Pandora Unchained 2: A Cultivation Progression Fantasy, page 41
With that, Master Carlos exited the premises, and a wary doorman came up to get them. He eyed the pile of papers on the floor strangely, then sighed as he picked them up. “I’ll need to have these copied on disinfected paper before he’ll read them again. I take it he refused to fulfill your order?”
“Not at all,” said Lawrence. “In fact, he seemed quite keen on fulfilling it.”
“That’s very strange, but I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth either,” said the doorman. “Master Carlos’s works can’t be bought with just money.”
Having finished their business, the three friends grabbed a meal together and shared their plans for the next two weeks leading up to the Shrine Descent. Gareth intended to train his archery, while Lawrence planned to provoke additional Flesh-Sanctification cultivators. For practice, of course.
“Provocation isn’t just an art,” Lawrence explained between mouthfuls of food. “It’s a lifestyle.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” warned Gareth. “Try to be a little more careful. And what about you and Lorimer? Nothing dangerous, I hope.”
“Ree!” said the rat, finally free to act.
“Lorimer intends to gorge himself silly and break through to the third forging,” said Sorin. “As for me, now that the issue of your bones is solved, I’m going to try broadening the range of poisons I can concoct. I also need to fine-tune my spells and test out if they’re still as effective.
“Just remember to take it slow,” said Gareth. “My father always said cultivation is a marathon and not a sprint.”
“You know what my father said about cultivation?” said Lawrence. “He said it’s a damn waste of time, and you’re far better off chasing skirts and eating cookies.”
“Words of wisdom if I ever heard them,” said Sorin, rolling his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to go buy a collar for Lorimer. I was originally going to ask Master Carlos for a companion collar, but I had a hunch that he might have burned the building down if I pulled Lorimer out.”
“Reee!” said Lorimer, poking his head out of his shirt pocket.
“Yes, I know he’s unreasonable,” said Sorin. “But when you’re asking for the best, you need to play by their rules.” There was also the fact that Lorimer couldn’t wear S-Tier gear. A-Tier would have to do.
The rat needed a collar because of one of Sorin’s recent discoveries: Violence and Madness weren’t truly incompatible, and they had a strange relationship that he was just beginning to understand.
60
LAST-MINUTE INVITATION
Having secured mental protection in the form of S-Tier jewelry and gotten his pent-up Madness out of control, Sorin dove into concoctions once again to make his final preparations. While he couldn’t build a faultless foundation as an apothecary before the Shrine Descent, sufficient time remained to upgrade the poisons his body could generate all the way up to B-Tier.
Acitoxins were the poisons Sorin had the easiest time with; after only a day of experimentation, he was able to successfully craft several B-Tier poisons and upgrade his internal poisons to the same level as his neurotoxins. Manatoxins proved much trickier, but three days later, he was able to successfully upgrade them to B-Tier as well, leaving only hemotoxins and the ever-dangerous necrotoxins.
Though Sorin had little experience with hemotoxins, the Kepler Clan dealt primarily in medicine and therefore had several recipes that would typically be used in lower doses to treat illnesses.
As for necrotoxins, they were the opposite. Sorin was forced to use Madness-aligned demon cores to promote variation in the more common poisons and Violence-aligned cores to concentrate them. Eventually, he was able to manufacture sufficient B-Tier necrotoxins to upgrade his personal poisons.
“Here goes nothing,” Sorin muttered as he once again drank down a vial of powerful necrotoxins. As predicted, his Divine Bone Rot acted up again. He promptly used his other four poisons to suppress the bone rot, then did the same with Violence and Madness. As a result, the bone rot only managed to chip away at half the Ruby Sealing Tincture he’d preemptively drunk to reinforce his bones. With Ophiuchan Simulation, he confirmed that twelve months remained before the bone rot became lethal.
There was not much time before the second phase of the Shrine Descent. Unable to make more headway in such a short amount of time, Sorin busied himself, catalyzing herbs and other medicinal plants using demon cores and Grove Keeper’s Touch.
