Chapter 355

Nick’s first instinct when the voice spoke was to slam the metaphorical door in its face as hard as possible.Spiritual mana burst out from within him, flooding the soulspace like a tide. Translated into subjective visuals, it appeared as pale red waves rolling across a dark lake, spreading from his position toward where Calder’s presence was gathering.

He encased that area in a loose shell of energy, reinforcing it with enough mana to contain multiple times the presence’s power.

Killing it instantly probably would have been smarter, but he could use it as a backdoor to get clearer memories than the jumble he was sure to get if he simply dove into the soul headfirst.

“Trying to throw me out would be pointless,” he tried to reason. “And trying to escape would be worse, given that it would tear you apart.”

Calder chuckled.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. Gradually, the merging fragment of soul took shape as a silhouette carved from light. Missing chunks were evident enough to show that this wasn’t the mage’s complete personality, but it also had enough definition to make Nick cautious.

“There’s no need for that, boy,” Calder said. “I’m not going anywhere. You tore my channels apart and ripped my mind to shreds. My options are very limited at this time, if there are any at all.”

Nick didn’t ease up on the bindings, but he did stop attempting to crush the presence.

“You’re still talking, which means you’re still dangerous,” he said. “Souls can still do a lot even when the body is destroyed.”

He knew that well, as vengeful spirits were often born from such situations, and he didn’t want to have one chasing after him, especially not in a place like a dungeon.

“That is true,” Calder admitted wryly. “But in my situation, you’re inside a soul that’s actively collapsing. If I tried to throw you out, I’d only speed up my own downfall, and I’m not so eager to die that I’ll waste the little time I have on spite.”

Nick frowned, studying him. Calder’s soul was broken beyond repair, but that odd solidity still persisted, providing enough strength for it to manifest despite the damage. At the center of the silhouette, only visible thanks to ’s high level of detail, something flickered.

“What is that?” he asked.

Calder’s amusement deepened. “Ah, so you haven’t reached that stage yet. I was wondering,” he said with a nod. “You’re seeing crystallization, or the start of it at least. The closer someone gets to level one hundred, the more their soul solidifies. That makes advancing in level harder, but it also brings you closer to what’s beyond.”

“Prestige,” Nick said quietly. He had noticed that his leveling speed had slowed significantly, but he had assumed it was just due to higher requirements. To think it was at least partly because his own soul was beginning to change.

“Yes,” Calder said. “The threshold everyone aims to cross. At some point, between ninety and the triple digits, the soul takes on a stable form, condensing around whatever passes for your True Will.”

Nick twitched. The True Will wasn't a term he’d encountered in this life, but he remembered his Earth grandfather discussing the Great Work and the creation of a perfected body of light. It was difficult not to see the parallels.

“And once it fully crystallizes,” Nick said slowly, “you have the solidity necessary to reject reality within the soul, becoming immortal.”

“Something like that,” Calder said, sounding close to shrugging. “I don’t know the exact mechanics, but yes, when crystallization is complete, you have the potential to go beyond mortality. To change your relationship with mana and the world.”

Nick looked at the partially formed crystal core. It was beautiful in its own way: many-faceted, catching the faint light of the soulspace, and radiating a sense of completeness that made him suspect a curse like lycanthropy wouldn’t be able to penetrate it.

“You’re level eighty-one, right?” Nick asked.

“Was,” Calder corrected. “I suspect that number no longer applies."

“So still not close to finished,” Nick said. “But you must be halfway through the change? A third?”

“Closer to a third,” Calder admitted. “Not everyone crystallizes at the same pace. Talent, compatibility with one’s path, blessings from higher beings… it all plays a role. I pushed mine in the last decade, but I was never on track to reach Prestige anytime soon. Not without something drastic changing about my risk-taking, or help from a greater being.”

There was something interesting there, but Nick set it aside for now, more focused on the metaphysical mechanics.

He shifted his focus outward, noticing how the foggy parts of the soul frayed at the edges and pieces drifted loose and dissolved into the background. He didn’t have much time.

