Book 5 - Chapter 39 - Chaos Before Order (Patreon)

“Right, what’s the plan?” Ranthia willfully denied her lingering drowsiness. She needed to focus on the crisis—protecting an innocent from being butchered was far more important than her rest ever could be.

“I’ll do everything in my power to distract the others. I was able to get the witness away from them to get more details than they did. Southwest from here, there’s a game trail that bisects the main road. Follow that southward. And hurry. I have no idea how long I’ll be able to keep the others out of that area. Just find whoever it is and either get them away from Ithil or inside the city.” With that, he started to blur away.

“Wait! You’re only level 1024—what will you do if they turn on you?!” Ranthia tried to chase after him, not that she could keep up.

He was the highest-level Hunter in the City of Arts, but they weren’t in the City of Arts! She’d seen more than a few elves beyond that during Ithil’s Hunter gatherings!

“I know how this sounds after… my previous failure.” Aegiomus stopped, a pained scowl on his face. “But they won’t attack me. I don’t believe that for a second. But you? There’s plenty among them that will kill you if you get in their way. So, don’t! Sorry for dragging you into this, but I don’t want any more blood on my hands.”

And with those ominous words left in his wake, he resumed running.

Per Avyna—and most elven records that Ranthia had seen—the demons were annihilated almost two thousand years ago. Stories described as a monstrous race of elvenoids that were ruled by their insatiable passions. Time and time again, they became lethal hazards to the elves and every other species that had the misfortune of sharing a border with them. Any peace that was brokered lasted only until the next warlord rose to power and whipped their people into a blood-craving frenzy.

Sure, she only had the elves’ word for it, but it was difficult to believe that they would have indulged in conflict after conflict without an urgent need to do so—reckless youths aside, most elves with any measure of power were generally averse to undue risk. Yet the elves finally grew tired of the problem and crushed the demons’ final army as thoroughly as they could, before they gathered every surviving member of the species and drove them into Pallos’ depths. Then the elves collapsed every single access point they knew of.

And not even Khazad’s dwarves—the closest species to the depths—ever encountered a surviving demon.

Unfortunately, demons were an incredibly diverse species that came in a tremendous variety of forms. Some had wings like devils, others had more bestial appearances like a sphinx or kitsune. Even thousands of years after they were purged, it made them a convenient catch-all for ‘elvenoid species I don’t recognize.’

Which was a problem when the Unchanging Council had officially decreed that any surviving demon that reached the surface was to be destroyed on sight.

Due to the fact that a “demon” sighting could be literally anything, Ranthia had no idea what she was even looking for as she crashed through the picturesque forest in sandals and a cheap cloth tunic. Elvenoids varied dramatically in scale from gnomes—allegedly smaller than an alley cat, not that she believed it—to giants. They came in varied shapes, ranging from humans to centaurs. As such, the only things she could be certain weren’t potential elvenoids were the animals she already knew and recognized.

And it wasn’t like she could call out. She had no name or anything for the person—nor did she even know if they weren’t hostile! Worse, elven ears would likely hear her and come to investigate, and she needed to avoid the other Hunters until whoever they were seeking was safe.

Unlike Aegiomus, she wasn’t willing to assume that being inside of Ithil was any safer than outside of it. Her own welcome had been cold enough—she didn’t want to learn what would happen if she tried to bring in another outsider. Fortunately, she had a better plan. Assuming she somehow managed to find the mysterious elvenoid in the first place.

The game trail had been easy enough to locate, assuming there wasn’t more than one, but no matter how far she followed it, there was no sign of anyone. And thanks to Aegiomus’ rush, she didn’t even know how long ago the so-called witness allegedly saw—

Her [Divine Eyes] had been too focused on watching the area around her. She genuinely hadn’t paid much attention to the ground, up until she spotted a leg in the undergrowth out of the corner of her natural eye. She twirled to the side, narrowly avoiding treading on the body that was half-hidden in the undergrowth.

In an instant, Ranthia’s blood chilled. Too late.

“Huuuh? Is someone there?” Thank Xaoc, whatever it was, it sat up, rubbing at its eyes. “Who or what wakes someone up in the middle of the night? So foaming rude.”

Ranthia had no idea what the creature was, even if they were obviously an elvenoid.

