[Tier EX - Akashic Terminal]
Inside the Akashic space, the Cosmic Mandala responded to Alphonse's query. Its rings of light spun rapidly, emitting a resonance far heavier than before.
The first visual projection formed in the empty air.
Alphonse saw the interior of a grand, majestic cathedral. At the end of the altar, a white-haired woman cloaked in a pristine priestess gown was kneeling. Her face was concealed by a plain white mask devoid of eye holes or a mouth.
She was worshipping a twelve-winged angel statue. What made the hairs on the back of Alphonse's neck stand up was the carving of the angel statue—its posture was grand yet ambiguous, displaying neither male nor female sexual characteristics. And most terrifyingly, the statue was carved without a face entirely.
The image shifted. It now displayed a throne room constructed from ancient, intertwining tree roots. Upon that throne sat an Elf woman.
Her beauty defied the bounds of reason, possessing golden-blonde hair, eyes as clear as emeralds, and slender, pointed ears. She wore a green silk dress that flowed like water, and perched atop her head was an intricate crown resembling a weave of twigs, leaves, and flowers made of living jade. She appeared as the embodiment of nature itself.
A third visual appeared. Inside a blistering hot forging workshop, stood a Dwarf. Unlike the Dwarf 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 carved from steel, with a thick black beard covering half his face. His hands, the size of sledgehammers, struck glowing iron on an anvil relentlessly, sending sparks flying in every direction.
The projection changed again. A lush forest. A Beastman practicing martial arts.
His form was astonishing—a masculine human face with spiky white hair, yet possessing vertical pupils, the ears and tail of a white tiger, and lethal claws and fangs.
He moved as fast as lightning. Whirlwinds and sparks of blue electricity enveloped his muscular body. With a single sweep 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 wreathed in lightning shot out, leveling a distant hilltop to the ground.
The fifth image showed a room styled as an ancient Chinese pavilion. A woman with long black hair and glowing red eyes leaned lazily upon an antique divan. She wore a blazing red hanfu, holding a fan in one hand and taking drags from a long wooden pipe.
The sixth image brought Alphonse to a village in the middle of the night. A man in a black cloak covering his entire body stood with his back to the moon. Resting on his shoulders were two pitch-black ravens with red eyes. The man turned to his right, and the raven on his right shoulder took flight, then split into hundreds of ravens that shot like a storm toward the man's line of sight.
The seventh projection displayed a mountain peak. A hundred-meter-long dragon with gleaming platinum scales was asleep, its breaths generating storms around it.
Alphonse stared at these seven entities with absolute focus. These were the apex of the food chain in the world of Orion—true threats to the players.
However, as he awaited the eighth image, everything suddenly turned pitch black. The Cosmic Mandala stopped spinning.
Alphonse felt himself hurled from the Akashic space, floating amidst the cold, empty vacuum of outer space. There were no images, no projections. Only darkness and points of distant stars.
"What is happen—"
Suddenly, a giant eye opened in the darkness right before him.
The eye was incredibly massive, far larger than Alphonse's body. Its pupil stared directly through Alphonse's soul. There was no emotion there, only void.
Instantly, Alphonse felt the entirety of his remaining mana sucked dry to the bottom without warning. Cold sweat poured from all his pores. The pressure from that gaze shattered his mental stability.
An incredibly heavy, deafening hum echoed from the depths of space, vibrating the bones within Alphonse's astral body.
Unbearable pain exploded in his head. The seven orifices on Alphonse's face—his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—bled profusely.
Outer space shattered like glass.
CRACK...
Alphonse's consciousness was hurled violently back into his body on the ice plains. His vision instantly went dark. The last thing he saw was the white snow splattered with his own blood, and the panicked faces of Arcus and Vrischil running toward him.
Before his consciousness was truly extinguished and swallowed by the darkness, his trembling lips forced out a string of numbers.
"1437... 2412... 10."
Then, he passed out.
A few minutes earlier.
The polar wind blew, sweeping snow onto Arcus's face. He leaned lazily against a chunk of ice, kicking the snow with his shoes.