“Is it similar to monster cores?” he asked. “In concept?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“It’s the same principle,” Calder replied. “With a different execution. Monsters use mana instinctively, and their souls condense around their instincts early, forming cores as soon as they hit certain thresholds. It’s why an old troll’s core is a proper crystal while most human souls are still pure energy at the same level.”

He snorted. “But sapients get the better deal in the long run. We spend most of our lives learning to wield power rather than just gorging on it, and when crystallization begins, if we’ve done our homework, the resulting core is much more versatile, and we only have to care about surviving whatever test the System sends our way. Monsters have a much rockier road, since they first need to understand themselves.”

That explained a lot, though he still wondered why it wasn’t taught in the same way at the Tower or why Arthur hadn’t brought it up.

It was valuable information nonetheless, but the conversation’s civility irritated Nick, so he crossed his arms. “I don’t understand you.”

“How flattering, coming from such a smart young man,” Calder said dryly. “You’ll have to narrow that down. I am a man of many talents.”

“You tried to get us killed,” Nick said. “You were collaborating with a house that uses dwarven mind-collars on beastmen, and you were about to throw a befuddlement field on your own party and us, in the middle of a dungeon, under a feral god’s domain. And yet here you are, chatting pleasantly about soul theory. I would’ve enjoyed this talk, outside of all that, but it makes no sense in context.”

Calder went quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was more subdued. “You really don’t understand the kind of danger you’ve walked into.”

“The dungeon?” Nick asked. “So far, we’ve been handling that just fine.”

“I’m not talking about your small skirmishes with goblins and werewolves,” Calder said impatiently. “I’m talking about the shadow war above. The one between your patron and mine.”

Nick’s gut clenched. “My patron?”

Calder chuckled, low and hoarse. “Did you really think an archmage of Alluria could step foot in the Sunlands without every power worth their name taking notice?” He shook his hazy head. “Word of the Divine Artificer’s presence spread the moment he made contact with the local nobles, boy. The Hones aren’t blind, especially not in their backyard.”

Nick swallowed. Tholm had been careful, and he knew for a fact that no apprentice had spoken his name carelessly. Apparently, it hadn’t been enough.

“How much do you know?” He asked sharply.

“Less than I’d like, but definitely more than you’re comfortable with,” Calder said. “That’s the nature of being a parasite like me.” His tone turned bitter, but it also carried a sense of defeat, as if this was just a simple fact of life. “When giants move, creatures like me cling to their shadows and follow orders. I don’t set the agenda. I don’t need to know the whole game. I just need to know where to attack to make myself useful.”

“And your orders were to eliminate us, so you followed them,” Nick said.

“Not necessarily you, but anyone who might have been part of Tholm’s faction,” Calder corrected. “And I have to say, it’s not often that you see so many young mages in a suspiciously well-balanced party, with powerful spells and rare artifacts, shepherded into the same sector of a nascent dungeon he’s sniffing around.” He laughed, but it was a tired sound. “It doesn’t take a genius.”

Nick bristled. “You could have tried to talk with us, to reach an agreement. Tholm isn’t some bloodthirsty tyrant. If you’d told him you had information on the Hones—”

“You’re naive,” Calder cut in. “Traitors are assets, not allies. A man who turns on his masters once can do it again. At best, you get used and discarded; at worst, you become a convenient scapegoat and nothing more. Your Archmage would not have accepted me.”

His gaze turned inward, as if he was looking past Nick. “House Hone also made a very good offer for my service. One that wasn’t contingent on me surviving.”

Nick’s brows furrowed, but it didn’t take him long to understand. “Your family.”

Calder’s laugh was devoid of humor. “I have two sons and a daughter in the lowlands, each with their own children. A wife who tolerated fifty years of my constant absence. The Hones signed a magical contract that if I provided specific services, they would ensure my family was settled with land, protection, and a stipend. Perhaps even a chance at Prestige before it’s too late.”

“And you believed them,” Nick said flatly. If it were that easy to push someone into Prestige, Duke Alluria would have had dozens of Prestige warriors at his command, not all the level ninety-nine ones.

