Chapter 437: Chaos Magic
Wincenth’s metal fingers stilled against the worn wood of his desk. The candlelight caught the polished surface of his mechanical arm, casting thin, flickering reflections across his sharp features.
"I need to know his weakness."
Gill let out a long, slow breath. He adjusted his silver-framed glasses, the lenses catching the candlelight and glinting like chips of ice.
"I don’t know."
Wincenth’s eyes narrowed. His metal fingers began to drum again, slow and deliberate.
"Don’t tell me you don’t know. You’re the Archivist. You know everything."
"I know a lot of things. But I don’t know everything. And I certainly don’t know the weakness of a dragon I’ve only met once."
"Then what do you know?"
Gill was silent for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
"I know that every dragon has a vulnerability. It’s not always the same, but it’s always there. Some are weak to certain elements. Others have a blind spot in their defenses. And some..." He paused, his grey eyes meeting Wincenth’s cold gaze. "Some are vulnerable to chaos magic. It’s not a common weakness, and it’s not easy to exploit. But if you can hit a dragon with chaos magic, it can destabilize their core. Disrupt their connection to their own power."
Wincenth’s drumming fingers stilled. His voice carried a note of sharp interest.
"Chaos magic. That’s... specific."
Gill shrugged, the motion weary. "It’s also unconfirmed. I’ve only heard rumors, and rumors are cheap. Chaos magic is rare, difficult to control, and often as dangerous to the caster as it is to the target." He paused. "If you’re planning to use it against the dragon, you’d better be sure you know what you’re doing. Otherwise, you’ll just be handing him an easier victory."
Wincenth leaned back in his chair, his metal fingers steepling before him.
"Chaos magic....That’s useful information."
Gill’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
"Don’t do anything reckless, Wincenth. A dragon isn’t something you poke with a stick just to see what happens. If you go after him with chaos magic and fail, he won’t just kill you—he’ll make sure you suffer first."
"Then I’ll just have to make sure I don’t fail."
He rose from his chair, the motion fluid and deliberate. He crossed to the window, gazing out at the dim, winding streets of Myrta. The city was still recovering, but the cracks were still visible—scars that would take years to fully heal.
"You’ve given me a direction," Wincenth said, his voice carrying a note of quiet certainty. "That’s more than I had before. And for that, I’m grateful."
Gill shaking his head slowly.
"Grateful? That’s a new one. I didn’t think you had it in you."
Wincenth’s lips curved into a thin smile, though he didn’t turn from the window.
"Even I can be grateful when the situation calls for it. But don’t mistake gratitude for trust. I still don’t fully trust you, Archivist. And I suspect you feel the same way about me."
Gill’s smile was faint, wry, as he rose from his chair.
"Now you’re finally saying something that makes sense."
He moved toward the door, his footsteps light on the worn wooden floor.
Gill paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the frame. He glanced back, his eyes catching the candlelight behind his lenses.
"One more thing."
Wincenth turned, his mechanical fingers stilling.
"The dragon you’re hunting—he’s not just any dragon. He’s a monster. That means he’s not bound by the same rules as other dragons. He’s already walking a path that no one has walked before." A pause, his voice dropping lower. "If you try to exploit a weakness that doesn’t exist, you won’t just fail. You’ll give him a reason to destroy you completely."
Wincenth’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—a subtle tension, a flicker of calculation behind his cold eyes.
"I’ll keep that in mind."
Gill held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned and stepped through the doorway, his footsteps fading into the dim corridor beyond.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Wincenth alone in the candlelit room. His metal fingers resumed their slow, deliberate drumming against the window frame, his gaze fixed on the shadowed streets below.
"A monster huh," he murmured, almost to himself. "That does complicate things."
A faint, cold smile touched his lips.
"But it also makes things more interesting."
---------×---------
On the other side of Myrta, in the heart of what had once been the city’s administrative district, Selena’s office was a study in controlled chaos. Papers were stacked in neat but precarious piles across her desk, and the inkwell had been refilled twice since dawn.
Selena set down her quill with a soft sigh, flexing her fingers as she leaned back in her chair. The last document had been signed, sealed, and handed to her waiting subordinate—a young woman with sharp features, short-cropped dark hair, and the particular weariness of someone who had been running errands since sunrise.