He also practiced his warped spells on the side. Veridian Spell Blade saw a small reduction in power from his psychotic episode, while Five Poison Apocalypse saw a sharp increase.
“Master Kepler, an invitation came in the mail while you were cleaning up,” said Percival as Sorin exited his room that evening. “I would have waited until morning, but it’s written here that the event is tonight.”
“You don’t look like you wanted to give this to me, Percival,” said Sorin, accepting the invitation. He ripped the top off and pulled out an envelope. A black mist immediately filled the room, causing minor distortions that weren’t of any consequence.
Sorin briefly scanned the contents before tucking away the envelope in his shirt pocket. “Looks like the night isn’t over yet. Lorimer, how do you feel about cards?”
“Ree!”
“Of course, there’ll be snacks,” said Sorin. “It might be Melinoë who sent the invitation, but it’s Michael who’ll be hosting.”
“Should I inform the family as you head out?” asked Percival.
“I’ll do it myself,” answered Sorin. He quickly used the communication device Elder Marik had given him to inform Elder Marik, Elder Nolan, and Elder Calvin about his plans. He also sent a message to his teammates and received plenty of advice on how to interact with people in polite society—a testament to how terrible Sorin’s skills were in this regard.
The Pollen Clan’s ancestral manor was located on Oak Street, just a stone’s throw away from the Kepler Clan’s ancestral manor. Sorin had once attended a ball at the venue and was therefore unsurprised by the sprawling complex, which occupied four city blocks. The sky brightened the moment he set foot across the threshold, thanks to the small artificial sun that hung above the clan’s ancestral tomb.
“Mr. Kepler, we were expecting you,” greeted a woman as he arrived. Judging by the ornate bow on her back, she was one of the family’s better archers. “May I see your invitation?”
“Here you are,” said Sorin, handing it over. “May I know how many guests will be attending?”
“There will be ten people, including Master Michael and yourself, Mr. Kepler,” said the woman. “Please follow me and be sure to keep within 30 feet of me at all times. I am also obligated to let you know that, as your escort, I am permitted to restrain you with lethal force should you willingly encroach upon our clan’s restricted areas.”
Everything she recited was standard in major clans. Sorin took no issue with her statement and followed the archer into the residential area where all clan members with sufficiently pure bloodlines resided.
As a direct inheritor of the Pollen Clan and a God Seed who had reached the age of majority, Michael had been assigned his own residence. His guide explained that, given his status, only the clan’s presiding elders, the clan leader, and the clan’s three grand elders were qualified to have larger residences.
“What about Administrator Pollen?” Sorin asked curiously.
“Administrator Pollen is a part of our clan, but it is also a separate entity,” answered the archer. “It would be improper for the representative of Delphi to reside in the ancestral manor, so Lord Administrator has taken up residence in the Administrative Palace.”
The archer led the way up to Michael’s residence before halting just outside the door. “I am not permitted to enter the young master’s residence, so I will wait here until you are finished inside.”
Sorin quickly scanned the building and noted only nine significant auras. “Then I’ll be troubling you, sister…”
“Abbey, Mr. Kepler,” answered the archer. “Abbey Pollen. Please come find me here in the waiting area once you wish to leave.” Having completed her duties for the time being, she walked over to a small patio just outside the entrance where, other similarly powerful Pollen Clan members were relaxing and chatting while munching on refreshments.
As the inheriting member of the Pollen Clan, Michael was proud of his heritage and prominently displayed his family crest at the entrance. It was a complicated crest that included a bow, a lyre, a sun, and a deer trampling a giant snake. Those lacking in knowledge often assumed this symbolized enmity with the Kepler Clan, but Sorin had recently discovered that it was actually an ancient enemy of the Pollen Clan, a Myth known as Python.
Michael’s butler, Mortimer, greeted Sorin at the door and escorted him to a living room on the main floor, where a group of men and women were playing cards. Smoke hung thick in the air due to cigarettes. Judging by the stacks of chips beside each player, the game had just started, and none of the players had yet been able to gain an edge.