The skin tone was the most noticeable oddity; she’d never heard of any species that had turquoise-hued skin. Yet things only got stranger from there. They had six finger-like digits on each hand, with each connected to its adjacent fingers by membranes of stretchy skin. Also, their fingers were tipped with odd black nails that resembled dark thorns extending from their fingertips—with each tip broken off and blunted. Their hair was long and wavy, but it was silver, with an oddly metallic sheen. A single horn, which looked more like the branch of a tree than any elven-style horn, extended from the left side of their forehead, anchored just above the eyebrow. Their ears were almost human-like, except they were pointed at the bottom, and there was a single tusk sticking out between their lips on the right side of its face. They even had a tail, tufted with the same silver hair. The most striking part though was their eyes: faceted irises that seemed to be almost utterly black, set in a sea of brilliant red.

In lieu of more typical garments, they seemed to be wearing crudely woven garments made out of long leaves. …Leaves that were more typical of the plants Ranthia had seen around Massilix than anything she’d ever seen in elven lands.

[Mage – Gemstones] level 387, [Mage – Gemstones] level 341.

“Huh, you’re a strange looking one, aren’t you?” Clearly, the drowsy entity was utterly devoid of irony.

“Kind of rude, but I could say the same about you.” Ranthia couldn’t help but smile a bit, despite the situation. “I don’t mean any harm, just please, keep your voice down.”

“Ugh, fin rot. Right, I haven’t been on the surface for long, and my mouth still runs away from me easily. Too used to being able to talk to myself without people hearing. Now it’s suddenly a bad habit.” The voice was masculine—which matched the figure—but Ranthia was trying not to make assumptions.

Which was really hard when they spoke of being on the surface. Was the strange creature truly a demon?!

“The surface, as opposed to…?” Ranthia had no idea why she was even asking. Even if they were a demon, it wasn’t like she was going to attack someone that could communicate unprovoked.

“Underwater, of course. White Dove kinda did a number on me, I know. Oh, but I deserved it, honestly! I did. She was right, I needed—need—to change. And so, I will, I’ll be better, and I’ll make her proud! Anyway, I’m Silv—wait, no, stupid! This is your chance. New person. Show her the new you!” They cleared their throat, before they began to speak again, in a far more feminine (albeit, somewhat unnatural) voice. “A fresh start. That’s what I’m seeking. That’s what White Dove wanted for me. I’m… Um… Serpentscales! I had this, I had the perfect name for the woman I want to become. Silvia? No, that wasn’t it… Silla—ew, no. S… Ugh, bleaching coral!”

He—she, apparently—trailed off, grabbing at her hair.

“I’m blowing it. My fresh start I hyped myself up for, and I’m blowing it.” She hissed, as tears started to blur her strange eyes.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just take a moment and compose yourself, alright? Let’s start over whenever you’re ready. I’m Ranthia, a human originally from… a faraway nation.” Ranthia knelt down.

She wasn’t sure if she was feeling sympathy or it was simple pity, but either way, she wanted to help the strange woman out. It was the right thing to do. Even if it meant she had to help shoulder the woman’s baggage.

“Just… Just call me Silver for now. But, please, would you allow me to give you a different name, later?” Those watery eyes locked onto Ranthia’s blindfold-covered eyes.

“Of course, whenever you’re ready. I look forward to learning it. But for now, what brings you to this area, Silver?” Ranthia gently dragged the conversation forward.

They were on borrowed time and the woman persisted in being a bit too loud every time she got emotional!

“Oh, um. Well, I’m just trying to find someplace that will accept me. White Dove said I’d be unable to find any place I truly belonged, but that can’t be true, can it?” The words were a plea.

“White Dove isn’t omniscient. She can’t know everything. …Unfortunately, you’ve come to an unworthy place. I’m sorry, it’s late and I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but can you keep walking, right now? Because, if at all possible, we need to get you further away from Ithil as swiftly as we can.” Ranthia gently insisted.

“Why?” An innocent, naïve question. It was completely reasonable. Gods, she would probably have asked it herself, if she was in the woman’s shoes.

More than anything, Ranthia hated that she needed to answer it honestly.

“There’s a group of elves here that think you’re something that you aren’t. They’ll kill you, no matter what the truth is, just on the off chance that their idiotic guess is somehow right. I know how this must sound, but I swear before Xaoc—the great god of chaos—that I’m telling you the truth, at least so far as I understand it. And I know somewhere that you’ll be safer.” Ranthia placed a hand over her heart as she invoked Xaoc’s name.

“By the darkest depths, my father was right about the surface. I just want to make something of myself, in spite of my mistakes! Is this really too much to ask?!” The young(?) woman ground her teeth while she seethed, but after a moment she gave Ranthia a nod. “Okay, fine, I choose to trust you. You clearly care about what your deity thinks. Where are we going?”

