The Forsaken Hero

Luke hesitated, and I was gratified to see he was actually weighing my thoughts. It made sense he hadn’t picked up on the specific level of the defensive magic, though it did make me wonder just how much more he had missed. The Oracle of Eternity provided an almost overwhelming amount of information about magic. Without enough practice, it was nearly impossible for anyone to pick out the useful bits from the noise.

"I’m... not sure. I wasn’t aware those defenses were only seventh-circle, though I suppose that makes sense when you think about it," he said, his brow furrowed in thought. "If that’s the case, then..."

"Still no," Jessia said, shaking her head. "There’s no way anyone could survive that many mana cannons at once. Their range is good enough that the moment they find you, you’ll be blasted to smithereens."

I frowned, tilting my head slightly. I had never considered mana cannons to be a threat. If anything, I’d actually been grateful the church’s development had focused on them, as it meant they didn’t have the resources to come up with something my abilities didn’t outright ignore. But were they really such a big problem to the Apostles?

It took everything I had to suppress the urge to open up and share with them about my power. But something must have shown on my face, because Jessia’s eyes narrowed at me. She was good at sniffing out secrets as she was hiding them. At the very least, because of her illusion, I knew it wasn’t my tail that had given me away this time.

"What is it?" she asked, though not unkindly.

My mind went blank, every excuse fleeing in an instant. Fortunately, it was at that moment I picked up a sense of approaching auras. It wasn’t quite right to say I was grateful, but I was certainly relieved. I wasted no time hiding behind Luke, grasping my mana and preparing for whatever this new danger was. Jessia frowned, opening her mouth to berate me for hiding information, but froze as she, too, sensed it.

"Damn it, why now?" Luke muttered. His hand slipped beneath the fold of his tunic, and from the way his arm tensed, it was obvious he was gripping a knife.

Several voices drifted from up the street, heralding the arrival of a small party. The pure white robes of the leader marked them as an inquisitor, a very high-ranking one judging by the sigil on their chest. The rest were fourth and fifth-circle soldiers, clad in full plate and wielding magic weapons.

A small, weaselly-looking man with two long knives stuck in his belt led them and spoke to the inquisitor.

"They vanished just a few minutes ago," he reported. "I couldn’t tell what killed them, but they are definitely dead."