[Tier EX - Akashic Terminal]
Within the Akashic space, the Cosmic Mandala responded to Alphonse's inquiry. Its rings of light spun furiously, emitting a resonance far heavier than ever before.
The first visual projection materialized in the empty air.
Alphonse witnessed the interior of a majestically grand cathedral. At the far end of the altar knelt a white-haired woman draped in the sacred robes of a priestess. Her face was completely obscured by a smooth white alabaster mask, devoid of any eye or mouth slits.
She was worshipping a twelve-winged angel statue. What sent a chilling shiver down Alphonse's spine was the statue's sculpture—its posture was grand yet entirely ambiguous, displaying neither masculine nor feminine traits. And most terrifyingly, the statue was carved completely faceless.
The image shifted. It now displayed a throne room constructed from intertwining ancient tree roots. Upon the throne sat an Elven woman.
Her beauty defied reason, featuring golden-blonde hair, emerald-clear eyes, and slender pointed ears. She wore a green silk gown that flowed like water, and perched upon her head was an intricate crown resembling a weave of living jade twigs, leaves, and flowers. She looked like the very embodiment of nature itself.
A third visual emerged. In a sweltering forge, stood a Dwarf. Unlike the Dwarven race in the game, which was always depicted as short and stout, this Dwarf stood over two meters tall.
He was bare-chested, showing off muscles that looked as though they were sculpted from steel, with a thick black beard covering half his face. His hands, the size of sledgehammers, relentlessly pounded glowing iron upon an anvil, showering sparks in every direction.
The projection changed again. A lush jungle. A Beastman practicing martial arts.
His appearance was awe-inspiring—a masculine human face with spiky white hair, yet possessing eyes with vertical pupils, the ears and tail of a white tiger, and lethal claws and fangs.
He moved as fast as lightning. Whirlwinds and crackling blue electricity enveloped his muscular physique. With a single swipe of his claws, dozens of trees were cleanly severed. The Beastman leaped high and punched the empty air. An air cannon shaped like a giant tiger's head wrapped in lightning shot forth, leveling a distant hilltop to the ground.
The fifth image showcased a room styled like an ancient Chinese pavilion. A woman with long black hair and glowing red eyes leaned lazily on an antique divan. She wore a blazing red hanfu, holding a fan in one hand while puffing on a long wooden pipe.
The sixth image transported Alphonse to a village in the dead of night. A man entirely concealed in a black cloak stood with his back to the moon.
Two pitch-black ravens with glowing red eyes perched upon his shoulders. The man turned his head to the right, and the raven on his right shoulder took flight, splitting into hundreds of ravens that shot like a violent storm in the direction of the man's gaze.
The seventh projection displayed a mountain peak. A hundred-meter-long dragon with shimmering platinum scales was deep in slumber, its mere breaths generating a localized storm around it.
Alphonse stared intently at the seven entities. These were the apex predators of the Orion world—the true threats to the Players.
However, as he awaited the eighth image, everything suddenly plunged into pitch darkness. The Cosmic Mandala ceased its rotation.
Alphonse felt himself forcefully ejected from the Akashic space, left drifting in the freezing vacuum of deep space. There were no images, no projections. Only absolute darkness and distant points of starlight.
"What is happen—"
Suddenly, a gigantic eye tore open in the darkness directly in front of him.
The eye was unimaginably massive, vastly larger than Alphonse's entire body. Its pupil stared straight through Alphonse's soul. There was no emotion within it, only an eldritch void.
Instantly, Alphonse felt every last drop of his remaining Mana siphoned away to the absolute bottom without a single warning. Cold sweat erupted from every pore. The sheer atmospheric pressure of that gaze shattered his mental stability.
An incredibly heavy, deafening hum echoed from the depths of space, violently rattling the bones within Alphonse's astral body.
Unbearable agony exploded within his skull. The seven orifices on Alphonse's face—his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—began to hemorrhage blood.
The fabric of space shattered like glass.
Alphonse's consciousness was violently hurled back into his physical body on the ice plain. His vision immediately went black. The last thing he saw was the pristine white snow splattered with his own blood, and the panicked faces of Arcus and Vrischil sprinting toward him.
Before his consciousness was entirely swallowed by the darkness, his trembling lips forced out a string of numbers.
"1437... 2412... 10."
Then, he blacked out.
