that had been bounced back.
Orphen shouted as he launched his elbow toward the vital spot in his armpit—
(The only technique I inherited from Childman!)
A moment later, Whurl's body was thrust back.
The old assassin was struck in a vital spot and collapsed to the ground in terrible pain. Looking on, Orphen approached him. Whurl was already completely out of his mind. He was in agony and struggling to breathe. His body was folded over, his lungs were struggling to inflate and deflate, and he was completely helpless, his vital organs exposed. Just one blow. Just one drop of his fist and it should be enough to end this—
Orphen was staring down at him, his breathing finally settling. No one would stop him—
Only he could decide — He alone held the old man's fate in his hands.
"............"
Orphen slowly opened his clenched fist, watching his next actions as if they were someone else's.
(And... it's a technique that easily kills people... one that could easily make me a Stabber...)
His breathing slowed...
A moment later, he felt a gentle touch on his arm, and with a start, Orphen turned to see Azalie standing there.
She smiled at him.
"Move aside, Krylancelo — You can't go through with it, can you? So I'm going to take the memories they have of me away from him and his students.
She said, turning to the other side of the classroom.
Orphen looked over to the other side as well, where the assassins were all disarmed and in a surrendering position with their hands behind their heads.
Azalie spoke to the assassins.
"I know you're good boys, so don't resist, because I really don't care if you want to make me cripple you for this."
She began to recite a long, poem-like incantation.
Her voice was beautiful.
Orphen listened to it as he stepped back next to Forte, who was still standing in the doorway of the room, and muttered to him in a hushed tone.
"You two... used me, didn't you?"
"Yes."
Forte nodded, not denying, nor making excuses.
"I appreciate it, too. I was honestly having a hard time getting rid of Whurl's class.
"Do you... really think you're going to be able to take control of the Tower? ... Like Master?"
At Orphen's musings, Forte cracked a dry smile... He groaned, and was even trembling a little.
"I didn't know that Master was... dead."
"............"
There was no way to reply to that. The air only grew heavier, like a soundless torture.
And then another voice piped up.
"... I can't thank you enough."
It was Azalie. She walked out of the classroom, where everyone was lying on the floor in a hypnotic state, carrying a book.
She flicked the cover of the book with her finger and asked.
"Do you really think you can outsmart me? Where's the real one?"
"I don't know..."
Orphen mumbled, holding his head that had started aching again.
"... Well fine."
She answered, then shoved the book into his arms.
"Please give it back to the girl. You didn't read what was inside, did you?"
"Obviously."
His reply seemed to satisfy her — as if that was more important than the location of the real World Book. She gave him a teasing smile, and then huffed.
"... Thanks. To the both of you."
"Yeah."
Forte was the only one who answered. Orphen stared at her in silence.
Azalie didn't seem to mind — she looked back at him rather kindly, actually.
"If you really want to settle this with me, come to Kimrak."
"The head temple of the church..."
Orphen repeated the name of the city he'd heard many times. Suddenly, a white light flashed before his eyes.
Azalie had taken out the black teleportation box and was tracing the Wyrd Graphs necessary to activate it with her finger.
Flash — Fwoom — And, as the letters of light dimmed to a phosphorescence, she said one more thing.
"I'll repay this debt, Krylancelo."
Whether she was referring to what she had done tonight by taking advantage of him, or whether she was referring to the fact that he'd hidden the World Book from her, Orphen couldn't decide.
But, as she was leaving, he replied.
"You're welcome to stay... I'll always be a lender."
The early birds were soaring through the sky with meaningless innocence, belting out their high-pitched chirps. The morning felt so peaceful. Nobody could've thought otherwise.
Leaning against a tile soaked with morning dew Dortin mumbled to himself.
"That's a moss-brained idea..."
The thin rope he had managed to get loose from — the one that had held them to the pillar all night — lay scattered at his feet.
"No, no, Dortin!"
Vulcan shouted, clenching his fists. He was crying maniacally, his fists shaking with emotion.
"This is the destiny of a warrior! Now that we've been freed from the commandment, we must start a new spark of revolution! It was a powerful curse, to be sure, but our sense of duty is several orders of magnitude greater!"
"... You say that, but it was a pretty big fatal flaw that we didn't even realize the knot was right within reach..."
Dortin half groaned, his eyes drooping, and repositioned his glasses. He looked toward the mansion — It was quiet, and apparently no one was awake yet — but he knew he had to do it anyway.
Still, he asked, just in case.
"So... What are you going to do now, brother?"
"Right!"
Vulcan nodded broadly.
"Although we regrettably failed during the last phase, the light of our revolution has already taken root in this land! Now we must travel to another land where there are people who need us again!"
"So we're running away."
"We're not running awaaaay!"
Dortin gasped as he was struck down with a sword, rolling him into the hallway with a familiar, pitiful look on his face. Vulcan raised his sword and continued.
"Our journey isn't over! Not until we kill that evil sorcerer and sketch him in twelve different colors! For now—"
He pointed toward the sun now shining in his face.
"North!"
"The sun rises in the east."
"Don't get me started on the details!"
He knocked him down again, but this time he got up immediately. With a sigh, Dortin began to hurriedly get himself ready, though he had no luggage.
"Let's hurry up. The black magician will come back."
"... Lately it doesn't feel worth the effort to hit you..."
Vulcan murmured, looking a little sad.
Dortin looked up, suddenly curious.
"Oh right, say, brother, I saw you get something from the black sorcerer on the way out last night. What was it?"
"Oh yeah."
Vulcan nodded, pulling something out of his pocket.
"It's some boring-looking book...But then again, so's that money-lending sorcerer."
The book had a black leather cover — the binding looked solid, but that's all it was. There wasn't even a title anywhere to be found. Vulcan's chest puffed up as he fanned himself with the book.
"I don't know what kind of good mood he's in, but he said I could make a lot of money if I sold the book, so he actually paid me! His flea-bitten brain is finally beginning to understand the concept of master and servant!"
"... He also wants us to use the money from the book sale to pay off our debts."
"... Right."
Dortin looked up at Vulcan, who was mumbling quietly, and asked him.
"We... are going to repay it, right?"
Vulcan looked at Dortin as if he had just been asked something completely unexpected.
"Why?"
"... Yeah, sure..."
And then, in the brilliant morning light, the two of them slipped out of the city.