"Finally finished, Lady Selena," she said, tucking the parchment into her satchel. Her voice carried a note of quiet relief.
Selena’s lips curved into a faint, tired smile. She reached for a cup of cold tea, took a sip, and set it back down with a soft clink.
"Work has a way of piling up. I’ve grown used to it." She paused, her amber eyes drifting to the window. "Speaking of which... how are our guests faring?"
The subordinate’s expression flickered—a brief hesitation before she answered.
"They seem to be... relaxing. Some of them have gone out. The rest are staying in their quarters."
Selena’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing through her amber eyes.
"All of them?"
Before the subordinate could respond, her body moved on instinct. Her hand shot up, and a heavy leather-bound book intercepted a throwing knife mid-flight. The blade embedded itself in the cover, the impact sending a dull thud echoing through the room.
The subordinate’s face went pale, her eyes darting toward the open window.
"Lady Selena—get down! We’re under attack!"
Selena didn’t hesitate. She dropped low, her hand already reaching for the small dagger she kept strapped to her thigh. Her amber eyes swept the room, tracking the shadows, the corners, the open window where the knife had come from.
The subordinate’s eyes narrowed, her senses extending outward like invisible threads. A faint pulse of mana rippled from her form as she scanned the area beyond the walls. Her breath caught, and her voice came out tight, edged with disbelief.
"There are three—no... twelve?!"
Her hand tightened around the leather-bound book still embedded with the throwing knife. Her sharp features twisted with alarm as she realized the sheer number of presences closing in.
From the windows, from the doorways, from the shadows themselves, figures began to emerge. Dark-clad, masked, their movements synchronized and deliberate. They spread across the room in a loose semicircle, weapons already drawn, their intent unmistakable.
Selena’s amber eyes swept over them with calm, almost amused detachment. She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"My, my. So many guests. It’s almost as if you’re throwing a party in my honor."
The assassins didn’t respond. They simply advanced, their footsteps silent against the stone floor.
The subordinate moved before they could strike. Her hands wove through the air, and a burst of radiant light erupted from her palms—a flare of golden energy that shot through the window and into the sky, a signal meant for the other guards stationed throughout the building.
"Lady Selena, stay behind me!" she shouted, already stepping forward to intercept the first wave.
The assassins descended. The subordinate’s sword met the first strike, deflected the second, and drove a third attacker back with a well-placed kick. But there were too many. A blade slipped past her guard, carving a shallow line across her arm. Another struck her side, drawing blood. She stumbled, but didn’t fall, her teeth clenched against the pain.
Selena’s hand tightened around her dagger, her eyes tracking the fight. She had faced danger before—had seen the worst this city could offer. But the sheer number of attackers, the precision of their movements, it was unlike anything she had faced in her rise to power.
A blade swung toward her throat.
Selena saw it coming, but her body was too slow to move.
Then a hand caught the blade.
Alice’s fingers closed around the edge of the sword.
"Sorry, but I’m not done interrogating your boss yet. So you’ll have to find somewhere else to cause trouble."
Selena’s eyes widened as she stared at the hand that had caught the blade. For a moment, her composure cracked, genuine surprise flickering across her features.
"I... didn’t expect you to save me."
"Don’t misunderstand. I’m only helping because you’re still useful. And Adam would be annoyed if I let you die." She tilted her head, a faint, dangerous smile curving her lips. "He’s already scolded me once today. I don’t feel like hearing it again."
She twisted her wrist, and the blade snapped cleanly in two. The assassin stumbled back, weaponless, his eyes wide with disbelief.
The subordinate, bleeding from a wound on her side, straightened with a sharp hiss.
"Lady Selena—this isn’t just a random attack. They’re organized. They’re trying to take control of the city."
Alice’s ear twitched, her tail swaying lazily behind her.
"Then it’s a good thing I’m here." She cracked her knuckles, a flicker of dark amusement passing through her eyes. "I’ve been looking for an excuse to stretch my legs."
Selena’s lips curved into a faint, wry smile, her composure slowly returning.
"I suppose I should be grateful you found one."
The assassins regrouped, their formation tightening. The one who had lost his blade reached for a second weapon, his eyes fixed on Alice with renewed wariness.
Alice’s gaze swept over them, unimpressed.
"Alright. Who’s first?"