Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 139
If she had been able to cure the red shakes or the wet wrack, thousands would have lived.
No, Kylie thought, pursing her lips. At least twenty thousand. Far more people than had ever lived in her barony. There was no doubt that she could have done the most good in the capital, but despite that, she had hid out in the country.
“Why?” she asked herself, blurry eyes fixing on the kettle atop her fire. “Why didn’t I go? It seemed so clear at the time. That I would be giving up some corner of my principles if I were to leave, but it all feels hazy now.”
The fire crackled in response. The sound was an accusation. Like the dancing flames were judging her for her cowardice.
“But I just wanted to stay free from the politics of the nobles and the church,” Kylie pled. “Out here, no one bothered me. I didn’t have to worry that I had been spotted talking to the wrong person or that a project interfered with someone’s profits. I could simply do good without the machinations and complications.”
The fire didn’t respond, but that didn’t make Kylie feel any better. For the first time in almost fifty years, she was filled with regret. Remorse over putting her comfort above the well-being of the people.
She was tired. After so many years of trying to do good in a corrupt world, Kylie was so tired. Nothing she did was enough. No many how many peasants she healed, there were others she couldn’t get to in time, and they suffered and died.
Her eyes closed. The only sound was the creaking of her rocking chair as she sat next to the fire.
It was too much for her. The pain of living. The weight of continuing on. Every morning, both of them increased. Not much, just a little bit each time until she was practically buried under the incredible burden of existence.
Maybe a nap would help. This wasn’t like her. Just a quick doze to calm herself after the brief bout of inward-facing terror.
Yes, that would be good. A short rest. There had been so much building up, Kylie could let herself slip away for a bit. Just this once.
The creaking of the chair stopped.
When the tea kettle whistled ten minutes later, there was no one there to respond.
TWENTY-NINE
THE WOMAN
Karin flinched as one of the wards on her anti-scrying bracelet flared to life. Temporal and soul magic. Rare magics on their own, but unheard of together.
She set down her pen, leaving the notebook where she had been performing calculations. Her ritual could wait. Right now, someone was trying to spy on her, and they were using methods rare enough that Karin wasn’t entirely sure that her defenses were up to the task of stopping them.
A short walk later and she was standing in front of a cabinet, a frown on her face while she tapped her chin thoughtfully with an index finger. Karin picked up a crystal sphere, contemplating it for a second before gently returning it to the small velvet pillow where it had been resting. Finally, she plucked a small wooden box from its perch.
Turning it over once, Karin ran her fingers over symbols carved into the container. Making up her mind, she opened the box and removed a squat candle about the size of her fist before walking back to the desk where she had been doing her work.
She touched her finger to the candle’s wick, and one of her many rings warmed slightly as her mana powered one of its enchantments. Karin might not have a fire affinity, but more than one of her… test subjects did. It took some work to deconstruct their abilities and translate their spells into enchantments, but now she was capable of casting a number of lower-level spells in every element. Given her current level and class, it was more a party trick than anything else, but it still served as a useful way to surprise an unwary opponent.
A moment later, the candle sprang to life, filling the room with a strange, almost ethereal light that dispelled all shadows. The flame was crystal clear, visible as a distortion in space but utterly translucent.
Ghostlight candles were expensive, but at the moment, price was the last concern on Karin’s mind.
The ghostlight would eliminate all darkness, physical and otherwise. If there were anyone in the room but herself, Karin would be able to find a trace of them. It might not be enough to stop her opponent from observing her, but it would be enough for her to target and engage them in a battle of wills.
Her face pulled itself into a tight cruel smile. Of course, who on Karell could best her in a battle of wills? Luxos himself feared her powers. Why else would the doddering old fool send an entire army to her doorstep?
The Chosen of every deity but Ankros and Mursa camped within a league of her tower held off by hundreds of daemons, bound spirits, and ensouled golems. Her divinations indicated that they would attack tomorrow morning. Karin wasn’t entirely sure that they were accurate, after all, time magic was the form of primal magic she had the least information on. Still, even if her auguries were incorrect, it was clear that her days were numbered.
Thousands of blessed, enough to conquer any kingdom in the world twice over, were building siege weaponry just outside the range of her spells. She could unleash her daemons on them, sending one of her prized luocas or a flock of brensens to disrupt their progress, but the Chosen of Luxos had a blessing that would let him call a ray of holy light down from the heavens that would sever her connection with the daemons. Unfortunately, that meant severing their connection with the bank of ritual batteries she kept in her fortress’ dungeon. If the daemons remained nearby, she could re-establish that connection, but if they were used in deep strikes, they would simply fade back into Elsewhere.
No. There was a reason why academics heralded Karin as the smartest woman in the world. She wasn’t delusional enough to believe that she would win a straight-up fight. She could make the battle cost the meddling churches dearly, but so long as her attackers didn’t retreat halfway through the battle, it was a doomed effort.
