Thinking he wouldn’t be able to pour another drop of power into the spell, Percy finally let go.
The gaseous portion of the soul-freezing ice he had compressed exploded soundlessly, propelling the object forward. The construct reached the blond, middle-aged man in an instant, encountering no resistance as it phased through every obstacle in its path.
Spinning rapidly, it left a trail of soul-freezing liquid behind it as it dug through the Blue’s defences. The domain-infused wall of flames slowed the projectile down slightly, though it still sank into the man’s tunic. Emerging out of his back, it kept going, disappearing into the darkness.
No surprise there.
Packing as much mana as three Yellow cores, the spell was in some ways equivalent to a Green’s strongest attack. And that was without considering the unique properties it had inherited from the various mana types involved. The soul affinity not only allowed the spell to move several times faster than a corporeal construct would, but also made it much harder to detect and raised its lethality to a ridiculous level.
Even so, a wound this narrow wouldn’t have been enough to kill the Blue.
The surviving mage probably had no idea what had happened, but Percy had seen everything clearly. The man’s soul had turned brittle after getting pierced by the attack, shattering like cheap glass – a result that could only be attributed to the ice affinity.
The Blue’s eyes dimmed as he stumbled backwards, falling over the edge. His body plummeted down the cliff, Micky diving after him. The crow barely snatched his meal just before it splashed into the dark waves crashing onto the glacier.
Percy didn’t pay the bird much attention, focusing on something else.
[Congratulations! Your spells have merged: Frozen Shards – Refined + Secret Art: Mana Bargain – Refined -> Secret Art: Soul-crushing Needle – Masterful!]
Reading the notification, he couldn’t help but smile. His Frozen Shards spell was something he hadn’t even been able to use before. He had first registered the Crude Concussive Blast on Felmara, using the air affinity he had borrowed from Leo. He’d upgraded it to Refined much later, while possessing his familiar. In both cases, it was his clones who had developed it, registering the only entry in his Status that he didn’t have the right mana type for.
Thanks to their recent success with the soul-freezing ice, Percy had finally found a way to put the technique to good use.
Of course, the original spell had heavily employed pre-casting – which wasn’t fully applicable in this situation. The clone did use pre-casting while producing the liquid and gaseous variants of the fused mana, but other facets of the technique – like the rotations – weren’t as firmly embedded into the mana and wouldn’t survive the trip through the cords. Even so, the resulting spell had clearly been powerful and intricate enough to reach the next tier.
Seeing that his remaining opponent showed no intention of attacking, Percy took a moment to ponder over the weaknesses of his new Secret Art.
It was difficult to use, due to his lack of resistance to the affinity. He’d only managed because of his boosting art practically turning his body into a furnace, helping him fend off the cold. Despite this, Percy would be lucky if he could bear the frigid resource coursing through his channels more than twice or thrice in a short amount of time. The first activation only took five minutes to prepare, but subsequent shots would take progressively longer as he dealt with the aftereffects.
Outside of the difficulties with the spell’s preparation, it was also challenging to land.
Percy wouldn’t have hit his opponent if not for his eyes. They had helped him predict the man’s movements and even allowed Percy to aim at a weakness in the domain. Had Percy shot the Blue anywhere else, he might have failed to penetrate his defences, even if he hadn’t missed.
In other words, the Soul-crushing Needle was certainly a potent weapon that could turn the tides of battle if used wisely, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of guaranteed kill that Percy could fire without thinking.
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Happy with his assessment, he shifted his gaze to the third and final mage. The Blue had frozen in his tracks after seeing his companions die, probably realizing that the fight was over. He hadn’t dared to move a muscle since, though his soul shuddered as soon as Percy’s eyes landed on it.
“Mercy… I swear I will never come after you again. I’ll tell the others in my family not to, either,” he begged, his voice quivering. His expression was downtrodden, probably not expecting Percy to agree.
Suddenly, the giant silhouette of a bird shot up the cliff, a spatial amulet falling in Percy’s outstretched hand. The ice splintered beneath Micky’s talons with a heavy crack as he landed nearby. Throwing his neck up, the crow flung what remained of the mutilated corpse in the air, swallowing it whole – clothes and everything – with a heavy gulp that send a chill down even Percy’s spine, let alone their opponent’s.