Ranthia flashed her a grateful smile while she unshouldered the spatial storage box and hurriedly withdrew the map Avyna prepared.

“Okay, we’re around here, just outside of Ithil. The City of Arts—Ar-Suelle—is your best bet. That’s my home these days, right here. I…” The problem with the lack of a plan was that she had no idea what she was doing. She hadn’t planned to return to the City of Arts without her armor, and the route was still dangerous, but what choice did she even have? “If we get separated and if anyone there challenges you, tell them you’re there on the invitation of Aegiomus and Ranthia. And if you really need help, there’s a tavern there called the Lodge. Give our names to the big woman behind the bar there, and she should be able to keep you safe from pretty much anything.”

She was making assumptions, but they were the best assumptions she had!

“Okay. Okay, I can do this. It’s far, but I’ve come this far, haven’t I? To get there, should I just—” ‘Silver’ seemed to find her resolve. But unfortunately…

“Well, well, well.” An elf stepped out from behind a nearby tree, grinning. “What do we have here, the outsider cozying up to the demon and plotting behind our backs? Oh, what a travesty!”

He was far too close. It wasn’t like Ranthia hadn’t kept her [Divine Eyes] alert while she dealt with the woman either!

“Take the map. Go. Now! May Xaoc bless your journey.” Ranthia shoved the leather map at the woman as she stood, eyeing the man warily. “She isn’t a demon.”

[Warrior – Mirror] level 830. [Warrior – Mantle] level 824. [Warrior – Ash] level 691.

He was a bit taller than she was, with a somewhat slight build, even by elven standards. He was clad in a full-body suit of autumnal steel armor, with gaps in the helmet for his short horns to stick through.

Unfortunately—once again proving that she had the worst possible luck—she knew him. They’d never spoken, no, but he was one of the Elf Hunters that always lurked on the periphery of the Hunter gatherings.

“Yeah, I don’t really care. And even if that demonic-looking thing escapes here, you already told me exactly where it’s running. I can take my time… helping you repent for your crimes against the Unchanging Council.” A twisted smile split his face.

Ranthia let the idiot grandstand while she stole a moment to watch ‘Silver’ run through the forest with one of her [Divine Eyes]. The one bit of good news was that the woman didn’t seem to be inclined to do anything stupid, like trying to stay and help.

Ideally, she could keep the guy talking a bit longer, but she had no idea what to expect from his kit. Warily, she formed her knives as she slid into a ready stance.

“Aegiomus ever mention what happened to the last elves that decided to point their weapons at me?” Ranthia asked, as if she wasn’t facing off against a fully equipped elf while she was wearing nothing more than cheap cloth and Reman sandals.

“Babe, you’ve never fought anyone like me. The fact that you’re wagging your cute little tongue proves it. I’ll be taking that, by the way.” Against her expectations, the elf dropped into a stance that mirrored her own—even as a pair of knives, shaped just like hers, appeared in his hands.

“Awfully confident for someone a stone’s throw from my levels.” Ranthia kept the banter up. The longer the idiot delayed, the further away ‘Silver’ could get before the battle began.

“Oh, babe, no. Quantity doesn’t mean a thing, not with the difference in quality. See, there’s a simple truth to the world. When two identical Skills meet, the higher level one wins. Feel free to bring your best! I just love reminding mortals of their place in the world—beneath my feet.” He boasted, clearly waiting for her to start.

Ranthia snorted with undisguised amusement.

“Riiiight.” Honestly, arrogance was bad enough, but he had managed to attain nothing less than abject stupidity. Seriously, was he incapable of thinking before he spoke?!

With a shrug, Ranthia decided to give him exactly what he wanted. She launched herself forward and began her approach—nothing more complicated than a simple direct run. She even activated [Void Lacerations] immediately, just to give him a good look at the Skill.

He smiled in triumph as exact mirrors to the Skill ignited over his own knives. Had she not evolved [Void Edge], the farce might have ended there, but [Void Lacerations] seemed to have less of an impact on knives than its predecessor.

Not that she needed another advantage. He’d already made three fatal mistakes—and any one of them would have cemented her victory.

The first: he plainly had no idea what her class qualities were like. Because no matter what he said, the tyranny of stats meant just as much as any Skill.

Just before she reached him, Ranthia began to dance. She probably could have slipped under his guard thanks to how he stiffened from the unexpected change, but she had no need to bother. Instead, she lashed out at his conjured blades with her own knives. If he wanted a contest of Skills, fine—she could do that.