The polar wind howled, blowing snow into Arcus's face. The blonde man leaned lazily against a chunk of ice, kicking the snow with his expensive shoes.
So incredibly boring, Arcus thought to himself. Nothing but snow, ice, and more ice. At least send a dragon or an undead army so this prince can show off his magnificence.
He glanced over at Alphonse, who was sitting cross-legged. His best friend's eyes glowed with a bright golden light, a sign that his consciousness was wandering through the Akashic realm.
Nearby, Vrischil stood as tall and still as a perfect guardian statue. The Fractal Ruin was already drawn in her grip, her Elven eyes sweeping the ice plains with maximum vigilance.
"Relax, Vrischil," Arcus said in a teasing tone. "There's no need to be so tense. There's absolutely nothing within a dozen-mile radius. My eyes have already confirmed it. You know, if you keep making that stiff face, you're going to literally turn into an ice monument."
Vrischil merely shot him a brief glare that could freeze boiling water, then returned to ignoring him.
Arcus let out an annoyed huff. He looked up at the grey sky and yawned widely. Just as he drew a breath to complain again about how utterly dead this place was, a wet, harsh coughing sound shattered the silence.
Arcus snapped his head around. His complaint froze in his throat.
Alphonse collapsed face-first into the snow. The golden light in his eyes had extinguished, replaced by fresh blood streaming profusely from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. The white snow around him instantly dyed a deep, horrifying crimson.
"ALPHONSE!"
Vrischil's panicked shriek pierced the freezing air. The Elf dropped her sword and immediately threw herself onto the snow, roughly hauling Alphonse's head into her lap.
Arcus stood completely paralyzed. His mind went blank. Alphonse—the master planner who was never caught off guard, the sorcerer with an ocean of Mana—was now bleeding and helpless like a mortal who had just been tortured by a god.
He saw Alphonse's half-closed eyes staring weakly toward him. His best friend's lips moved faintly, uttering a string of numbers.
"1437... 2412... 10."
Alphonse's head went completely limp in Vrischil's lap. He lost consciousness.
Arcus's chuunibyou facade shattered into a million pieces. His princely ego died, suppressed deep down by his rational mind. His expression turned deadly serious, his jaw clenching hard.
He watched Vrischil—the cold-blooded executioner who never displayed an ounce of emotion—crying. Tears streamed down the Elf's cheeks, freezing in mid-air as they fell.
Vrischil used her clean sleeve to wipe the blood from Alphonse's face with violently trembling hands.
"His heart... his heart is still beating," Vrischil said hoarsely, pressing her ear against Alphonse's blood-soaked chest.
The Elf frantically dug into her belt pouch, pulling out one of her red healing potions. With shaking hands, she forced Alphonse's jaw open and poured the liquid down his throat.
A dim reddish light flickered briefly across Alphonse's neck, but the bleeding from his eyes only slowed; it didn't stop. The wounds seemingly refused to close.
"Why isn't it working?!" Vrischil shrieked. She immediately poured in the second bottle, then her third and final bottle until the very last drop.
Alphonse's breathing was still labored, shallow, and erratic. The bleeding from his ears continued to leave a red trail soaking the snow. Vrischil looked up at Arcus, her eyes filled with wild, feral desperation.
"Your potions! Give me your potions right now!" Vrischil screamed.
Arcus, who was still rooted to the spot, snapped out of his daze. He dug into his pocket and threw his three potion vials toward Vrischil. The Elf caught them in mid-air and immediately forced all three down Alphonse's throat, completely ignoring the empty glass vials now scattered across the ice.
Only after six entire bottles of potions had been consumed did the severe hemorrhaging on Alphonse's face finally cease. His skin color, which had been as pale as a corpse, slowly regained a faint flush, but his eyes remained tightly shut. His consciousness was still locked deep within the darkness.
Vrischil shook Alphonse's shoulder, her sobs breaking out once more as she realized that even though the physical trauma had been treated, Alphonse was still not waking up.
"Stop your crying! That is completely useless!" Arcus snapped, stepping forward and severing the sorrowful atmosphere. "The cold-hearted Elf I've always known is far more useful than this!"
Vrischil swatted Arcus's hand away roughly. "Shut up!"
"I will shut up after you listen to me!"
Arcus dropped to one knee, placing his hand firmly on the unconscious Alphonse's shoulder.
