Chapter Seventy-One: The Rescue Plan

The patrols in the border city were, of course, far more rigorous than those in inland cities. With the chaotic throngs of mercenaries here, the authorities had long sought to strengthen security, and the sheriff of Mosiye City was not to be underestimated. The parrot was the first to spot an unidentified luminous object, and the contract mage behind it immediately took the matter seriously.

The glowing object seemed to have flown over a hundred meters high before descending, emitting a white radiance—certainly not the usual torch or flame, and quite out of the ordinary. Whether it signaled the birth of a new magical beast, a strange natural phenomenon, or a new weapon or spell from an enemy nation, further investigation would be necessary before reaching any conclusion.

However, sending the parrot alone through the Venomous Forest at night would be dangerous, since the bird had little ability to defend itself. So, with a whistle from the city’s security office, a ten-man emergency squad swiftly assembled, lightly equipped with just swords and shields, accompanied by the parrot for communication.

In times of peace, the emergency squad was undoubtedly among the most grueling and hazardous units. No matter what anomaly occurred in the city—brawls, disputes, fires, or even unexplained incidents—the emergency squad was always the first dispatched. Orders in the main city were absolute: regardless of what happened or whether the squad could resolve it, they were to be sent immediately. This was a necessity, given that communications were still underdeveloped. If they waited to understand the situation before responding, it might already be too late to save anyone. Thus, they had no choice but to send people out first.

A main city generally maintained three to eight such squads, taking shifts between duty and rest. The risks were obvious—many were injured or killed—but the rewards came more easily than in other units.

Nobody relished being cannon fodder, so the emergency squads worked hard to improve their survival odds. Each team typically included at least five mages, favoring water and earth elements to handle fires and landslides. There would usually be one or two clerics as well, to provide emergency healing. Their combat ability was top-notch—perhaps not masters of offense, but certainly experts in defense.

Their true mission was to be the vanguard: assess the situation, hold the line, and wait for the main force to arrive.

The ten-man squad set out into the night. Meanwhile, the main city’s crystal divination department swung into action. Three elder mages kindled a fire, carefully setting a crystal orb, the size of a watermelon, above the flames, suspending it with their mental energy.

They tossed all manner of curious materials into the fire: magical beast fur, dung, garlic, and various gelatinous substances. Each mage took a role—one managed the flames with fire magic, ensuring the materials burned completely, casting special light onto the orb without damaging it. Another maintained the orb’s levitation and began scanning the site of the incident, projecting the images onto its surface. The third, a wind mage, directed the foul gases out the window so none of them would be suffocated by the stench.

Crystal scrying spheres were a common feature in many tales—and indeed, they existed on the continent. In this field, the Lion Empire led the way, while the Loubaole Kingdom lagged far behind. As for the principles behind the spheres, there were many theories, but most mages only knew how to use them, not how they worked.

One theory posited that the crystal sphere was connected to another realm—possibly a “divine” realm. The sphere could be likened to an eye, and the divine realm to a mirror; through the mirror’s reflection, the eye could see distant places on the continent. This “divine” realm was not the heaven of gods or the paradise of dogma, but a dimension unlike the continent—a different world, another plane. Its mode of reflection was not simple physical light, but a deeper interaction between realms. Since the other realm remained unknown, its methods of reflection were equally beyond imagination.

This was the prevailing theory, though unproven—unless the “divine” realm were one day discovered, it would remain a mystery. People called it the “divine” realm simply because they could grasp the idea of “a mirror in the sky,” and, since it was “in the heavens,” it naturally became the “divine” realm.

In theory, the crystal sphere could survey the entire continent, though this depended on the caster’s power and duration of the spell. However, a ninth-rank expert could sense when being observed, and saint-level masters could interfere or even counteract the scrying with their mental force.

The Lion Empire had once conducted an experiment: three archmages powered a great crystal sphere, and after seven days and nights of searching, projected the surface of the moon onto the sphere. Of course, the materials consumed were worth over two billion gold bars.