Even with the dozens of enchanted items Karin was using to increase her focus, there were only so many spirits, daemons and golems she could control at once. Between her summons and the magical traps lining the mountainside leading up to her fortress, she was stronger than any one kingdom inside her own territory. Unfortunately, she had miscalculated how much her activities had angered her neighbors and the gods.
That was why the ritual was important. Years of work and research were all going to be wasted with her death and reincarnation unless she could ascend. Karin had run the numbers hundreds of times. Her only other chance at survival was miniscule. She’d need to break through the enemy lines and teleport herself to safety, all while under heavy attack. Even if she succeeded, it would mean losing all of her research and facilities, a thoroughly unacceptable proposition.
Now, on the eve of the attack, someone was spying on her. There were only ten or so ritual casters on the entire continent capable of using soul magic, and the Church of Luxos had put six of them to death in the great purges that culminated in the campaign against her. The remaining four were cooperating with the church, but Marcos, Charlotte, Hassmen and Kalem didn’t have the ability to use time magic.
She glanced around her heavily warded office, a frown on her face as she looked for signs of intrusion in the strange illumination of the ghostlight. Nothing. Whoever was spying on her had significantly more training in ritual magic than her, something that should be impossible unless they were a god, or…
Karin froze. Slowly, she took a step away from her work table and returned to her cupboard. She shifted a couple of her heavily enchanted trinkets aside before finding a mirror made of silver.
The artifact didn’t have a frame, but that was part of the point. Karin sliced its razor-sharp edge along her arm, drawing a line of blood. Then, she flipped the mirror over, letting her blood drip onto a small ritual circle inscribed in the back of the item.
As soon as each drop hit the mirror, it disappeared, absorbed by the runes. After five or six seconds, Karin flipped the mirror over and stepped closer to the ghostlight candle.
Overlaid on her reflection was a man in his thirties. His hair, eyes and bone structure all looked like her, but there was no question. The person in the mirror was a stranger. Someone she had never seen before.
He winked at her.
Suddenly, a splitting headache knocked her back a step. The world around her blurred as a burning hot spike of pain erupted between her eyes. She dropped the mirror, barely noticing as it clattered against the stone floor.
Karin fell to her hands and knees, blood still flowing from the gash on her left arm as she heaved for breath. Reality seemed to spin around her, tossing and turning her body like a leaf in a monsoon.
Then, as soon as the pain arrived, it disappeared, leaving her heaving on the bloodstained stone.
“Karin Dakkora.”
The male voice was familiar. She felt like she’d heard it before, but she couldn’t place it. One thing was for sure, the speaker certainly wasn’t one of the remaining master ritualists. Whoever it was, they were a new player.
“Who are you?” she asked, smearing the blood on her arm and using a pulse of wood magic to heal the wound as she stood up. “More importantly, how were you able to convince my wards that you are me? That should be impossible. If I hadn’t made the truthseeker’s mirror in a fit of paranoia, I wouldn’t have been able to find you.”
The man was hovering in the center of the room, mostly translucent with the definition of his extremities fading to the point where she couldn’t make out any of the details of his arms or legs. The torso and head shrugged, smiling back at her.
“I’m you Karin, hundreds of years in the future, but I’m you.”
“Impossible,” she replied, shaking her head as she reached down and picked up the truthseeker’s mirror. “There’s no time magician that strong, and even if there was, you seem nothing like me. If we were the same person, I’d at least expect you to have better hair.”
“I think you were supposed to say ‘no offense’ before you insulted my hair,” the ghostly man said wryly. “It’s a little harsh to open a conversation with something like that.”
“I meant what I said,” Karin responded, crossing her arms in front of her. “Your hair is a disaster. I don’t know what basis you have for claiming that you are me, but even in the midst of a life or death battle, I wouldn’t let myself look like that. Seriously, what do you use as a shampoo? Rock salt?”
The man lifted a ghostly hand toward his face. She couldn’t see the end of his limbs, but the translucent “skin” of his temples moved of its own accord. Finally, he crossed his arms in front of himself and spoke up.
“I’ll be honest, this isn’t really how I expected things to go. The integration ritual was supposed to suppress my consciousness so that I could merge with my past lives, not open me up to their ridicule. Plus, it’s barely my fault. I live in the desert. It’s awful for my skin and hair.”
“Integration ritual.” Karin’s face darkened as mana began to crackle and flow through her body. “Do you mean that on the eve of my greatest battle, you’ve traveled back in time to consume me? I don’t think I’m terribly happy about that.”
The man chuckled, waving an ethereal hand dismissively in her direction. He didn’t make any move to attack her, so Karin didn’t respond with force. After all, she wasn’t entirely clear how she’d go about attacking him. Her brooch that let her access soul magic wasn’t even registering him as an entity. As far as she could tell, he was simply a projection incapable of interacting with its environment.
“That’s how I know we’re the same person,” he said, still smiling. “I had more or less the same interaction when you suggested the ritual to me. After all, for all my strengths, you are by far a better ritualist than me. Do you honestly think that I could have figured out how to do all of this without your help?
