544 Hero Summoning

Tycon grimaced... "You told me you can't resurrect worshippers of the Eternal Flame."

"Special circumstances," The woman pressed her finger against Tycon's cheek, turning him away. "And that person was trapped in the City of Iron."

"Very well..." Tycon rolled his eyes. 

Natalya was referring to one of the seven hells... It made sense, but he remained unhappy about it. 

Crossing his arms, Tycon watched the happenings on-stage. There were a number of Metal-Ranked Priestesses and Acolytes assisting the High Oracle with preparations. It was the largest collection of Iron-Rank casters he'd ever seen... and there were even two Gold-Ranks. 

There was a section of musical instruments and what appeared to be a full orchestra... and their conductor was even an Iron-Rank Pianist. They were setting up in a curved corner of the room, designed to naturally project sound. 

Since Natalya was being an inadequate source of information, Tycon turned his attention to the whisperings of the crowd. After several minutes, he identified the most trending topic. 

An extraordinarily handsome, unknown Decanus was sitting beside Archbishop Natalya Crucis. 

Tycon leaned over, cupping his hand over his female companion's ear... 

"Natalya~" He whispered. 

She sat up as if jolted by electricity, before turning towards him with a furious expression, "W-what is it?" 

He blew softly onto Natalya's neck, "Do you not often speak so intimately to male members of your Church?"

Natalya's eye twitched with annoyance, "By the Flame, no! I would never be so unprofessional."

"Well..." Tycon's lips curved upward into a sly smile, "Are you aware of the implications of acting so close with me?"

Natalya's eyes lit up with realization... then anger. She grabbed the edges of her chair and hopped a few ilms away... 

"Y-you'll pay for this, Decanus," She growled. 

Tycon chuckled to himself, basking in his social dominance. 

The Archbishop couldn't touch him, so long as he remained favored by the Holy Country's High Oracle. 

...

Troia took the stage, dressed in light makeup, colorful ribbons in her hair, and a flowing 'ceremonial' half-robe. 

Her attire was aesthetically pleasing, accentuating the young Oracle's age and femininity, while still being conservative. 

Tycon thought it was... nice. 

If he had to venture a guess, the outfit was designed by a... teenage girl. If Troia did so herself, she was very talented. 

If participation was part of the ritual, he would clap just as hard as everyone present. He very much wanted to survive. 

One of the Gold-Rank Priestesses announced the ritual name... 'Head in the Clouds.'

That... didn't sound like the name of a ritual. It sounded more like the name of a bardic song. 

Ritual casters were an odd bunch. Perhaps they were the Holy Country's version of 'Mad Wizards' from other nations. 

Then the music began. 

On stage, Troia and her entourage began... dance. 

Tycon was impressed... "This is... actually very nice." 

"See?" Natalya sneered, "Now you understand."

The choreography was excellent. The High Oracle and her Priestesses were very well in sync... actively moving and moderately acrobatic. If he and Sol Invictus were to emulate their physically demanding movements, it would take several bells of practice and would be greatly fatiguing. 

The High Oracle began to sing, as well. Her voice sounded like the ringing of a glass bell, just as he expected. She sang in Celestial, the language of angels and gods. He had his System translate the lyrics' meaning, but it was mostly nonsense. 

They... also sounded like they were written by a teenage girl. 

Radiant mana flowed throughout the room, swelling as the performance continued. Bursts of light, as if from fireworks sparkled in the air above them. Troia was glowing-- literally... and upon the ritual's conclusion, she bowed deeply, eliciting cheers and a round of deafening applause. 

Tycon clapped just as loud. He couldn't shake the fear that his life depended on it. 

The Fourth Circle ritual required incredibly exact coordination of physical and magical skill... and it was performed to perfection. 

The melody was... simple, yet aesthetically pleasing. Whoever had arranged the score masterfully expressed the minutiae in the various instruments-- playful and courageous, soft and melancholic at times. The band was a perfect accompaniment to Troia's performance. 

...Tycon expected the tune to haunt him for the next several suns, if not longer. 

The collective crowd gasped as a glowing sphere of light began to descend from the ceiling. 

Tycon had never bore witness to the summoning of a Hero... the powerful, confident, and somewhat... gentle mana swirling in the air undoubtedly belonged to one. 

At first, the light was no larger than the size of a fist... then grew as large as a person... then as the magical haze lifted, that person's features grew clear. 

One of the Gold-Rank Priestesses on the stage announced the obvious result, "High Oracle Troia has successfully summoned the Hero!" 

Tycon narrowed his eyes... and let out a deep sigh. 

"Why did you stop clapping?" Natalya scowled. "Are you not entertained?"

Tycon shook his head, "Ah... it's of no consequence."

That person's armor... was majestic and glowing white. 

Long, sandy blonde hair rested upon the frame of a handsome, young male. 

In his hands, he wielded a powerful, enchanted... crimson... spear. 

"Your face is really pissing me off, Tycondrius," The woman glared. 

...How was that his problem? 

He grimaced, "This is the way I look, Natalya."

"The High Oracle is summoning a hero to help YOU on YOUR quest," She growled, emphatically pointing up at the levitating Hero. "You should be a LITTLE more thankful, don't you think?! Especially if you're to convince him to help you!"

"My quest is honorable and righteous," Tycon groaned as he glanced up again... "Your 'Hero' will surely assist me in my cause."

⟬ Pale, Gold-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ⟭