Crystal prices varied depending on quality. Common ones could be had for a handful of gold coins, but those used for scrying had to be exceptionally pure, large, and finely polished—priceless and rare. Some nations would trade entire cities for such a sphere.

Their value lay not just in craftsmanship or artistry, but also in their role as a superior means of communication—the spheres enabled visual dialogue. They also served as strategic weapons, integral to giant staves for long-range forbidden spell attacks: first, reconnaissance with the sphere, then the staff could strike beyond the horizon.

Returning to the matter at hand, the three mages worked the crystal sphere for a while, and gradually the interior of the Venomous Forest appeared on its surface. The range and clarity depended on distance and time; the forest was some way from Mosiye’s defenses, and the parrot’s sighting gave only a rough estimate, so they had to search area by area.

With a creak, the door opened, and the weary security chief entered. “Any progress?”

“Still searching,” replied a mage. The image on the sphere shifted slowly: under the moonlight, the shadows in the forest made observation difficult.

“I’ll go assemble the team!” the chief decided, stepping out to blow the whistle. Whatever was happening, best to have everyone ready.

“Something found!” The sphere suddenly flared—another object shot into the sky, the view zoomed in. Four figures could be seen in the woods, torches in hand. All were hooded and masked, but that was normal given the swarms of insects in the Venomous Forest. The sphere could only show images, not sound; their actions remained a mystery.

“Wait—a man has ice shackles on his wrists?” someone noted.

Ice shackles, while a restraining skill, inflicted serious harm and would never be used on one’s own. Clearly, someone was being detained—was this some illicit transaction?

The information was quickly relayed to the approaching emergency squad, the parrot passing the mage’s words directly: “Four individuals, one bound with ice shackles. The luminous object was thrown by one of them. Yellow battle aura.”

The parrot simply reported what it saw; interpretation was left to the squad. Hearing this, the squad quietly cursed their luck. Yellow battle aura indicated a sixth-rank warrior; someone capable of casting ice shackles had to be at least a fourth or fifth-level mage—this would be tough.

Though the emergency squad handled all sorts of trouble, they dreaded complications most. But there was no turning back—they had been deployed, and orders were orders.

“Stay sharp—this could be important,” the captain rallied them. “Our job is to hold them until the main force arrives. We’ll earn a commendation yet.”

“Understood,” the squad replied. Veterans all, they knew that mutual encouragement was crucial at times like these; sarcasm or cynicism only brought death faster. Mosiye’s squad was one of the nation’s elite—eight out of ten were both mage and warrior, though only third or fourth rank and no match for a sixth-rank master. Still, their experience should buy them time. Still… a few lives might well be lost tonight.

Elsewhere, the Smitha warrior tossed the chamber pot high into the air for the third time, watching it plummet before leaping up to catch it smoothly.

“How can you tell how much moon essence this pot has stored?” he wondered, turning the vessel over in his hands.

Kevin, propped against a book, was trembling, his voice barely audible. “I… I think I’m done for…”

“Pathetic,” the mage sneered, though he did remove the ice shackles from Kevin’s feet—leaving those on his wrists.

“Speak up. Don’t pretend to be dead,” the warrior snapped, kicking Kevin.

“I only know the legends,” Kevin admitted helplessly. “I don’t know if any of it’s true. Myths are always exaggerated, and all we can do is experiment, step by step. In the stories, the hero fills the pot and out jumps an ancient god, but that’s the hero. Do you think you’re the protagonist?”

“Enough nonsense,” the other interrupted, clearly unconvinced. “You know more than you’re telling. Out with it!”

“Fine, I’ll talk.” Kevin sighed, gathering his thoughts and launching into the story of the Fifth Chamber Pot War—a tale he’d borrowed from a foreign novel, changing names and terms at first to test if they knew the original. As it turned out, they didn’t, so he freely assumed the role of bard.

“Someone’s coming!” The mage suddenly interrupted, startling Kevin.