So boring, Arcus thought. There is only snow, ice, and more ice. At least send a dragon or an undead army so I can show off my greatness.
He glanced toward Alphonse, who was sitting cross-legged. His eyes glowed with a bright golden light, a sign that his consciousness was wandering in the Akashic space.
Nearby, Vrischil stood tall like a perfect sentinel statue. Fractal Ruin was already in her grasp, her Elf eyes sweeping the ice plains with full vigilance.
"Relax, Vrischil," Arcus said with a teasing tone. "You do not need to be so tense. There is nothing within a radius of dozens of kilometers from here. My eyes have already confirmed it. You know, if you keep making a face that stiff, you will truly turn into an ice statue."
Vrischil merely cast her a brief, cold glare, then went back to ignoring him.
Arcus snorted in annoyance. He looked up at the sky, then let out a wide yawn. Just as he drew a breath to complain again about how desolate this place was, a wet, rough coughing sound broke the silence.
Arcus turned his head quickly. His complaint froze in his throat.
Alphonse fell face-first onto the snow. The golden light in his eyes extinguished, replaced by fresh blood pouring heavily from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. The white snow around him instantly turned a deep red.
"ALPHONSE!"
Vrischil's panicked scream tore through the air. The Elf discarded her sword and immediately dropped to her knees onto the snow, cradling Alphonse's head.
Arcus stood frozen. His mind went blank. Alphonse—the mastermind who was never caught off guard, the mage with an ocean of mana—was now helpless and bleeding like a mortal who had just been tortured by a god.
He saw Alphonse's half-closed eyes staring in his direction. His lips moved weakly, uttering a string of numbers.
"1437... 2412... 10."
Alphonse's head slumped limply in Vrischil's lap. He lost consciousness.
Arcus's facial expression turned incredibly serious; his jaw hardened.
He saw Vrischil—the cold-blooded executor who never displayed emotion—now crying. Tears soaked 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 trembling hands.
"His heart... his heart is still beating," Vrischil said hoarsely, pressing her ear close to Alphonse's blood-soaked chest.
Vrischil frantically dug into her belt pouch, pulling out one of her red healing potions. With trembling hands, she forced Alphonse's jaw open and poured the liquid down his throat.
A dim reddish glow briefly lit up Alphonse's neck, but the bleeding from his eyes only slowed down, it did not stop. The wounds seemed to refuse to close.
"Why isn't it working?!" Vrischil shrieked. she immediately poured her second bottle, then her third, down to the very last drop.
Alphonse's breathing remained ragged, shallow, and irregular. The bleeding from his ears still left a red stream soaking the snow. Vrischil looked up at Arcus with eyes filled with a wild desperation.
"Your potions! Give me your potions right now!" Vrischil screamed.
Arcus, who was still paralyzed, instantly snapped out of it. He reached into his pocket and tossed his three potion bottles toward Vrischil. The Elf caught them in the air and immediately fed all three into Alphonse's mouth without caring about the glass bottles now scattered empty upon the ice.
Only after six potion bottles were completely emptied did the severe hemorrhaging on Alphonse's face cease. His skin color, previously as pale as a corpse, slowly flushed a faint red, but his eyes remained shut tight. His consciousness was still locked deep within the darkness.
Vrischil shook Alphonse's shoulders, her sobs breaking out again upon realizing that even though the wounds had been treated, Alphonse remained unconscious.
"Stop your crying! That is completely useless!" Arcus snapped, stepping forward and cutting through the atmosphere of mourning. "The cold Elf I have known all this time is far more useful than you right now!"
Vrischil slapped Arcus's hand away roughly. "Shut up!"
"I will shut up after you listen to me!" Arcus knelt, placing his hand on the still unconscious Alphonse's shoulder.
"Alphonse's mind is shattered. Healing potions only close outer wounds, they do not restore mental damage. We cannot stay in the middle of these ice plains. He gave us coordinates before he passed out. We are leaving now."