Because his second mistake was simple: he was only copying one of her Skills. [True Grace] and [I am the Priestess; I am the Champion] put the advantage he boasted about firmly in her court—[Void Laceration] wasn’t a level 781 Skill.

The moment she began to dance, it effectively became a level 863 Skill.

But of course, it was his third mistake that was the most egregious…

Her knives tore through his weapons in an instant. The differences in their Void aside, he was trying to counter adamantium with mere conjured steel.

Ranthia disabled [Void Lacerations] an instant before the destructive energy touched his flesh. Instead, he found her naked blades pushed against his neck.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. Would you like to talk this through?” Ranthia offered him a toothy smile.

Tragically, she was in one of the annoying situations that living in a civilization inevitably created. All too often, killing an idiot created more problems than it solved.

Not that she’d hesitate if he chose his response poorly.

“Absolutely!” He was a bit pale and clammy, but he still offered her what he undoubtedly assumed was a charming smile.

“By all means, keep tempting me to kill you!” Ranthia offered her ‘new friend’ a saccharine warning in response to his efforts to charm her.

“Ah, apologies. If you have any requests for what you would like me to do, I’m all ears!” His smile turned more polite, even as his skin turned a few shades paler.

It was always nice to work with someone willing to learn.

“I heard voices, this way!” The words were distant, but Ranthia heard them moments before the sounds of feet—multiple sets—crashing through the undergrowth. Whoever it was, the group was moving fast.

Ranthia cursed inwardly and fixed the elf with a meaningful glare. He smiled in return before he opened his mouth.

“Nijra? It’s just me and another Hunter, no sign of anything interesting!” The ‘just’ saved his life—he probably had no idea how close he came to oblivion. A single different syllable, and [Void Lacerations] would have reactivated before he finished speaking.

Instead, Ranthia grumbled as she rushed to break her knives back down and return the adamantium to her bracers. His own ruined weaponry was already gone, which meant she had nothing to do while they waited for the approaching elves except silently hope that she could trust an Elf Hunter. No matter what her past experiences with the group suggested.

Five elves arrived together. And—thank Xaoc—Aegiomus was one of them. Ranthia tried not to let her relief show, but his presence changed the dire math. She wasn’t confident she could fight off and escape six elves, but five against two? Yeah, she’d seen Aegiomus fight and she was willing to take those odds.

“Cracking crystals, what the heck are you two doing out here? I thought for sure I was onto something!” The lead elf—a man that had kept his head utterly devoid of hair—was glaring at them, as if they had singlehandedly ruined his hunt.

“Yeah, nah. I got snagged by a snare. One of Lycono’s old ones he never took down. Lucky me, I was heard by my new friend here…” The Elf Hunter spoke up immediately, with a grin, before glancing back her way.

“Ranthia. I didn’t think we were that loud when I cut him free.” Sure, she could improvise. Gods and goddesses, she was grateful to do so!

“Yup, saved me from more than a bit of embarrassment!” Her once-adversary concluded.

“Ugh. I’m going to shove that thing down Lycono’s throat. Where is it?” Seriously, the guy didn’t even have eyebrows, it was weird.

Ranthia’s new ‘friend’ stiffened as his eyes widened slightly.

“He saw my Skill when I cut him down, then copied it to destroy what was left of the trap, complaining the whole time.” Ranthia interjected.

“Well, charming as this is, we’re wasting time. Come on, I told you the sighting wasn’t even close to this area.” With a flourish, Aegiomus produced and unrolled a map not unlike the one Avyna had created for her.

While her new ‘friend’ laughed and endured his friends’ ribbings, Ranthia slipped next to Aegiomus and idly tapped their approximate location, followed by the City of Arts on the map while she waited for the other elves to gather around.

Instead of establishing a search grid or any similar planning, the elves mostly bickered amongst themselves until they decided to just split up and search by themselves. Two of the group were absolutely done with the hunt and were convinced that they were wasting their time. The Elf Hunter—Zyainmon—claimed he’d searched a wide area around their vicinity without finding any leads, which had the remaining Hunters ready to focus their own efforts further north.

Overall, it was perfect. Aegiomus was able to break from the group and double back to try to find ‘Silver’, while Ranthia wasted most of the night pretending to search with the other Hunters.

And between bonding over the wasted efforts and saving Zyainmon, she found herself with some new acquaintances that were suddenly far friendlier.

