The next day, Alariv left.
Ashoka...did not go to see him off.
And neither did he go to see him off for the hunt three days later. He had expected that he would, expected that the guilt would have washed away in the last three days, but it seems that wasn't the case for him.
The expedition for the hunt had already been planned long before Ashoka had even entered his first Nightmare, but as a challenger of the Nightmare, he was privy to more information than most.
He knew that this expedition was destined to fail. In fact, he even knew that it would be Alariv's side that would ultimately fail.
In the ash-enshrouded landscape of the ruined Casamir that Ashoka had witnessed during the very start of the Nightmare, he had seen the faint and illusory figure of the abomination. Although he hadn't seen how it looked, the lack of any minions in its vicinity suggested that it was most likely a Devil.
So he knew; he knew that Alariv's fate was already sealed. The prince would die trying to protect his home, and knowing that he would die even without Ashoka doing anything should have put his heart at ease.
But that was the thing about guilt; it often came from the uncertainties. What if the Devil had failed to kill him? What if Alariv had survived his encounter and returned back, bringing with him information necessary for a last stand?
What if he could've still been saved? Along with the millions living within Casamir?
The questions continued to gnaw at his heart endlessly, taking away his smile, his joy, his sleep, and even his sense of morality. Ashoka just couldn't help it. So when the day arrived?
Ashoka disappeared. He didn't go, deciding to drown himself in preparing for the court case instead, which was now due tomorrow.
Looking at the simple parchment covered in endless lines of text, Ashoka leaned his head back at the headrest, closed his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. Gods, so much work!
Just as his mind was slipping towards the cold embrace of sleep, a clear knock echoed from the door of his room, waking him up.
Is it finally here?
Ashoka silently stood up from his chair and moved towards the door, opening it. He expected to see a guard, but there was no one in sight.
That was not to say that there wasn't something that instantly caught Ashoka's eyes.
Instead of a person, it was a simple bronze flask the size of his fist, shaped like a light bulb, resting near his feet.
Making sure that no one was there to see, Ashoka bent his back and picked up the bottle. Closing the door behind him, he quickly jumped onto his chair, the bronze flask in hand.
The first thing that caught his attention was the deep gash at the top of the flask's cap, seemingly carved onto it by a sharp blade.
The second was the intense smell of iron and rust that wafted over him as soon as he opened the container.
Ashoka's nose instantly wrinkled, his face morphing into a grimace at the familiar scent of blood. Moving near the window, he let the light pass inside to help him see the contents. As expected, the flask was filled with dark, crimson blood.
There was also another smell mixed in with it, though, one more putrid, akin to rotten flesh.
"Ugh—" Ashoka wretched.
***
"And how exactly will you lure that thing out?" Ashoka inquired in a grave tone; there was a certain sense of horror in his eyes. "It will already be amazing if you could even capture it while being unscathed enough to play the act right afterwards. Just how will you make sure it won't just go and wreck havoc somewhere it shouldn't?"
Gaius answered nonchalantly, "I will lure it with my blood, of course." Then, he lifted his arm as his eyes turned murderous and savage, like that of a butcher. "Oh, and don't worry about it going somewhere it shouldn't, Ashoka; I will make sure that the smell of my blood and flesh is the only thing it will remember with whatever remains of its twisted sanity."
***
That lunatic, don't tell me he skinned his own flesh and put it inside this!
Looking inside the flask, he found his theory proven correct as he noticed dark chunks of flesh, almost like shadows, floating atop the thick crimson blood like boats in a pond.
The gory scene in front of his eyes almost made him puke; the contents of his stomach kept inside only through sheer will power.
"Gods... I'm gonna be sick..." Covering his mouth with his hand, he frantically started to look around. "Fuck, the smell... where is the cap?!"
Sadly, the smell had already escaped the container, and it wouldn't take long before it had spread throughout the entire room. Ashoka would probably have to sit in the stinking room for hours.
Well... that was what he had thought would happen, but as soon as his hand moved the cap near the cover of the opening, the putrid smell around him suddenly disappeared.