“Sorin!” Michael greeted as the butler left to fetch his drink. “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.”
“The last-minute nature of the invitation and the inviter both piqued my interest,” said Sorin, taking a seat at the table. “What’s the buy-in?”
“Nothing big, just 10,000 gold,” said Michael. “It’s a friendly game. Buying back in is allowed.” He then moved to introduce the others at the table. “You’ve met Melinoë. It was she who suggested having this friendly get-together before the Descent. I know she and your family have a bit of bad blood—I hope you’ll be able to set that aside for now and extend that same courtesy during the Descent.”
“Since you’re asking, I’ll naturally oblige,” said Sorin. “But all bets are off if this cunning lady takes the initiative.”
“Even I would never dare act impetuously in another God Seed’s domain,” said Melinoë, looking at her pair of hole cards and flicking them in the center. “I fold. My hand is rubbish, as usual. Serves me right, having partial dominion over misfortune.”
“I fold as well,” said Michael. “If only to introduce you to the rest. You naturally know Charles Hargrave. Don’t mind his expression—we passed up one of his cousins to invite you. And you’ve already met Bast from the White Tower Group. As you can see, he’s just as stiff in social settings as he is in dungeons.
“As for the other five, they are the top-performing individuals so far this Shrine Descent. Each of them has the backing of a major faction and managed to receive a heroic blessing without overly affecting their teammates.”
“Three out of the five are locals. There’s the lovely Onesca Mayfair in her trademark transparent black dress, and I’d watch how long you let your eyes wander, because she’s a curse mage from the Mages Guild’s Dark Alliance. That rugged-looking warrior there is Owen MacLeod, a swordsman from Clan MacLeod.”
“Is that the clan that practices the Immortal Decapitation Sword?” asked Sorin.
“The very same,” said Michael. “Now this charming and abnormally tall man is Fenrig Austin, a barbarian warrior from the Blighted Stone Tribe native to the Parnassus Mountain Range.” Abnormally tall was an understatement, as the man was a good two heads taller than Sorin. What’s more, he was built like a dock worker, with thick scar-covered arms that complemented his unruly beard and uncontrolled mop of hair.
“I met Onesca previously at an event during my last stay in Delphi,” said Sorin, nodding to the woman. “Rumor has it that you’ve punished no less than 200 men for looking too long.”
“We’re up to 276,” said Onesca with a shrug. “Just because I dress this way, it’s not an open invitation for people to leer at me. I’m talking to you, Fenrig.”
“It’s not leering, just proper admiration where it’s due,” said Fenrig, gulping down a mouthful of beer. “Plus, I don’t see you scolding Joseph for his long looks.”
“I’m a man who appreciates beauty in all its forms,” said a handsome man with oiled hair in dark leathers. Many “trophies” could be seen stitched into the leather, making it clear that he was a Demon Hunter.
“Joseph Artois here is from the Artois Clan and hails all the way from Olympia,” introduced Michael. “He is an accomplished Demon Hunter who recently slew a three-star demon.”
“A highly sedated and disadvantaged three-star demon,” Joseph corrected. “Much less impressive than the demon your five teams took down in the catacombs. I think I’ll raise, 200 gold.”
“Fold,” said the person Michael had yet to introduce, a rogue in blood-stained leathers. “Faile Atlan. Atlan Clan. Ephesus. Your teammate Stephan probably remembers me.”
“She’s one of the Atlan Clan’s twin prodigies and is well-versed in all aspects of dungeoneering,” added Michael. “In addition, she’s one of the few adventurers to dare enter the Infinite Dungeon while still in the Bone-Forging Realm and survive.”
Sorin’s interest was instantly piqued upon hearing the words Infinite Dungeon. His parents had died while exploring it, after all, and information about the place was hard to come by. “I’ve heard much about the Infinite Dungeon, but few from my clan have dared explore the place. Perhaps you’ll grace us with some stories when you have time?”