“Let’s go!” The warrior grabbed Kevin and the professor, battle aura flaring as he retreated, the mage following close behind.

At the same time, the emergency squad received word: “They’ve detected your approach and are moving quickly—clearly avoiding contact.”

“We pursue!” came the captain’s order. The wind mage lightened the squad’s load, and they raced after their quarry.

The forest was rugged and hard to traverse. The Smitha warrior, a sixth-rank, easily outpaced the squad even while carrying two men. The Smitha mage, however, lagged behind—water mages were not known for speed. Even with branches cleared by the warrior, he was falling behind, forcing the warrior to slow down.

Kevin and the professor were dragged along by the collars, a painful ordeal. Kevin, hands and feet numb with cold and manacled, was in no position to resist. To shout now might mean being silenced for good, so he kept quiet.

Meanwhile, those at the crystal sphere saw everything clearly—a man running with two captives, one in shackles. It was obvious who the kidnappers were; identities were unknown, but this was more than enough for the authorities to intervene.

Though brawls and killings among mercenaries were common in Mosiye, the authorities did not officially condone such behavior. They could not control every misdeed, but once witnessed, could not turn a blind eye. These were no ordinary mercenaries either, but masters whose skills surpassed most company captains—intervention was imperative.

“Report!” Suddenly a secretary burst in. “Sir, the registry at the Venomous Forest entrance shows that the Vice Principal of the Royal Academy and his bodyguard entered a week ago and have not returned.”

“What?” The chief turned pale.

“Sir, a sixth-rank master would be sent against someone of the Vice Principal’s caliber,” the nearby mage observed.

“All units, move out!” the chief ordered at last. Five hundred sheriffs, already assembled, charged for the Venomous Forest.

After a few steps, the chief grew uneasy. Using the parrot to relay a message to the secretary, he added, “Request reinforcements from the nearest garrison—preferably the Wyvern Riders.”

The secretary departed at once. The mass mobilization of sheriffs alerted nearby mercenaries, who began inquiring about the commotion. But only the chief knew the whole story; even the assembled troops were in the dark, and the mercenaries got no answers either. Seeing the officers rush into the mosquito-infested forest, the mercenaries, though eager to curry favor, had no intention of following.

Meanwhile, the two Smitha nationals were still fleeing. They could probably fight their way out, but confronting the regular army would be unwise. Although slowed by the mage, it should not have been difficult to shake their pursuers.

Yet, each time they pulled away, their pursuers caught up again. Even a sixth-rank warrior, toting two men through the forest, would tire eventually—especially after days of lurking and tracking.

“There’s no escape,” the mage concluded. “Let’s turn and finish them.”

“Fine, the usual way,” the warrior agreed, dropping Kevin and the professor, seizing Kevin’s sword and shield, and taking up a defensive stance. The mage hid, quietly preparing more ice shackles for a surprise attack—a routine they clearly knew well.

Unfortunately, their routine had been broadcast via the crystal sphere, and the emergency squad was fully briefed. The squad slowed their approach and began strategizing.

Kevin and the professor lay on the ground, unable to resist but still able to speak. Kevin spoke up: “Take my advice—run now, alone. If you don’t, you won’t get another chance.”

The warrior snarled, “Shut your mouth. These small fry mean nothing to us.”

Moments later, a squad pushed through the undergrowth, the leader calling out, “Who are you? What’s your business here?”

The mage on the right suddenly stood, hurling a dozen ice shackles at once—if they struck, the squad would be chained together. The shackles could be thrown at limbs, heads, or shoulders—anything they could freeze, they could bind.

But the squad was ready. Eight of them raised their arms and, using mental force, redirected the flying shackles. While the opposing mage was sixth-level, and the squad could not overpower or seize control, they could alter the trajectory. The shackles converged midair, their ends freezing whatever they touched, and soon collided and clumped together.

Then, one member produced a wooden staff and struck the frozen mass. Though the staff was instantly frozen, the entire bundle was hurled back—turning the shackles’ attack against their owners.