“What do you think?” Percy asked out loud solely for the Blue’s sake.
Micky shrugged.
“I don’t need to eat a third Blue core today. Do whatever you want.”
Percy sighed.
Had this been three or four months ago, he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of leaving a survivor behind. These people had come after his and Micky’s heads willingly. And while he had indeed grown much stronger, it wasn’t like he could start disregarding Blues entirely or leave everyone he fought alive. What if this person joined the others chasing them?
At the same time, the situation was a lot different now.
Percy had initially wanted to keep his abilities hidden for as long as possible, to maintain the element of surprise. Sadly, that ship had already sailed. Some of the powerful teams that he and Micky had been forced to escape from had seen their boosting arts and what the spells did to their bodies. They’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about their affinities and his constructs.
In fact, Percy wouldn’t be surprised if their enemies had pieced together that they didn’t need to sleep, or that the runes he had engraved on his weapons hadn’t originated from Remior. This person wouldn’t even be the first survivor they left behind, though the previous cases hadn’t been intentional. More than once, their pursuers had interrupted Percy before he finished off one of the weaker groups. It was safe to assume that most of their tricks were common knowledge by now.
Of course, Percy would have preferred for his new Secret Art to not leak so soon, but he didn’t feel like executing somebody in cold blood just to hide a single spell.
“Leave your amulet. Don’t let me see your face again.”
The Blue didn’t waste a moment, tossing the spatial device over before scurrying away in a manner not befitting of his grade.
‘I suppose we’re at the end of our rope,’ Percy told the others through their connection.
‘Indeed,’ Micky replied.
They weren’t as worried about the guy they’d just spared as they were about all the other groups closing in on them. It had been another two weeks since Micky registered the Dance, and they had been driven to the northern-most edge of the continent.
Or was it the southern-most edge? They’d already left the pole behind them and crossed into the other hemisphere. That probably wasn’t quite right either – there were plenty of shores south of here…
Regardless, there was nowhere else to go other than the ocean, and the nearest Blues would probably be reaching them in mere hours. In theory, Percy and Micky could try slipping through the gaps in their formation, but that would risk getting surrounded.
‘I guess we’re done here,’ the clone ultimately said. ‘With our latest upgrade, I feel a lot more confident killing groups of three, but I doubt we’ll be seeing many of those after today.’
‘Let’s lay low for a few months,’ Micky agreed, pointing toward the endless stretch of water with his beak.
Naturally, they’d return when they felt more confident. Percy didn’t think the Blues would follow them into the sea. Even if they did, he and Micky could just escape in pretty much any direction they wanted. They were bound to ditch the bastards sooner or later.
Having prepared for this eventuality, Percy had already stocked up on dried rations engraved with preservation runes. They wouldn’t last forever, but with so many otherwise-empty spatial amulets, he had the next couple of months covered. Besides, he was confident they’d find the bare minimum of food they would need to survive, swimming close to the surface or living on the islands. If things grew too desperate, he could ask Nesha to send them more food with the clone when she was done. As a last resort, they could even risk it with some alien food from outside Remior.
‘I don’t think it’ll come to that… At least, Micky can generate as much drinking water as we want.’
Leaving was probably the best option right now. It was about time for him to get his third trait and start working on the armour upgrade. Micky had to focus on the Dance…
Climbing on his familiar’s neck, Percy tossed one final glance at his surroundings, scanning the frigid wasteland they were leaving behind. Their small-minded enemies had chased them to the ends of Remior and beyond.
And for what?
Some money.
An elixir recipe that Percy had always intended to share with them anyway – if only they waited a few more years or offered to pay a fair price for it instead of threatening him and his loved ones.
Finally, to punish him for killing the Holy Children – the first, a psychopath who had enslaved his friend for decades and massacred half a town over nothing, and the other, someone dumb enough to help him.
At the end of the day, their motivations didn’t matter. Percy had no intention of getting captured, so his enemies would eventually have to let him be…
…one way or another.