One second it was there, and in the next, as if a magic trick had been performed, it simply disappeared. The sudden change left Ashoka disoriented for a second. His brows furrowed incessantly as he looked at the flask and analyzed the strange phenomena.
Immediately, his attention landed on the strange, out-of-place cut at the surface of the cap in his hand. Thinking for a second, he moved the cap away from the flask, and as he suspected, the putrid smell appeared once again.
It seems this is the source. Ashoka silently concluded in his mind. Some kind of aspect ability? Since Gaius is the one who sent it, it should be his.
Right, something similar had happened with the glass vial that he gave me; it didn't make a sound even when hitting its two parts together. Something similar was the case for the tunnel's entrance in the outskirts. Ashoka's mind churned with theories as his fingers felt the deep scar on the flask's cap. Then his eyes lit up.
An ability that nullifies stimuli like scents and sounds? No, the stimulus is still there, but it has lost its property of being detected. The sound waves generated from the glass should've still been present, but they were somehow not able to affect my ears. Similarly, the scent-carrying fragments are still there, but they have lost the property of smell.
The cut should be working as a mark, but what can the ability do? Can it even affect the perception of soul essence? If that were to happen, the target would think their essence is somehow locked even though it isn't because of the lack of feedback.
Damn, this power is so good!
Ashoka let out a wistful sigh, wondering what his own aspect would look like.
Actually, that was a lot of blood that Gaius had filled the flask with. Sure, it wouldn't be life-threatening by any means even for a normal human, but it would definitely affect his state slightly. Was it really safe to go hunt down a corrupted tyrant in such a condition?
Well, I don't suppose it would be that much trouble. He probably went to the healer from the trade caravan to get himself all fixed up.
After a moment of stillness, he hid the flask below his bed and moved to the desk.
Tomorrow was the day of the court case, and so he had to write down all the property records.
***
Silently stirring the bubbling soup in the metal pot, Alariv scanned the lively encampment. All around him, members of his cohort moved with practiced efficiency—pitching tents, skinning the massive Fallen abomination they had slain earlier, and stacking firewood. Laughter and boisterous jokes filled the air, the easy camaraderie of veterans unwinding after a successful hunt.
Most of the group had gathered around the central campfire, waiting for dinner, their attention fixed on the youngest among them. Kafri, who looked barely out of his teens, sat quietly tending to his bowstring, a faint smile playing on his face despite being the clear target of their teasing.
"Gods, you should've seen Kafri's face when that monster hurled its severed limb at him from a quarter mile away!" one of the veterans roared. "I haven't seen an expression like that since my brother found out he'd gotten a girl pregnant by accident!"
The circle erupted in loud laughter. Someone slapped Kafri on the back, nearly knocking the young archer forward. A woman in her early thirties spoke up next.
"That's exactly why I became a spearman instead of an archer," she said dryly. "Saw my last senior get turned into red paste after he harassed a Fallen Devil one too many times. The bastard brought an entire cliff down on his head."
Alariv smiled softly at the familiar banter, but his gaze lingered on Kafri. The boy looked oddly out of place among the hardened warrors who were nearly twice his age and far more experienced. His presence was faint, almost insignificant beside them.
That was only natural, though; after all, he was the only Awakened in a cohort made entirely of Ascendeds. He had been invited into the expedition because of his useful aspect that would help greatly in the upcoming hunt.
After a while, Alariv bent down to grab a plate of ingredients. Before his fingers could close around it, his free hand instinctively flew to his mouth as a harsh cough tore from his throat.
In the next instant, every head in the camp—except Kafri's—snapped toward him in eerie unison. The laughter died instantly. The sudden, grave silence was far more unsettling than any monster's roar.
Alariv stared at the small smear of mucus on his palm, his expression darkening. Awakened didn't get sick, and for an Ascended like him to suddenly cough up phlegm was unnatural.
Kafri, still focused on his bow, hadn't noticed the shift. But the others had.
After a tense beat of silence, Alariv rose to his feet, his face set in grim resolve. After a moment of speculating, he had come to the most logical conclusion.
An attack from a Fallen abomination? Maybe it's a devil...
