Paragon of Destruction

The other man furrowed his brow. "But then, how will we reach the Patriarch without being found?"

The giant Elder smile calmly. "We won’t. Now that we’ve reached the capital, we will no longer hide our presence. Quite the opposite, in fact — I intend for every mage in the city to know exactly why we’re here. Any of the traitors act against us, they’ll be up against the entire Valley."

The gray-haired Elder slowly nodded. "I suppose you’re right. There’s no point in hiding now."

Surrounded by mages whose power and experience both vastly exceeded his own, Arran was reluctant to speak. Yet now, he could no longer hold back — there was something on his mind that could not wait any longer.

"If we announce our purpose," he said, voice uncertain. "Won’t the traitors just kill the Patriarch?"

Elder Naran chuckled. "A reasonable question, and if they could, they would have done so long ago. But before he fell into unconsciousness, the Patriarch created a formation to protect himself."

Arran frowned. "A formation?"

"The Patriarch is a master of seals and formations," Elder Naran explained. "And this one is especially formidable. It blocks others from entering it, and it’s too powerful and complex to be broken through by force. And while the formation allows a few people to pass unhindered, none of those are likely to be traitors."

The Elder cast a glance at Snowcloud, and Arran understood that she would be among the few people who could enter the formation unhindered. He did not know how it was possible for a formation to reject some and accept others, but then, that the Patriarch’s skills were beyond his comprehension was to be expected.

"Now, no more delays," Elder Naran said. "It’s time for us to cause an uproar."

Arran could see a glint in the Elder’s eyes as he started toward the city, as if this was a moment the man had long awaited.

They entered the city soon after, finding its streets busy with traffic and commerce. It was still early in the day, but there were already many townsfolk about, most of them browsing the morning markets and food stalls.

Yet as soon as their small group entered the streets, all eyes were drawn to them.

Even to commoners, it would be obvious that these were no ordinary mages — just Elder Naran’s height was enough to make sure of that. And if commoners could not Sense the mages’ power, they could still clearly see that they moved with the kind of calm confidence that was unattainable for inexperienced novices.

But while the commoners and initiates in the city gawked at them, the stronger reaction came from the small groups of novices on the streets.

Most of them seemed to recognize at least some of the Elders — the giant Elder Naran, if no one else — and the sight of Elders roaming the streets so casually caused them to stop in their tracks.

At this, a small smile appeared on Elder Naran’s lips, and he stepped toward one of the groups.

"You!" he said, facing a terrified-looking novice. "Take word to Elder Sun that a cure for the Patriarch has been found, and tell him to come to the Patriarch’s palace immediately."

It took the wide-eyed novice some moments to process what had happened, but then, he gave a deep bow. "Of course, Lord Elder." He hurried off at once, his companions instantly forgotten.

"You!" The Elder turned to another novice, then instructed her to take word to some Grandmaster whose name Arran did not recognize.

Once each novice in the group had been sent off with a message, Elder Naran approached the next group.

This scene repeated itself many times as they made their way through the city, until eventually, several dozens of novices were hurrying through the city with messages for various Elders and Grandmasters.

Word spread quickly, and it wasn’t long before Arran saw small groups of novices gathering along the road, eager to be given their own task and curry favor with an Elder.

When they reached the gate to the restricted portion of the city, the commander of the guards approached them at a run.

He gave Elder Naran a hurried bow, then asked, "Lord Elder, is it true? Have you found a cure for the Patriarch?" His eyes held an almost ecstatic glow as he spoke.

"It’s true," the Elder confirmed. "We can cure the Patriarch."

"This..." The man’s words failed him, and he blinked several times, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what he’d just been told. "I have to come with you."

"Of course," Elder Naran said, then continued onward through the gate.

Although his messages had instructed the recipients to come to the Patriarch’s palace, it quickly became clear that many lacked the patience to wait that long. As they made their way to the palace, they were approached by a new mage every few steps of the way, and each time, the question was the same: is it true?

The small group rapidly grew into a large one, with dozens of mages soon following behind Elder Naran and the others. Not all of these would be Elders and Grandmasters, but it was an astonishing force nonetheless.

Arran understood that this was exactly as the Elder had intended. With so many powerful mages surrounding them, no traitors would dare make a move — not unless they were willing to give up their lives. And even then, they would have little chance of success.

When they finally reached the Patriarch’s palace, Arran marveled at the sheer size of the building, but only briefly, as his eyes were soon drawn to the crowd waiting in front of it.

There were well over a hundred mages present, gathered in front of the palace in a large crowd. And as soon as they saw Elder Naran and the others approach, many of them called out questions about the news they had just received.