“What choice did I have?” Calder asked. “That is worth more than vague potential mercy from a distant archmage who may not even care to follow through once I did my part.”

Nick hesitated. He wanted to argue, to say that Tholm wouldn’t abandon useful people, but he knew better. The Tower was ruthless in its politics, and Tholm had held a top position there for many, many years. He wasn’t just a kind old man, no matter what he looked like.

“So you decided we were acceptable collateral,” he said quietly.

Calder twitched. “I’m not proud of it,” he said. “But if killing a few more bright-eyed prodigies buys my grandchildren a safer life, I’d do it a hundred times over.” He met Nick’s gaze. “You can judge me for that when you’re my age and have something to lose besides your own skin.”

Nick’s jaw clenched. “I’ve had plenty to lose already,” he said. “You’re not the only one who’s had to make hard choices.”

“Then you should understand,” Calder said. There was no triumph in his tone, just weary resignation. “You can’t save everyone. You picked your side. I picked mine.”

The soulspace trembled.

Cracks spread outward from the half-formed crystal, initially thin before widening as fragments of light sheared off and spun away, dissolving into pointless glitter. The fog surrounding it shuddered, warping with memories and impressions.

Nick could feel time running out.

“You mentioned ‘services.’ What exactly were you told to do? Beyond killing us.” Nick asked.

Calder chuckled, and this time it sounded almost fond. “Keeping your eyes on the prize, eh?”

He closed his eyes.

“I wasn’t fully briefed on the entire plan,” he said. “I was only told to monitor and eliminate any Tower-affiliated groups, and to use deniable assets to do so."

“Clearly,” Nick muttered.

“And lastly,” Calder continued, as the cracks widened, “to make sure that the Well at the dungeon’s heart does not fall into Tholm’s hands until it is ready.”

Nick’s attention sharpened. “What Well?”

He tried to push and ask what the Well did, how it interacted with the domain, and where exactly it was, but the soulspace lurched.

Calder’s silhouette shattered as chunks broke away, and his voice got distorted. “You can dig through the debris for that,” he said. “But you won’t like what you find, boy. This isn’t your story, not yet. You’re a footnote on the margins of the archmages’ war.”

Nick bared his teeth. “We’ll see.”

He clenched his grip on the spiritual shell and, with a thought, dismissed the cohesive fragment. The man’s presence dispersed like ash on the wind, leaving behind raw soulstuff and tangled memories.

Nick dove in.

A dim tavern appeared around him, deep in a Sunlands town where mercenaries gathered. Calder sat in a shadowed corner, speaking to a man whose face was a blank spot where some spell had erased identifying details. On the table between them was a crate stamped with a stylized hammer sigil Nick recognized as dwarven, and inside were neat rows of black metal collars, each humming with psychic malice.

The next room was different, bright, and decorated with noble banners. A woman with red eyes and a bored look handed Calder a sealed letter, pressed with an unfamiliar crest. “You will find your compensation outlined,” she said. “Your family’s papers are already being processed.”

A sunlit yard where children laughed, and Calder watching from the gate with a gentle expression.

Then came the dungeon.

It was a canyon much deeper than those they had walked through, and kept descending far below what he had expected. In the center was a circular depression, about fifty yards across. At first, it looked like stone, but as Calder watched from above, not daring to get too close, the floor shifted, transforming into a mirror of swirling darkness streaked with veins of pale light.

Mana poured out in slow spirals, thick as blood, saturating the air to overwhelming levels. At its edge stood a figure, too far to see clearly, but their aura shone like a blazing sun compared to Calder’s flickering candle.

Something lurked around it, hidden in the darkness.

The images shattered further, dissolving into blurry colors and fractured echoes of Calder purchasing supplies, signing documents, and plotting routes on a map for old missions. Nick caught glimpses of other names, mostly mercenaries, but nothing that solidified into something actionable.

The soulspace buckled as the cracks in reality expanded, and for a disorienting moment, Nick felt the pull of dissolution.

It was time to go.