“Seriously,” he continued. “I’m still not entirely convinced that you didn’t bury something in the ritual in order to consume my soul to fuel your rise to power. You’ve developed a bit of a reputation over the years, Ms. Dakkora.”
“I don’t do souls,” Karin replied, glaring at the ghost suspiciously. “Death and life barely matter because the soul is eternal. In the face of the unending ocean of time, months of painful experimentation mean nothing compared to the information gained from it. Even if my ascension fails, the secrets that I’ve uncovered will help generations of researchers.”
“It will and they do,” the man responded, translucent face impassive. “Your works are blacklisted but pretty much every spellcaster has a copy. Many of the nobles aren’t a huge fan of ritual magic because it has the ability to empower folks with common blessings, but they still realize that ignoring the benefits of your work would be foolish. Daemon summoning isn’t terribly common due to its risks, but almost every summoner uses rituals based upon your work.”
A brief wave of pride filled Karin’s chest, only to melt into a frown.
“What do you mean my ascension will fail?” she asked. “I haven’t finished designing the ritual yet. Nothing is set in stone. Surely with you pointing out my failures, I can fix any last-minute problems with the runes.”
The man snorted, shaking his head.
“You think too highly of me, Ms. Dakkora. Once again, I have skills that you do not, but I’m no match for you when it comes to ritual magic. The only reason I know about your failure is that you were the one that told me. The ritual I’m using right now appears to take me to the date of death of each of my past lives so that I can integrate the essence of who they are into myself. If we’re meeting right now, I have bad news about how things are about to turn out.”
“Fuck.” She practically spat the word out. “If I’m doomed, can you at least tell me where I went wrong? If I die, I die, but I at least want to go out knowing where and how I failed.”
“Who said we failed?” he asked with a shrug. “As best I can understand, the ritual itself works fine, but the issue is with your soul. Check the runes again. It needs balance to work, and you are far from balanced.”
Karin’s eyes widened and she spun back to her worktable. She flipped back a dozen or so pages in her notebook and pressed her index finger to the tight, neat writing on the page as she frantically read through her calculations, lips moving silently and eyes growing wider as she progressed.
“No,” she whispered, voice haggard. “No, no, no. How could I have missed it? Stability is the most basic building block of the ritual. Without balance, I don’t have a foundation for the rest of the magic to work on.
“But how can this be?” Karin asked, eyes wild as she glanced up at the spirit. “I’m the strongest and most knowledgeable spellcaster to ever set foot on Karell. Even as you were warning me of my failure, you mentioned that my rituals are still used hundreds of years in the future. If anyone were to succeed, it should have been me.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand how this ritual works,” the man replied. “The gods have forced me to live four lives, and the spell has forced me to relive four of my past lives. In some, I was too naive and the truth of the world ate me alive. In others, I was too placid, letting the world pass me by until I faded away, unremarkable and unnoticed.
“And finally.” He pointed at her, a sour smile on his see-through face. “In some lives, I was too arrogant. I thought I was better than others, that I didn’t need human connections to ground me. I devoted myself to research and made breakthroughs that should have been impossible. I used them to defeat entire armies. Then, only when I was at the peak of my power, did I find out that I had overestimated myself.”
Karin’s heart fell, but her calculations didn’t lie. Stability of the soul was a hidden variable. Every other element of the ritual relied on it, but only in minute amounts. So small and immaterial that she thought she could ignore it, but upon a second look, that was clearly impossible.
“That life was you, by the way,” the man said helpfully.
She clenched her jaw, trying not to lash out at the figure - herself? Barred from the heavens by her very nature. Karin could almost hear that bitch Mursa laughing at her.
“I think I’m supposed to be the balance,” he continued, blithely unaware of how close he had come to a blast of uncontrolled mana and rage wiping his phantasm from existence. “I’m not as strong as you, but strength without moderation is a liability.”
The anger leaked out of her like water from a broken glass. It wouldn’t help anything, and she would literally be hurting herself. As much as she’d rather drink boiling tar, the man was right. It wasn’t her preparations or ritual that failed her, it was her very soul.
Karin Dakkora was imperfect. The flaws were small and easy to miss, but her spirit was like a bridge across a canyon. In ordinary times, no one would notice the errors and mistakes, but once she was under enough stress, they would compound and multiply until, eventually, she shattered and the pieces were cast down into the abyss.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her body shudder slightly as barely controlled anger at the giant cosmic joke warred inside her. Finally, when she re-opened them, Karin was calm. Focused. Injustice and fairness were traps. Words used by the weak to justify their refusal to move forward.
Dakkora was many things, but she wasn’t weak. If her ascension was destined for failure, so be it. She would find a way to bleed the church and try again. Today might be her last day on Karell, but she would make it one that people would remember for generations.
“You.” She jabbed a finger at the spirit. “If you’re me, what’s the plan? I doubt you’re here as the ghost of yule future to lecture me on morality. So, spit it out. How do we come back from this?”
“There we go,” he replied approvingly. “I hardly have the moral high ground to rant at you given the things both of us have done. As for what’s next?”
