Chapter 431

Descending through the lower half of the Tower was almost too anticlimactic after the frantic climb Nick had just gone through.Xander had been quick to reassure them that things were under control on the lower floors, as the Duke’s knights had performed sweeps there while he personally led the way, and Tholm respected the Grandmaster enough to take him at his word, meaning they got to bypass the stairs and took the elevator.

Standing in the spacious cabin, Nick surreptitiously leaned against the wall as he watched the floor indicators tick downward. Beside him, Xander methodically cleaned his gauntlets of the demon blood they had been stained with as he purged the lower floors, while Tholm stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression as unmoving as old granite.

"We arrived shortly after the wards turned blue and managed to get in with the Duke," Xander explained. "The Knight Commander is a very thorough man, and I expect the Tower to be deemed clean before dawn. Until then, try not to make too much noise, though. Duke Anton was very clear that he wants no further surprises.”

"A necessary precaution," Tholm rumbled, though he didn’t seem particularly pleased by the admission. "The Tower's internal security was compromised by one of its own. The Duke is asserting the Crown's authority to make sure no traitors slip out amid the chaos.”

That last part was said with a glance at Nick, who nodded to show he understood.

"He also confined the clergy to the lobby, "Xander added. "Bishop Umlaut and the Tidemaster brought hundreds of priests, and once the doors opened, they wanted to march up and begin purging the floors themselves. The Knight Commander ordered his men to hold them back, allowing only secular forces and Tower faculty to go above the ground floor.”

That was more than Nick expected, to be honest. He’d thought that getting the priests to help would require concessions, but it seemed like the Duke really didn’t want to upset the balance of power in the city any more than it already was.

With a low chuckle, he shook his head. "The priests must have been thrilled about that.”

"They are predictably annoyed," Xander agreed dryly. "But they are making themselves useful and have turned the lobby into a triage center. The casualties are significant, Nick. Hone’s forces struck the dormitories and the lower archives simultaneously before the lockdown even engaged. Many of the junior apprentices and off-duty faculty were caught entirely off guard.”

The elevator hummed as it approached the ground floor, and Nick prepared himself.

He had seen the scattered bodies in the sub-levels, but those were veteran mages and researchers fighting on the front lines. The lower floors were where the non-combatants and younger students had gathered, and while he didn’t expect any Lesser Demon to have spawned there, even just roaming packs of demonic beasts would be enough to overpower most average students.

The doors slid open with a soft chime as they reached the ground floor, revealing a grim sight.

Rows of makeshift cots were arranged across the marble floor as hundreds of people moved through the space, making the whole place feel even more chaotic.

Nick’s attention was briefly drawn to the heavily armored knights who stood at attention near every exit and stairwell with their weapons drawn, serving as an unyielding barrier between the upper floors and the crowd below.

He had to wonder how they would face demons, since he doubted they had been trained to fight such enemies, but maybe he was being unfair.

It would still hinder any skill use, but that was less debilitating than it would be for a mage.

On the right side of the lobby, the triage center was in full operation. The priests’ frustration showed in their stiff posture and curt tones, but they kept working tirelessly.

Clerics in the crimson robes of Sashara moved from cot to cot, using bursts of holy fire to cauterize deep cuts and burn away the lingering demonic taint left by abyssal claws. Beside them, the blue-robed priests of Ulter channeled cool streams of water magic, soothing severe burns and mending shattered bones with great skill.

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“Be sure to let the healers check on you, Nicholas,” Tholm said as they stepped out of the elevator bay.

Nick gave a distracted nod, moving slowly through the crowd of injured mages and rushing medics as he searched for his friends, while Tholm broke away almost immediately, striding toward the center of the room where Duke Anton was engaged in a tense conversation with several senior faculty members.

Xander gave Nick a quick nod before heading out to check on the returning knights who had joined the fight, who let him through respectfully.

All of a sudden, Nick felt a prick at the base of his neck. It was the instinctive warning he’d come to associate with being watched by a powerful entity, so he stopped and turned his head.

A dozen yards away, the Tidemaster of Ulter stood over a badly wounded knight. His hands glowed with a pale blue light as he cleansed the man’s wounds of dirt, but his eyes remained fixed directly on Nick.

His gaze was heavy, cold, and completely lacked the charitable warmth expected of a holy man. He didn't look away when Nick met his eyes; instead, the priest’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of deep suspicion crossing his face.

Nick kept his expression carefully blank as he inclined his head in greeting, but internally, he was sweating. During the ritual in the plaza, he had forcefully drawn on the divine magic of both faiths, acting as a conduit to break through the wards and exposing his unique mana signature to the city's highest-ranking religious figures.

