Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 20
Trevor grasped Micah’s shoulders, pushing him back a step so he could look him up and down. Micah noticed the shine of unshed tears in his brother’s eyes.
“You don’t know what the past year has been like, Micah.” Trevor’s smile only wavered slightly. “You didn’t get to come home from the Golden Drakes, so we never really got a chance to catch up, but I’ve been so proud of you. Plus, the minute they announced you were being transferred to the Royal Academy… Well.” Trevor smiled sheepishly, wiping away the moisture pooling around his eyes. “I just couldn’t shut up about you. I think I told everyone at the Lancers about ‘my younger brother, the Royal Knight candidate’ at least twenty times.”
“It’s good to see you too.” Micah smiled back, trying his hardest to make the most of the moment with his family. “They’ve been working me so hard that I haven’t had a chance to come home and visit. It’ll be nice to have you all close at hand.”
Trevor shooed Esther away before leaning in close. “What about your boss, that Brenden guy?” Trevor whispered to him conspiratorially. “He’s pretty cute in an overly authoritative sort of way.”
“What?” Micah sputtered. “By the Sixteen, no. Never. Gods above, I thought you liked girls.”
“I do like girls” —Trevor winked at him—“but that doesn’t mean I can’t like boys too. I never really spoke up about it back in Basil’s Cove. It’s a smaller city and they frown on alternative lifestyles there. You saw how the housewives treated Mom. Can you think of what they’d do if either of us did anything other than settle down with a nice human girl? Hells, I wasn’t about to date an elf, boy or girl. There’d just be too many rumors.
“Here” —Trevor smiled, slapping him on the shoulder once again—“things are different in the capital. I don’t know if I’m going to talk to Mom or Dad anytime soon. I know they’re pretty keen on grandkids, but if the right guy comes along...” Trevor shrugged.
“Squire Thrakos is not the right guy.” Micah shook his head empathetically. “Please. Anyone associated with the Knights should be considered off limits. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes that I can’t talk about, but just don’t. Please.”
“Spoilsport,” Trevor replied at a normal volume, pulling away from Micah with a laugh. “Come on, lunch is getting cold and it sounds like you still have an assignment this afternoon.”
After the meal, Brenden led the way to Martin, constantly trying to draw Micah into a pointed and passive-aggressive conversation. Micah knew better than to engage. Brenden just wanted to bait and taunt him about his family. The older man couldn’t help but target Micah’s every weakness. He couldn’t really make out whether Brenden didn’t like him, or if the older man was just an asshole. Either way, he wasn’t keen to start an argument he couldn’t win.
Together they walked into a laboratory, books and reagents meticulously stored up against its vaulted stone walls. Martin absently waved them in as he put the finishing touches on a ritual circle. At its center, a swarthy man wearing only ragged undergarments struggled against metal bonds holding him to a steel slab. Micah squinted at the man, whose face vaguely triggered a thread of memory.
“Micah!” the man shouted as soon as his eyes fell upon him. “You gotta tell these guys that it’s all a mistake. Whatever they says I’ve done, I didn’t do it!”
“Who?” Micah cocked his head to the side, trying to ignore Brenden’s damning smile at his side.
“It’s me!” The man rattled his wrists against his bonds. “Gheb! The carriage driver? I brought you from Basil’s Cove to Bitollan.”
“This man is a criminal, Micah,” Martin replied indolently, motioning to Brenden, who quickly gagged the struggling man. “He’s a senior agent in the Resistance. Under interrogation with a Truth Seer, he admitted to gathering information and passing it on to dissident forces. He’s already been found guilty of treason.”
“The Resistance?” Micah asked, frowning slightly. “What are they resisting?”
“What indeed.” Martin smiled, walking over to a chair within arm’s reach of Gheb and seating himself. “Everything, really. They’re a group of forgotten. Their stated purpose is to acquire ‘equal rights’ for the forgotten, but really they’re nothing more than a bunch of rabble-rousers, trying to create chaos and benefit from the suffering of others.”