Arcus did not wait for agreement. He began weaving mana, forming a magic circle beneath the feet of the three of them. He inputted the string of numbers Alphonse had uttered into the rune structure.
[Tier A - Teleportation]
A flash of light swallowed them, leaving behind a pool of blood upon the snow.
As the light faded, they arrived in a warm, leafy forest. The air temperature changed drastically from freezing cold to summer humidity.
Arcus closed his eyes, enduring the nausea churning in his stomach. He opened his eyes and saw Vrischil also covering his mouth, enduring the side effects of spatial displacement, yet his hands still tightly held Alphonse's body.
"Wait here. Guard him. I will make sure this area is safe," Arcus commanded, taking charge of the situation with an unusual firmness.
[Tier B - Fly]
Arcus shot into the air, piercing the forest canopy. Once he reached a sufficient height, he utilized his [Sagittarius Eye]. His vision swept a radius of dozens of kilometers.
"There are no monsters within a one-kilometer radius. Only a small pack of grey wolves far to the east!" Arcus shouted downward. "This area is safe, Vrischil! Stay vigilant!"
Arcus flew even higher, searching for signs of civilization. Far to the west, his eyes caught dust billowing on a dirt path.
He focused his vision and saw a group of humans in crude leather armor shouldering the remains of wolf carcasses.
The group walked slowly toward the west. Tracing their route, Arcus's gaze landed on a high stone wall in the distance protecting a dense settlement. A city.
Arcus hovered high above the clouds, approaching the city soundlessly. His vision pierced through the bustling cobblestone streets, traditional markets, and watchtowers manned by soldiers in iron armor.
The city appeared peaceful, akin to a beginner human city in a fantasy game.
Knowing they needed a safe place for Alphonse, Arcus made a decision.
[Tier B - Stealth]
His figure faded, merging with the air. He dove down like an eagle, bypassing the city walls, and landed smoothly inside a dimly lit narrow alleyway.
Inside that alley, six thugs were cornering a neatly dressed city resident, violently snatching his coin pouch.
Arcus deactivated his [Stealth].
Seeing a man in a maroon suit appear suddenly at the end of the alley, the thugs were startled and drew their daggers.
"Who are you?!" one of the thugs shouted.
Without preamble, Arcus moved. He did not use his bow. His body darted forward agilely.
Thwack! Thwack! Crack!
In a span of less than two seconds, five thugs collapsed to the ground from strikes to the neck, knocked unconscious before they could even realize what hit them.
The robbed resident shrieked in terror and scrambled away, fleeing the alley.
Only one thug remained; his legs trembled violently, holding a shaking dagger. He turned and tried to run away, but Arcus immediately grabbed the back of his collar, hoisting him up until the thug's feet dangled above the ground.
"A simple question," Arcus said with a cold smile. "What city is this?"
"W-W-Wealden City! In the territory of the Paxora Kingdom, Sir! S-spare me!" the thug stammered, his eyes bulging in fear.
"The Paxora Kingdom..." Arcus murmured, memorizing the information.
"Good. Second question. I need an inn. A place that rents rooms without asking too many questions about identification documents. Where is it?"
The thug swallowed hard. "T-The Black Crow Inn, Sir! Two blocks from here, go straight then turn left at the intersection."
"T-they don't care who you are as long as you pay upfront. One silver coin a night!" the thug continued in a panic.
Arcus nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you for the information."
He struck the nerve point at the base of the thug's neck lightly with the edge of his hand. The thug instantly lost consciousness and slumped to the dirt.
Arcus stepped closer to the helpless bodies.
He crouched beside the thug who appeared to be their leader, then snatched a leather pouch tied tightly to the man's waist. With swift movements, he searched the rest of the thugs, gathering every copper and silver coin they had into that pouch.
He also made sure to strip an oversized, worn black hooded cloak from one of the fattest thug bodies.
Arcus dusted off his maroon suit, then donned the worn cloak, covering all of his blonde hair and the bow on his back. After ensuring his disguise was perfect and the funds in his leather pouch were sufficient, he stepped out of the dark alley to navigate the streets of Wealden City.