"It seems we have company," he said quietly. "Everyone, pack up. We're moving out immediately."
A chorus of disappointed curses rose from the group as several Ascendeds cast longing glances at the nearly finished soup.
***
I should really cut my hair.
Ashoka looked at his own reflection in the silver mirror with quite amusement, twirling a lock of black hair between his fingers. Rays of sunlight poured through the window beside him, illuminating his face and hair in a soft luster.
He looked a lot different than he had looked when he had visited the police station. His face was clean, and his shoulder-length hair looked soft and smooth, uncut from his time in the outskirts, where he had been unable to find a working pair of scissors or blade to cut it on his own.
Under the many layers of dust and ash and black soot, his skin was of a distinct wheatish tone, neither dark enough to be bronze nor light enough to be considered white, while his eyes were a dark black—maybe they were brown; he hadn't actually ever bothered checking in too deeply. The question still didn't bother him much.
Damn, I really need to find the recipe for that shampoo! His hair hadn't looked this clean ever!
After a moment of silence, Ashoks looked down at his clothes. They consisted of grey undergarments and a knee-high tunic of a muted brown color. A leather satchel rested at his waist, hung in place by a belt that wrapped around his waist and over his opposite shoulder. They were the outfit of commoners, ones that he had asked a servant to bring for him in preparation for the court that was now only an hour or so away.
A royal court was different from a normal judicial court, mainly in how the final judgment was influenced.
If he had to make a parallel, it would be with the court proceedings of the medieval time back in his world.
In older times, ultimately, the authority of the court was only as strong as people let it be. If one side could convince the whole public of something to the point where there will be riot and rebellion if the court does not rule that way, they have won the case regardless of legal technicalities.
Although in the case of Casamir, there wasn't the fear of rioting, there was still the need for the crown to garner favorability from the citizens, and that, coupled with the young age of Eldrin, the king, made the difference between the two parallels almost negligible.
And that was why Ashoka had decided to wear simple, commoner's clothes, as that would help him garner more of the crowd's approval.
Noon finally arrived, and with it came the time for the royal proceedings. After some moment of stillness, Ashoka finally stood up.
His surroundings changed fast, the noise of the footsteps of servants replaced by the roaring cry of drums and trumpets echoing around in the royal hall.
From within the crowd, where he stood silently, he saw the figure of Eldrin, climbing up on his throne, and Prince Oswald, with his quarter-burnt-face skin, standing beside Eldrin, in the place where Prince Alariv should have been. He saw the eyes of this demon filled with greed, casting his gaze down towards the crowd in cold indifference.
The crowd on either side of the hall broke into quiet murmurs as the cries of the drums receded and the first segment of the event began.
Somewhere in the middle of that, Ashoka saw from the corner of his eyes as one of the men beside him shifted in his place, glancing at the figure of Ashoka for a split second. In the next moment, the man's eyes seemed to glow with a hint of recognition.
He stepped in closer, moving to the right of Ashoka.
"Sire? Are you Sire Ashoka?" he asked with a hesitant tone.
A small circle of the crowd around him suddenly stopped talking as they too turned their heads after hearing the question.
Ashoka gave the man an inquisitive look and then smiled. "Well, I am called indeed that, though I would prefer if you didn't put 'sire' with my name."
There was a long pause, and then, the small crowd once again broke into murmurs. After some time, another person spoke.
"Is it true that you personally asked the king to investigate Prince Oswald? And that you and and lord Gaius are personally leading it?"
Another voice inquired from behind, "Are you really going to put Prince Oswald on trial?"
Right, there was also that. Ashoka had gone to meet with Gaius on the pretense of investigation; in the process, they had also visited the house of the old farmer for some basic questioning.
Since they hadn't actually asked the old man to keep it a secret, rumors had quickly spread throughout the kingdom of the aloof prince and the young master who went around in Casamir and hunted one corrupted official after another.
Since Gaius had disappeared just a day later, the rumours had started to focus more on Ashoka himself.
Ashoka nodded in approval to the question, turning slightly to face the crowd, "It is true, and today will be the day when justice is served. So I only have one thing to ask of you, my fellow brothers and sister. Stand with me on this, because you will be the one who will decide how this turns out in the end."