"Alphonse's mind collapsed under the sheer weight of information. Healing potions only close physical wounds; they do not restore mental trauma. We cannot stay in the middle of this ice plain. He gave us coordinates before he passed out. We are leaving, now."
Arcus didn't wait for her agreement. He began weaving Mana, constructing a magic circle beneath the three of them. He inputted the string of numbers Alphonse had dictated into the runic structure.
[Tier A - Teleportation]
A flash of light swallowed them whole, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of blood on the snow.
As the light faded, they arrived in a warm, densely foliaged forest. The temperature drastically shifted from sub-zero to humid summer heat.
Arcus closed his eyes, enduring the nausea twisting his stomach. He opened his eyes to see Vrischil covering her mouth as well, holding back the side effects of spatial displacement, yet her arms still tightly cradled Alphonse's body.
"Wait here. Guard him. I will secure the perimeter," Arcus ordered, taking command of the situation with uncharacteristic firmness.
[Tier B - Fly]
Arcus shot into the air, piercing through the forest canopy. Once he reached a sufficient altitude, he activated his Sagittarius Eye. His vision swept a radius of dozens of kilometers.
"There are no monsters within a one-kilometer radius! Just a small pack of grey wolves far off on the eastern border!" Arcus shouted down. "The area is secure, Vrischil! Remain vigilant!"
Arcus flew even higher, searching for signs of civilization. Far off to the west, his eyes caught sight of dust billowing on a dirt road.
He focused his vision and spotted a group of humans clad in rough leather armor, carrying the carcasses of wolves.
The group was marching slowly toward the west. Tracking their route, Arcus's gaze locked onto a towering stone wall in the distance, protecting a dense settlement. A city.
Arcus hovered high above the clouds, approaching the city silently. His enhanced vision pierced through the bustling cobblestone streets, the traditional markets, and the watchtowers manned by guards in iron armor.
The city looked peaceful, much like a starter human town in a fantasy game.
Knowing they desperately needed a safe haven for Alphonse, Arcus made a decision.
[Tier B - Stealth]
His figure faded, blending seamlessly with the air. He dove down like a hawk, bypassing the city walls, and landed smoothly inside a dimly lit, narrow alleyway.
Inside the alley, six filthy thugs were cornering a neatly dressed city resident, forcefully snatching his coin purse.
Arcus deactivated his Stealth.
Seeing a man in a maroon tailored suit suddenly appear at the end of the alley, the thugs were startled and drew their daggers.
Without a word, Arcus moved. He didn't even use his bow. His body darted forward with the sheer agility of a Sagittarius.
Thud! Smack! Crack!
In less than two seconds, five thugs plummeted to the ground with precision strikes to their necks, knocked unconscious before they could even realize what had hit them.
The robbed civilian shrieked in terror and bolted, sprinting desperately out of the alley.
Only one young thug remained, his legs trembling violently as he gripped a shaking dagger. He turned and tried to flee, but Arcus instantly grabbed the back of his collar, hoisting him up until the thug's feet dangled off the ground.
"A simple question," Arcus said with a chilling smile. "What city is this?"
"W-W-Wealden City! In the territory of the Paxora Kingdom, My Lord! P-please spare me!" the thug stuttered, his eyes bulging in absolute terror.
"The Paxora Kingdom..." Arcus muttered, memorizing the information. "Good. Second question. I require an inn. A place that rents out rooms without asking too many questions about a traveler's identification papers. Where is it?"
The thug gulped. "T-The Black Raven Inn, My Lord! Two blocks from here, straight ahead then take a left at the intersection with the red lantern."
"T-they don't care who you are as long as you pay upfront. One silver coin a night!" the thug continued frantically.
Arcus nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you for the information."
He delivered a swift, light chop to the nerve cluster at the base of the thug's neck. The thug instantly lost consciousness and slumped to the dirt.
Arcus stepped over the helpless bodies.
He crouched beside the thug who appeared to be their leader, tearing off a leather pouch tied tightly to the man's waist. With quick, efficient movements, he looted the rest of the thugs, tossing every single copper and silver coin they possessed into the pouch.
Not forgetting the final touch, he stripped a large, worn black hooded cloak from the fattest thug.
Arcus brushed the dust off his maroon suit, then threw on the worn cloak, completely concealing his blonde hair and the bow on his back. After ensuring his disguise was flawless and his stolen funds were sufficient, he stepped out of the dark alleyway to navigate the streets of Wealden City.