Chapter 35: The Light of Truth
I sat on the edge of the mattress, straightening my back and closing my eyes; instead of darkness, the familiar coordinate grid unfolded before my mind's eye.
[Will to Live: Calibration Mode]
I focused on the mana. The flows of energy in my veins resembled data highways, and in some areas, "red flags" were still burning.
I pulled out the crystal and squeezed it in my palm.
It responded instantly. The crystal worked like an external processor, taking on a part of my brain's computational power. I began to slowly push the mana through the channels, segment by segment.
Step 1: Optimization of conductivity in the shoulder node.
Step 2: Discharge of excess charge into the drive.
Step 3: Frequency stabilization.
The hum in my ears became steady.
At some point, the line between my body and this piece of cloudy glass blurred. I saw the room through my closed eyelids: specifically, its energy traces.
"…Iron… don’t close… the resonance…" the voice was thin, and distorted.
My breath caught instantly.
Zeno?
"…second… level… Ephraim knows… fear…" the phrase was cut off by a sharp click, similar to an electric discharge.
I sharply opened my eyes. My heart was pounding against my ribs.
Ephraim was bustling in the corner of the hut. I heard him scraping a knife along the bottom of a pot, and sighing heavily. I need to be more careful with him—I noted to myself.
I closed my eyes again, trying to sink back into the trance. I had to control this flow.
If I want to survive, I must become faster, more precise, and colder.
Ephraim heavily lowered himself onto a lame stool, wincing from a sharp pain in his lower back.
He cast a glance at the corner of the hut where the guy was sitting.
Iron hadn't moved for the second hour now. The air around him seemed dense, electrified, and tiny sparks ran along the facets of the green crystal in his hands, resembling short circuits.
The old man sighed and stood up. Limping, he walked to the hearth.
A bitter herbal infusion bubbled in the pot—garbage to the taste, but the only remedy capable of protecting the nerve channels from burning out under such loads.
He poured the infusion into a cracked mug. Walking up to Iron, Ephraim carefully placed the mug on the floor next to him.
After that, the old man stepped out onto the threshold, closing the door tightly.
In Magister Valt's office, everything was as usual. A sterile, cold light from magical lamps reigned here, along with perfect silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of mana servers.
The doors silently parted. An analyst in a gray uniform approached him, holding a flickering tablet in his hands.
"My lord," the officer bowed his head. "Sector seven-G. The Dead Marshes. Twelve minutes ago, the detectors registered a surge."
"Continue," Valt said, without turning around.
"The signature is identical to the 'Alpha' prototype."
"Are you trying to say that you found Object Alpha?" Valt walked over to the map, and it obediently zoomed in, showing the gray expanse of the swamps.
"The signal was short, but extremely intense. It looks like forced triangulation or deep resonance."
Valt touched the surface of the hologram with his fingers. A red dot began blinking in the area of the northern channels.
"Deploy the 'Fan'. Raise five Search Spheres and send them to the sweep sector."
"My lord," the analyst hesitated, "that is a border zone. There are unstable etheric currents there..."
"I don't care about the currents. Initiate 'Light of Truth' mode. Erase everything living within a five-mile radius of the surge point. If you discover the defect—take him alive. If you discover Ephraim—destroy him on the spot."
Valt turned back to the window, beyond which thunderclouds were gathering over the spires of the Citadel.
"And send the Hunters," he added. "High-speed golems. Let them comb every inch of the mud. I want the Object back today."
Ephraim stood on the threshold of the hut, drawing the damp, frigid air into his nostrils.
Usually at this time of day, the squawking of marsh birds or the guttural rumbling of bog creatures could be heard from the rotten backwaters. But right now the marsh seemed to hold its breath.
Suddenly, a flock of black crows soared up over the bent crowns of the dead willows. Behind them, several large herons took off, noisily breaking the dry stalks of the reeds.
The old man rubbed his chest.
The air was becoming dense, and a sharp aftertaste of ozone and burnt copper settled on the root of his tongue. The magic in the atmosphere began to thicken, arranging itself into the strict, geometric lines of a search net.
"They found us," Ephraim realized with cold clarity.
He turned around and quickly stepped back into the Hut.
Iron was sitting in the same pose.
The mug with the infusion that Ephraim had left on the floor had already managed to cool down, and a thin, oily film had formed on the surface of the cloudy liquid. The old man reached for his bone knife, preparing to forcibly yank the guy out of the trance before he was burned out by the scanners' counter-pulse.
But at that moment, Iron sharply drew in air through his teeth and opened his eyes.
The guy was breathing heavily. His forehead glistened with cold sweat, and the fingers of his right hand convulsively gripped the fabric of the jacket on his chest.
Ephraim didn't have time to say anything. As the crystal in Iron's inner pocket emitted a low, vibrating hum.