The uppermost floors of Nyn Tower held a place of esteem in the hearts of Ithil’s greatest craftsmen. The marketplace there was the place to find and barter for the finest weapons, armor, and exotic materials found within the jewel of commerce. Eight floors of proud [Blacksmiths], eager [Explorers], and Hunters in need of new gear that they could trust with their lives.

There were posted rules about what types of goods went to which floor, but by unspoken agreement, everyone had embraced the mantra of first come, first serve. And so, a woman hawking crystalline arrows sat next to a young elf that was selling vast quantities of summer steel on behalf of one of the larger trading houses. And things only got weirder from there.

[Divine Seeker] began to ping before Ranthia even finished ascending the lift to the market. It was the first time in her life she’d felt multiple traces of adamantium from her Skill. Most of them were pretty small quantities, but there were some considerable results, pulling her attention in a variety of directions.

Of course, she was there on behalf of Algaras to purchase materials for his air vessel that he would pay for whenever they were delivered, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t explore. And there were more than a few wonders on display alongside the goods. A Gale-aspected [Artisan] forcefully exhaled through pursed lips, shaving layers of crystal off as he worked to sculpt a crystalline breastplate to match his presumed customer’s figure. On the next floor, a pale elf with silvery hair sat unbothered next to a molten crucible while she flipped idly through a book. Shockingly, she actually reached into the crucible with her bare hand and retrieved a fully-formed—yet somehow sufficiently cool—sword that she offered hilt-first to an elf that just approached her counter, never even looking up from her book.

Most of the adamantium that [Divine Seeker] sensed was already integrated into equipment. She found an axe with an adamantium edge, a shield with an unbreakable center, and (inexplicably) a golden sword with an adamantium cross guard—each priced well out of what she was willing to spend to try to reclaim a bit of the precious metal.

On the uppermost floor there was even an [Artisan] displaying a full suit of pure adamantium armor. For the affordable price of… well, Ranthia was pretty certain that the combined value of every other item in the tower wouldn’t net even half of what he was expecting to get for the suit. Yet there were still a few elves that seemed to be considering it, including a familiar face—the [Assassin] that served the councilmember that Ranthia had once met with.

Ranthia elected to move to a different floor, even if the woman never looked her way.

In the end, the only adamantium on offer that Ranthia could seriously consider came from two different sellers that were selling materials directly. One worked for the Bronze Bow trading house—something she announced to everyone that stopped by her stall—and the other seemed to be a younger elf that was selling a variety of smaller exotic materials. The Bronze Bow woman had a hand’s worth of adamantium at a price that Ranthia could only narrowly afford, while the younger [Merchant] had a crudely shaped little stick of the metal. In terms of price per volume, the larger piece was a slightly better buy, but Ranthia still chose to approach the younger elf.

After all, no one else was visiting his stall, and while Ranthia had no Skills or classes for it, [Immortal Armaments] gave her a clear recollection of Avyna’s negotiating prowess. It seemed as good an excuse as any to see just how far that could take her.

[*ding!* [Divine Seeker] has leveled from 107 to level 114!]

“Got the equipment you needed, it came out a medium emerald higher than you were expecting, mostly because of the wood. Most of the components should be here later this evening, but no one had that much windsilk in stock—three days was the best I could do.” Ranthia announced once she finished descending the ladder.

“Good enough, all still within my budgetary and timeline calculations. Come, come, I’m ready for the next test fitting of the leather itself. If this solves the previous issue, I’ll begin work on the scales tomorrow.” Algaras hopped away from his desk and beckoned her over.

“About that, I’ve been thinking—instead of using mithril for the pins that connect the scales, wouldn’t adamantium work better? Without needing to make the pins, that should give you enough mithril for the belt too.” Ranthia didn’t even try to keep her triumphant smile off her face.

“Changed your mind, did you?” The master [Artisan] asked, with an arched brow. “I told you, I don’t have the Skills necessary to work with adamantium directly, you’ll have to negotiate with Codgrinne yourself.”

“Algaras, you’ve seen what I can do with the metal. Just let me finish bonding with my newest acquisition, and I’ll make what you need.” Ranthia rolled her eyes as she revealed her purchase.

Sure, Avyna could have probably lowered the price even further, but she was still pleased with what she negotiated. Even between the adamantium, the cost of the [Enchanter] for her armor, and what she’d promised to pay Algaras once her armor was done, she’d still have a bit of money left from selling the wyvern pieces to Lumornor!