“What is he doing here, then?” Micah asked slowly, his eyes flicking from Gheb to Martin and back.
“The same thing you are.” Martin smiled. “Serving your purpose in the greater scheme of things. You see, Micah, Brenden told me you’ve begun reading up on the spell Temporal Transfer. What the written grimoires don’t speak of is the theoretical breakthrough made by Karrin Dakkora. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any Time affinity, so she couldn’t act on the theory, but she created a theoretical ritual to amplify Temporal Transfer. One that would allow a caster to transfer years from one target to another.”
“Every nation has an organization like the Royal Knights.” With a nod from Martin, Brenden handed Micah a sheaf of papers containing the formula for a ritual. “The problem is that it takes years to get soldiers to higher levels. I’ve spent most of my life working my way to level 44. Enough to make me a full Knight, but I know my limits. I don’t have enough time to make it past level 60 in this lifetime.”
Brenden grabbed a censer full of incense and placed it at Micah’s feet as Martin kept speaking. “Battles between kingdoms are decided by powers between levels 60 and 90. The problem is that anyone at that level is too old. Often pneumonia is more likely to claim their life than an enemy’s arrow.
“But”—a mad smile occupied Martin’s face—“what if Dakkora’s ritual works? What if we can transfer years from an old man like me and give them to refuse? Then we can put our malcontents and prisoners to work while giving the elite of the Kingdom a second life.”
Understanding dawned on Micah’s face. This was why he hadn’t been put through propaganda classes extolling the virtues of the Royal Knights. His absolute loyalty only really mattered if they planned to let him do unsupervised field work. Holding his family hostage would be more than enough.
Micah was never going to be allowed to leave the Royal Knights’ headquarters. He’d been treated differently from the beginning, because this had been the plan from the beginning. He might become a Knight at some point, but it would be in name only. In reality, he’d be nothing more than a piece of equipment, tuning up and maintaining their top agents’ peak physical condition for years if not centuries to come.
“I know my place.” Martin bowed from his chair with a self-deprecating flourish. “I’m an old man that’s getting close to his limit. I’m useful to the Kingdom, but if I die, it won’t be crippling. I am our test case. Your job is to get that formula to work. Once you succeed with me, you’ll return the truly powerful to the full glory of their youth.
“Then”—Martin’s eyes shone with an unhealthy fervor—“the Kingdom will stand tall. Pereston will finally have a Blessed above level 100. Once their classes evolve, they’ll practically become demigods. None of our neighbors will be able to stand before us. We’ll unite the continent in a generation.”
Micah looked down at the formula before glancing at Brenden. The older man was standing in front of the door. His only escape would be when the cooldown on his blessing ran down. Until then, he could only grit his teeth and try to survive this bleak timeline.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM
The spell worked. It took four tries for Micah to get the feel of the ritual and how it interacted with Temporal Transfer, but it worked. Each attempt left him sick to his stomach. The one time Micah actively wanted a new spell to not live up to expectations, it performed flawlessly.
Gheb screamed and begged Micah through his gag the entire time, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Brenden stood just outside of the circle, a summoned daemon at his back just waiting for Micah to hesitate. There was no question in Micah’s mind that any failure on his part would spell the death of his entire family. Micah’s only option was to grit his teeth and count down the days until he could use his blessing again as Gheb deflated before his eyes, the Time magic wilting him like a week-old bouquet.
The spell “only” stole a year of Gheb’s life for Martin, but that was enough for it to be declared an unqualified success. Performing the ritual and Temporal Transfer in the laboratory became Micah’s new world. Each day, Brenden would escort him to the room, where a new prisoner would be waiting. Some truly deserved to have years ripped from their lives: murderers, kidnappers, and rapists. Many were political prisoners, members of the Resistance, or even just outspoken individuals that annoyed the wrong noble.
The first month was mostly devoted to “treating” Martin, performing the spell over and over again until Martin shed his age like a used overcoat. The difficulty of the casting steadily pushed up his Spellcasting and Ritual Magic skills until Micah was able to transfer two to three years at a time.