He cringed inwardly at the words that came out of his mouth. Gods, just how could a human possibly say something this cheesy?!
One of the men gulped and nodded his head, then turned around and disappeared into the crowd to carry on the message.
Soon, the time for the trail section arrived. Ashoka swallowed a mouthful of saliva as the last of the merchants disappeared from the front stage.
There was a long moment before the court crier let out a loud proclaimation, announcing that the royal court was officially open for formal trials.
"All manner of persons that have anything to do before my lord the king's justices... draw near and give your attendance!"
Sucking in a deep breath, Ashoka stepped forward towards the front of the throne, stopping to stand on the velvet carpet in the middle.
Many in the crowd seemed to recognize him, as there were the sounds of gasps, which quickly transformed into a strange silence.
Glancing for a split second at Eldrin at the throne, whom he noticed had a barely hidden smile as if filled with excitement for what was to come, Ashoka bowed his head. Sadly, he did not plan to give Oswald much of a fighting chance in this.
At Eldrin's signal, he stood up. Taking in a deep breath, he spoke, his voice loud and clear.
"Your Majesty, I have come to bring to your attention a great wrongdoing that has taken root in our kingdom. I am not here to ask for money or titles. I stand before you as the voice of your subjects... because someone must protect these people who have lost everything."
He paused briefly for dramatic effects, letting the words settle.
"I ask only for your justice in this matter, my King."
At his words, the hall once again fell into quiet whispers. Most of them already knew what this was about.
Ashoka smiled at the sound of murmurs and turned slightly to face the prince, who still hadn't realized what was happening. After a moment of hesitation, he directed his perception inwards.
And then, activated his innate ability.
As he did, an invisible wave seemed to pass over his soul, illuminating his vision in a strange ambience. Within that ambience, Ashoka saw—or rather sensed—a faint and illusory golden thread drilling into him, reaching the deepest parts of his soul.
One would say that him activating his innate ability without any power to channel was a foolish action, but they were wrong, since from the very beginning, Ashoka had never lacked a power to channel. It had always been present with him, perhaps even before he had entered his First Nightmare.
Now, as he focused his perception on the golden thread, a description seemed to appear in his mind despite not having summoned the spell. It read:
Attribute: [Quasi-Proxy of The Nation of Disorder]
Attribute Description: You are the quasi-proxy of the Nation of Disorder. Your aura is comparable to a king.
Ever since he had entered into this world, he always had a connection to The Nation of Disorder. Not only that, this connection was possibly the strongest and deepest mystical connection he had to anything, excluding his blood, flesh, bone, soul, spirit, mind, and shadow. So, it was only natural that he would be able to channel this power, despite his innate ability being partially sealed.
Without hesitation, Ashoka mentally reached out his hand and grasped this golden thread tightly.
And then, his world burst into an explosion of blinding light.
Ashoka suddenly found his surroundings changed. It was unclear where he had been transported to because everything seemed to be a shade of brilliant white, making it hard to discern his surroundings. It was as if he had been cast down into an endless white abyss.
That seemed to change, though, as the brilliant light seemed to dim a little, revealing faint silhouettes of massive structures and ancient, forlorn buildings.
Before he could observe further, everything disappeared like a dream, and he once again found himself amidst the noise of whispers spreading throughout the royal hall.
Nothing seemed to have changed with him at first glance, but inwardly, a strange transformation had occurred.
His presence seemed to go through a qualitative change in that moment, rising higher and higher until it became an indescribable aura that seemed to make the crowd around him stir uncontrollably. For a second, it felt like the person they were looking at wasn't just an ordinary boy but a powerful awakened, making them unconsciously avert their gazes from him.
His eloquence seemed to have changed the most, making it possess traits that made it easier for him to rally a crowd or make people more likely to believe and obey his words.
He felt that his words could make his opponents less confident in themselves, pushing them towards wanting to give up entirely.
Words seemed to appear in Ashoka's mind as a wide smile spread through his face.
Sequence 9: Arbiter!