Faile shrugged. “I’m not sure what I can tell you that Stephan can’t, but I’ll be happy to share what few details I managed to remember.” One of the reasons for the mystery was that knowledge of the Infinite Dungeon was abnormally easy to forget.
61
A FRIENDLY GAME OF CARDS
The game being played was called Texas Hold’em, an enduring staple that had surfaced shortly after the Cataclysmic Emergence. As for what “Texas” was or what it referred to, neither Sorin nor anyone else he’d ever spoken to had any idea. But the game had stuck against all odds and was now widely played regardless of wealth or social standing.
Sorin received his drink shortly after sitting down and took a sip. “Sunfire Whiskey,” he said, letting out a contented sigh. “My father didn’t let me try it last time I came over. He wasn’t kidding when he called it a divine drink that could intoxicate even demigods.”
“Its ability to bypass poison resistance is the stuff of legends,” agreed Michael. “Even a practitioner of the Ten Thousand Poison Canon won’t be completely immune to its effects. There are snacks on a side table over there, which I see your rat has found; that glass is enchanted to constantly refill.
“One last introduction is necessary—yours. This is Sorin Kepler from the Kepler Clan, current heir to the Ten Thousand Poison Canon. I’m sure you’ve all done your research on him since he was one of those who managed to obtain a divine blessing.”
Charles snorted. “More like he squeaked his way into our group.”
Michael ignored Charles. “Now that introductions are over and you’ve all had time to warm up, let’s change the game up. Mortimer, could you kindly fetch me the deck?”
“Right away, Young Master,” said the butler as he reached under the table and pulled out a deck of cards. “Please allow me to remind you that if you damage these cards, you won’t be able to escape the administrator’s wrath.”
“Relax,” said Michael. “These are four-star cards, and there’s no way two-star god seeds can damage them.”
“Then I wish you a merry game,” said Mortimer. “Please call me if you require my services. I will recuse myself so that I don’t needlessly interfere in your social interactions.” With that, the butler left the living room, activating a privacy barrier on his way out.
After confirming that the butler was truly gone, Michael spread the cards out on the table to show them to his guests. “These are four-star tamper-proof cards,” explained Michael. “They’re immune to mana, karmic inference, divine energy, and all substances below the demigod level. These cards are hard to come by and will be instrumental in allowing us to play with the revised rules we’ll be using.”
“You want to change the game after we’ve already bought in?” asked Bast, looking none too impressed. “Then count me out. I’m here on retainer, and losing money due to an impromptu rule change is not what I signed up for.”
“Stay, Bast,” said Melinoë. “If you do, I’ll cover any losses you incur. In return, you’ll give me half your earnings.”
“That sounds an awful lot like collusion in this friendly game,” noted Sorin.
“That’s her ability,” said Michael with a shrug. “It’s also part of what makes this variant so exciting.”
“Just so we’re clear, we’re still playing Texas Hold’em?” asked Onesca Mayfair.
“With a slight rule change,” assured Michael. “One rule, specifically: the prohibition against the use of skills and abilities.”
Charles Hargrave laughed. “Are you saying I’m allowed to poison people and get away with it?”
“Non-lethal poison,” corrected Michael. “All abilities are fair game, as long as they’re not lethal and won’t leave permanent damage. As for temporary damage… well, our house has the best life mages on the continent and boasts some of the best physicians in Delphi. Whatever damage you suffer, I’m certain we can have you back in tip-top shape before the Shrine Descent. What’s more, I’ll even pay for your treatment.”
Sorin frowned as he considered the implications. Charles, he wasn’t afraid of, as Toxic Metabolism was highly effective against him, but he was quite nervous about facing off against Melinoë, even in this “controlled” setting. That being said, it was the perfect opportunity for him to feel her out without feeling overly threatened.
Then again, she suggested this event, which means she probably expected something like this to happen. Should I take the bait or recuse myself?
“I’ll ask again—would anyone prefer not to play?” asked Michael. “There won’t be any hard feelings. I know most of you have abilities you’ve been trying to keep hidden.”