He didn’t dare voice his suspicions, but after the third or fourth use of the ritual, it became obvious to Micah that this wasn’t about “testing” the magic. Each time, Martin looked at the prisoners with an off-putting sense of hunger, but he always insisted that the spell needed more “fine-tuning.” The spell and ritual worked fine.
Given the secrecy of the project, the way Brenden constantly prevented Micah from talking to anyone in the Royal Knights except for his family, there was only one conclusion: Martin was just trying to reclaim his youth before someone else in the Knights learned the significance of the ritual. Finally, once Martin looked to be in his early twenties, he announced the project a success.
The next day, Micah vaguely hoped for a period of rest, but once again, Brenden retrieved him from his apartment. When they walked into the laboratory, it was practically humming with tension. Martin stood in the center of a cluster of older, well-armed men, showing off his new body.
“Squire Silver,” he called out as soon as Brenden brought him into the room. “The man of the hour is here.”
Micah’s breath left his body as all six of the other men turned to look at him. Every one of them carried a palpable aura of power, a weight of energy and gravitas that demanded respect. They stared at him with vague disinterest, cataloging and immediately dismissing him as beneath their notice. Micah would bet his last point of attunement that all of the newcomers were above at least level 60. He was a rabbit, shivering and alone in the midst of a pack of wolves.
“As I was discussing, gentlemen,” Martin said with a hint of nervousness as he draped an arm over Micah’s shoulders, “this here is Squire Silver, the Time Magi that performed the treatments on me and restored my youth. It should just be a matter of time and effort for him to do the same for you.”
Their gazes intensified, but no one responded. A cane clacked on the stone floor, and the men parted, making way for a wizened old woman who slowly approached Micah. She was almost a foot shorter than him, her hair a stringy tangle of white and gray, but her rheumy blue eyes didn’t miss a thing. Micah couldn’t look away. She glowed like the sun. A corona of power leaked off of her, her very aura creating heat mirages in her wake.
“You’ve kept him at level 20?” she asked Martin, her voice the crackle of paper crumpling.
“Yes, M’lady Ikanthar.” Martin hastily bowed at the waist.
“He’s compliant, then?” Ikanthar continued, peering at Micah’s shaking form. “You haven’t treated him too badly, I hope? I don’t want a spy or saboteur working on me.”
“Yes, M’lady,” Martin responded unctuously, his eyes flashing a threat at Micah. “He was discovered by the Golden Drakes, a high-tier adventuring guild, where he demonstrated the power of prophecy. They sold him to us and we’ve been training him ever since. Squire Silver has a perfect 10 affinity in Time, so we’ve been able to train him to use Time magic and the ritual at a much lower level than would otherwise be expected. He’s already gotten his hands dirty on my orders several times and his family is being held against his good behavior.”
Micah twitched slightly as Martin laid out his entire life story, describing him as an auctioneer would a prize head of cattle.
“Good.” Ikanthar hobbled to the seat next to the restrained prisoner. “If this works, your research into the black rituals will be forgiven, Knight Osswain, and you will be rewarded. If this doesn’t work, you knew the risks when you began your research into Dakkora’s rituals. They are forbidden for a reason, but as you know, success forgives all sins.”
“Success forgives all sins,” all of the Knights reverently repeated in unison, as if it were some sort of talisman or prayer.
Martin flinched at her words, his usual bluster gone and a haunted look in his eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t nearly as important as he’d led Micah to believe. A good thing to know.
“Now”—she waved a wrinkled and veiny hand in Micah’s direction—“boy, work your dark magic on me, but be aware, if you fail or try to harm me, you and everything you love will learn the true depths of human misery in exquisite detail.”
“Archmagus Ikanthar isn’t prone to idle threats, Silver.” Martin turned to him, his face deadly serious. “I’d suggest trying your hardest.”