Yet at the front of the group stood a single man, and although he did not look particularly imposing, he immediately caught Arran’s attention.

Short, with a soft round face and a plump figure, he looked more like a baker than a mage. Yet he was dressed in an extravagant robe made of red and yellow silk, all woven in lavish patterns, and the other mages kept a respectful distance from him. And more than that, there was an aura of confidence and power about him.

"Elder Naran," the plump man called out, his voice overly friendly. "I hear you bring unexpected news."

"So I do, Elder Feng," the giant Elder replied. "Though we very nearly didn’t make it, pursued as we were by the traitors who have seized control of the Iron Mountain. Had Elder Rakhish not sacrificed himself to hold them off, we might well have died before reaching you."

Loud gasps immediately sounded among the crowd, but Elder Naran continued in a loud voice, "Of course, we had not expected to find the gate to the Valley closed to all, at your orders. If not for the loyal commander at the gate letting us through, we would have perished."

More gasps sounded, and all eyes turned to Elder Feng, with some of the mages in the crowd looking as if they wanted to attack him that very moment.

Yet Elder Feng merely nodded, a wry smile on his lips. "It’s true," he said. "I only learned about it days ago — traitors have seized control of the Iron Mountain, several of our most powerful Elders among them. That is why I ordered the gate closed: to stop them from entering the Valley."

Elder Naran gave him a cold stare. "Then you should be pleased to hear that I stationed two Soaring Sun Elders at the gate. If the traitors entered the pass, I imagine their numbers will have been thinned a fair bit."

"I am most grateful for your assistance," Elder Feng said, his voice not betraying any emotion. "Both in fighting the traitors and in obtaining a cure for our beloved Patriarch. If only you’d arrived a few days sooner, your heroic efforts might have saved him."

"The Patriarch has died?!" The shocked words came from some random mage amid the crowd, but they were echoed almost instantly by a dozen others.

"The Patriarch remains alive," Elder Feng said, "but his condition is grave. It seems that with his last remaining sliver of consciousness, he erected a second formation around himself, doubtless to protect himself from traitors." He made a pained gesture, then continued, "But the new formation allows none to pass — even his trusted healer lost his life when attempting to reach him."

Elder Naran’s expression turned grim, and in a flat tone, he spoke, "Not even you can breach this new formation, Elder Feng? With the Patriarch’s consciousness all but faded, I would not think him capable of defeating your vast knowledge of seals."

Elder Fang shook his head in a gesture that, to Arran, seemed just a bit too dramatic to be genuine. "The Patriarch’s skill always exceeded my own. This new formation uses one of the Ancestral Seals — something you know well is beyond me."

At that, Elder Naran frowned. "I will see him." From his tone, it was clear that this was no request.

"Certainly," the plump Elder replied. "Follow me."

Raising his voice, Elder Naran spoke, "All Elders and Grandmasters, follow along. Perhaps there is one among us who can defeat this new obstacle."

They entered the palace with several dozens of mages following behind. Some of them cast curious glances at Arran, but with Brightblade at his side, none objected to his presence.

Behind the palace’s doors they found a vast hall, lined with rows of massive pillars. Its walls and ceiling were clad with gray marble, and other than a large throne at its center, it was completely empty.

The footsteps of the group echoed in the giant space as they crossed the hall, and the sound of it caused a chill to run down Arran’s spine. Rather than a palace, it seemed like a long-abandoned tomb.

At the far end of the hall was another set of doors, behind which lay another hall. It was smaller than the first, if not by much, but otherwise largely similar.

Except, where the first hall had held a throne at its center, this one held a large white marble platform. And upon that platform lay a man.

Had Arran not known that this was the Patriarch, he would have thought it a long-dead corpse. The body was completely shriveled, lacking any fat or muscle. Only skin seemed to hold its bones together, and Arran could not detect even the faintest movement from the body.

The group approached the platform silently, reverence clear in the mages’ eyes as they walked forward.

When they were about thirty paces removed from the platform, the group suddenly halted, and after a moment, Arran understood why — while Sensing it took him a great deal of effort, he recognized that a web of Fire Essence lay in a circle around the platform.

This, Arran knew, would be the new formation. Thousands of strands of Fire Essence woven together in an intricate pattern, each strand interlocking with numerous others. But for some reason, there was something strangely familiar about it.

"As you can see," Elder Feng said to the group, "this formation is no simple matter. To the best of my knowledge, this is an Ancestral Seal — one of the seals created by the Ancestors of the Valley, impossible to break without years of study."

Arran barely heard the man’s words. The more he studied the formation, the more familiar it seemed. It was sloppy and flawed, but the pattern was unmistakable. Unless he was deeply mistaken...

"I can break it," he said.