Chapter 73 Collaboration

73 Collaboration

Then Opal said, "Remember our purpose here, Boss?"

"Curse you."

"Boss—"

"No, you're right. I have a mission to accomplish."

"But how—"

"I understand the method." There was a small mound, just a bump in the terrain, ahead of me—down one slope and up another. "I just need to traverse that hill, identify their command center guarded by the fiercest fighters I've ever encountered and an overwhelming amount of magic you'd typically find in Pardus Mountain. Then, I need to complete my initial mission. Piece of cake."

"I realize that. I meant the method. Too bad we don't know any invisibility spells that can hold."

"Too bad I'm not Thorne."

Suddenly, someone stumbled before me. An adversary. We locked eyes. He'd lost his shield, but still grasped a broken spear. I don't believe he targeted me, the momentum of the battle merely placed him there. Ideally, we would both prefer to retreat, but obviously, we couldn't rely on each other's rationality. He lunged his remaining spear at me. I moved in, deflected his weapon with my sword, and struck his neck. He fell, and I proceeded. I'm uncertain if I killed him. I hope I didn't.

I glanced around. Given the circumstances, I was as alone as possible.

I began my descent down the hill at a brisk pace.

"Keep up the speed, Boss."

"Just be quiet."

* * * Where was I? Oh Yes, Back to my office. Let's continue on how I ended up in this godforsaken war. My mind drifted to the comfort of my office. How delightful it would be to be seated there. I recall—now, I didn't consider it then—how Thorne left me alone in the office to ponder the idea of collaborating with Drevolan's army as a spy or saboteur; I couldn't quite fathom the concept, but at that moment, my rage didn't allow me to care. I needed time to process everything, so I shouted that I didn't want any disturbances for a while. Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

"Alright, Boss!" hollered Piers. "If someone wants to come in and slay you, I'll tell them to wait, okay?"

"Yes," I yelled back. "Except for Dragons. Any Dragons who want to kill me are welcome."

I shut my eyes and pictured Drevolan. I visualized him as tall, slender, slightly tanned, with a faint hook in his nose, eyes intense and somewhat close-set, a forehead tilted a bit, and I conjured his voice, a velvety baritone, rich and pronouncing words with a feigned sophistication.

"Who's there?"

"It's Viktor."

"Yes, go on."

"Here it is."

Alright, I was familiar with this process; I had even performed it once or twice before.

I tried to let go of the usual constraints we maintain on our thoughts. In my mind, I composed an image—I always envisage massive ornate gold frames—and then imagined the space within as pitch black. I held it and maneuvered it until it was mentally directed outwards, facing the supposed direction of my psychic connection with Drevolan. Gradually, the image was filled with color I didn't inject, and details materialized, until, in just a minute or two, I was envisioning a location: the base of what seemed like a cliff, a tiny stream in front of it, a few evergreens in close proximity. The height of the cliff was unclear from Drevolan's depiction, but it appeared significant, and I certainly had no inclination to try climbing it: It seemed completely vertical, grey, and, if I may say, foreboding. The ground was rocky and brown, with a handful of sparse blades of grass sprouting here and there; the stream was barely a dribble of water.

I focused; as I'd informed Drevolan, I wasn't particularly skilled at capturing locations for teleportation, but eventually, I felt fairly confident that I wouldn't inadvertently transport myself to the middle of the sea or forty feet underground. I said, "Received it."

"The seventh hour."

"Why there?"

"There will be an occurrence you might find interesting."

I contemplated questioning him further but concluded it would be futile. "I'll be there," I assured him.

"What do you think that was about, Boss?"

"I suppose I'll see soon enough."

"Do you believe in him?"

"To some extent. I don't think he's out to harm me."

"That's reassuring. So, we're safe, right?"

I tidied a few things in my workspace, then went to my makeshift "workroom" to conduct a straightforward healing ritual for my wound—a gentle nudge to the hurt area, encouraging it to mend. I always get famished after such rituals, a sign it was effective. To satiate my hunger, I popped over to the Garden Bistro and devoured a hearty serving of egg noodles with squid and leeks. Later, I visited Turningham's bookstore, picked up a Munnis romance novel I hadn't read, skimmed the first page, and decided to save it for later.

Soon enough, my hunger pangs returned, accompanied by an itch at the healing site—more evidence that my magic was taking effect. It never ceases to amaze me how these rituals work. Even after casting similar ones dozens of times, there's always a hint of astonishment when I witness its success. It feels like I'm tricking the natural order of things.

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We need golden tickets and power stones to help the book get more exposure.

If we reach 1500 power stones, I will release two supplementary chapters.

If we reach 100 golden tickets, I will release five supplementary chapters.