The Tidemaster was an incredibly powerful sensitive and had undoubtedly recognized the anomalous resonance of the , the exact same magic that had systematically dismantled his grand Blessing.

The priest held the stare for another long second before turning his attention back to the knight on the cot.

, Nick realized, feeling a dull ache throbbing behind his temples.

“Nick!”

The shout disrupted his train of thought, and Nick turned to see Devon pushing through a crowd of apprentices. His older brother was covered in a layer of grey stone dust, with his armor dented and scored, but he was moving without a hitch, and his signature remained clear of taint.

Devon didn't stop to ask about his condition, choosing instead to close the last few steps and pull him into a tight embrace.

Nick winced, his bruised ribs protesting the sudden pressure, but he returned the hug with his one good arm, resting his head against Devon's pauldron.

“You crazy bastard," Devon said, pulling back and gripping his shoulders. He looked over Nick's ruined, blood-stained robes, taking in the scorched fabric across his chest and the sheer exhaustion etched into his face. “Master said you were the one who cleared the wards.”

Uncomfortable discussing such a subject openly, Nick shrugged. “I did what had to be done.”

Devon’s eyes lit up with a glint he recognized from their mother, and Nick knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid providing details later, but for now, that seemed to be enough.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Devon breathed. “I heard there was a massive battle going on upstairs, and since you came through with Tholm…”

“Yeah, Hone is down,” Nick confirmed. Again, he didn’t want to speak more on the subject before having some time to think about how much he should say, so he looked past his brother, scanning the rows of cots. "Where are the others? Xander said they made it down.”

Usually, he would have found them on his own using , but his soul was bruised and battered. Any magic more advanced than simple elemental manipulation would have to wait until he was fully healed.

"Over here," Devon said, gesturing for Nick to follow him toward a cluster of overturned marble benches near the eastern wall.

As they approached, Nick saw Eona and Bellamy sitting heavily on the stone. Bellamy was staring blankly at his hands, his knuckles raw and bleeding from channeling too much earth magic without a focus, while Eona was leaning against him with her eyes closed.

Tim was slumped on the floor nearby, leaning against the wall, fast asleep despite the noise from the triage center.

“I heard from the knights that found them that they put up a great fight,” Devon explained, steering him away before he could approach.

Nick tried to resist, but went along when he saw where his brother was headed.

Past the benches, lying on a pair of cots tucked against the wall, were his fellow apprentices.

Raphael was lying on his back, his chest tightly wrapped in thick, rune-inscribed bandages. He was pale, sweating profusely, and shivering despite the heavy wool blanket over him. On the nearby cot, Willow sat upright, her left arm in a specialized alchemical cast that faintly glowed with green. Her face was smudged with soot, and she looked up at their approach with tired eyes.

"Nick," she croaked, trying to offer a small smile.

"What happened? I thought things were under control when I left you,” he asked, kneeling beside her cot.

"We were forced out of the archives," Willow explained, her voice trembling slightly. "A pack of flying demons broke through the ventilation shafts, and we had to force our way past their encirclement to get to the emergency stairs. Raphael was hit directly with acid spit while shielding Lina and Malik with a barrier. I was caught by the spatial distortion while trying to pull him out.”

"The healers said they’ll make a full recovery," Devon interjected, placing a reassuring hand on Nick's shoulder. "The acid burned deep, but the priests of Ulter managed to flush the taint from his system before it reached his organs. Willow’s arm has some minor nerve damage, but the alchemists are already repairing the pathways. They just need rest.”

Nick nodded slowly, relief washing over him. He reached out and gently squeezed his friend’s good hand. "You did well.”

Willow swallowed hard and nodded, leaning back against the pillows, clearly too exhausted for any more conversation.

Nick stood up, sweeping the rest of the lobby. He saw Malik and Lina huddled near the food rations station, looking rattled but unharmed. However, there was a noticeable absence among the familiar faces of their group.

"Where is Osmod?" Nick asked, turning to Devon.

His expression tightened, and he looked away, his jaw clenched. "He's over by the southern archway. But... It's bad.”

A cold weight settled into Nick's stomach. He left Devon with the apprentices and crossed the crowded floor, weaving through the maze of cots until he reached the southern alcove.

The area was quiet, separate from the frantic energy of the main triage center.

Osmod was kneeling on the marble floor. Usually so carefully composed, he now looked utterly shattered, his robes torn and soaked in black demon blood. He didn't seem to have any serious injuries, but he wasn't moving at all, staring blankly at the cot in front of him. Lying on the cot was a body covered by a pristine white sheet.

One arm hung limply off the side of the mattress, the skin pale and cold. On the fourth finger of the lifeless hand rested a delicate silver engagement ring set with a small emerald.