Micah coughed nervously, very aware of how dry his throat was. He approached, smiling weakly and not even looking at the political prisoner he’d be draining today. Micah found that it helped. Their screams still haunted him, but at least he didn’t have to look into their eyes as the age flowed into them. He still saw Gheb staring at him every time he tried to sleep.
He traced the circle, placing the ritual’s reagents and components, his hands shaking slightly under the gaze of the powerful Knights. Now that he’d had a moment to calm down, he recognized almost half of them from the bards’ tales. Noble men, renowned for their valorous deeds and service to the Kingdom. Men he’d grown up respecting and wanting to emulate. All waiting to kill him if he didn’t perform an unnatural act of magic on a defenseless prisoner.
Micah enacted the ritual, once again using his body as a conduit to transfer the monstrous power of age and authority built up in Archmagus Ikanthar’s elderly and twisted body. The temporal energy passed through him toward the prisoner, but for the first time, he felt something new in its wake, a vague sense of the weight and majesty that the temporal energy represented.
With Martin, it’d simply been a chore, channeling a massive amount of energy from one spot to another. The ritual and spell were little more than an equation in which he was a variable. He played his part, but there was a lack of vital understanding. He knew that the temporal energy existed and that it was powerful, but he couldn’t harness or control it.
It wasn’t mana. Temporal energy was something more than that, much closer to the anima used in ritual magic. Primal energy that moved outside the safe boundaries of regular magic, only restricted by the natural phenomena of the universe itself.
His mind went back to the ritual he used to graduate. As the energy passed through him, he could see how the spell forms and reagents would interact with it, transforming it into something that he could begin to use. It wasn’t a complete thought, just the beginning of a concept.
There wouldn’t be a way to use it as mana; the energy was too wild for that. It would overwhelm the limits of magic almost immediately and backlash on Micah, consuming him in a moment. He squinted his eyes, trying to see the shape the ritual would take.
Then the spell was over. Absently, Micah realized that he’d fallen to both knees, gasping as sweat poured down his back. The prisoner had aged visibly, wrinkles appearing around the corner of his eyes and gray gathering at his temples.
Archmagus Ikanthar stood up from the chair, stretching her back briefly. The room’s silence became electric. The various Knights grasped the hilts of their weapons, each training their eyes on Micah, waiting for any signal from Ikanthar of his betrayal. She waved her hand, a ball of fire forming in her palm without her chanting a single word to the spell. Quickly, it turned into a writhing snake and wound in between her fingers.
She snapped her thumb and index finger together, dissipating the tendril of flames. She turned to the crowd of Knights and nodded with a quick smile.
“You’ve done our Kingdom a great service, Knight Osswain.” She inclined her head ever so slightly at Martin. “No one else thought to harness the black rituals in this way, molding an untrained talent into the vehicle of our Kingdom’s rebirth. For this, you will be removed from your duties at the Royal Academy and rewarded greatly. From this day forward, Squire Silver will be entrusted to my care.”
Micah started blankly at Martin as the older man opened his mouth to respond, then closed it bitterly. His entire fate had been decided before his eyes without even a second glance. Like he was a bolt of cloth or a loaf of bread to be sold at the market.
“Yes, Archmagus,” Martin replied, the reluctance audible in his voice. “It shall be as you command.”
The hour or so after meeting was a blur. Micah was ushered away by the Archmagus’ servants. Soon he found himself in a new, slightly more luxurious apartment with the notable addition of bars on the windows. Any slight chance he’d had of crawling out the window and using Updraft to cushion his fall was long gone. Even if he chose to abandon his family, he was truly and completely trapped.
Micah pulled out the Folio and began sketching his thoughts on the new ritual. He’d need more experience transferring temporal energy to perfect it, but if he had to guess, temporal transfers looked like the entirety of his near future.
He just hoped that Archmagus Ikanthar wasn’t the type to destroy her tools once she was done with them so that no one else could use them. He only had about four months left before the cooldown on Blessed Return finished off. It would be a painful kind of irony if she simply killed him right before he was able to use the blessing to escape this bleak timeline.