Aegiomus never returned to Ithil, not that any of the other Hunters seemed to notice. Ranthia hoped that meant that he’d found ‘Silver’ and was accompanying her on her journey to the City of Arts, but the concern stayed in the back of her mind every time she settled in to rest for the night. Unfortunately, she had no viable means to find out the truth. Xaoc wouldn’t tell her, even if He knew, and she would undoubtedly leave long before any message could arrive.

Algaras had asked her to remain until his air vessel prototype was complete, but that would likely take years. And she had both a Bond and a sister to return to. Which wasn’t at all just an excuse to escape the oppressive disdain of Ithil as soon as she was able.

“I thought we agreed, no helmet.” Ranthia glared at the offending use of her precious materials.

“And I thought we agreed that just because you’ve been doing something stupid so far, it’s still stupid!” Algaras snapped in response.

The day had finally arrived. Her armor was complete. But Ranthia’s enthusiasm had cooled significantly when she found an unexpected addition to the equipment that was presented to her. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much point in arguing—the helmet already existed. Even if she refused to wear it, precious wyvern leather, bone, and teeth had already been consumed in its creation. And it wasn’t like she could recover the materials just by being stubborn.

Ranthia just sighed and shucked her tunic. Algaras had already taught her how the connectors worked, so she started the process of donning it. The trousers were the first part to equip. Instead of using the main body’s leather, the trousers were made with the preserved membrane of the wing, much like the innermost layer of the rest of her armor, giving them a darker appearance from the main suit. The trousers cut off at her ankle and were meant to be tucked into the knee-high boots of her armor.

The armor itself wasn’t quite what she’d envisioned, but she loved it just the same. Wyvern scales covered the entire torso—cleverly designed to twist, overlap, and generally move with her, no matter how she maneuvered her body—with extra leather segments shoring up protection for her shoulders and sides of her chest. Mithril strands were woven through the visible leather, providing attractive designs that were also functional, utilizing the lightweight metal’s natural resilience.

The armor itself fitted exactly to her body’s dimensions. Algaras still included the means to adjust it if she ever needed to, but she was perhaps unique in that she never truly needed to worry about her weight or build varying over time. True, her images gave her a great amount of flexibility, but if she had grown used to her eternal form—it felt like her in a way that even the older versions of herself that she’d once lost never could. Thus, the armor hugged and supported her exact curves like a second skin, it just felt better and more natural than even her Sentinel armor ever could.

Over her armor, she equipped her new belt, which seamlessly blended in with the skirt-like segments of dangling leather that helped to protect her groin. And like most belts she’d ever owned, the mithril buckle was engraved with the symbol of the five gods.

The boots themselves were another compromise that she made after Algaras gave his word that they would be just as flexible as her sandals. She’d planned to be stubborn about it, even after experiencing the flaws of sandals first-hand numerous times throughout her life, but the craftsman had warned her that he absolutely refused to make “something so worthless” as a proper Reman sandal. Still, she didn’t hate the result once she had them on. Soft membrane cushioned and supported the arches of her feet, offering greater comfort than any sandal she’d ever worn. And true to the craftsman’s word, the cleverly segmented and layered protections of her boots twisted and moved freely, even when she tried to push them to their limits.

She was absolutely in love with her armor. No other armor that she’d ever worn could hold a candle to the experience of even just wearing the armor crafted by a master elven [Artisan]. Not to mention that the suit wouldn’t even be scratched by something that would have torn through her old suit effortlessly. It was comfortable, it was (somehow, and she couldn’t even guess at how to explain it) breathable, and it felt incredibly natural, no matter how severely she contorted herself. The boots offered greater traction than she’d ever imagined too. Even when she stepped onto a slick plate of polished metal, she felt effortlessly stable.

Which meant she was effectively out of excuses to avoid the helmet. She couldn’t quite still the grumbling in her heart, but she still slipped the helmet over her head and settled it into place. The bulk of its outer layer was made using the larger facial segments of the wyvern—the broad scales that had, in life, deflected even [Void Edge] with minimal damage. Of course, her armor lacked the creature’s vitality, but they still promised to provide a great deal of protection for her head, even before the integrated enchantments and [The Dancer’s Costume] empowered them. The helmet itself was cleverly designed, snapping into place once she put it on, requiring only a tug of a single strap beneath her chin to tighten it.

She could hear just fine with the helmet on. Wyvern teeth—curved outward, away from her face—offered protection for her lips and nose without impairing her vision in any meaningful way. And it felt light and didn’t move, no matter how vigorously she shook her head.

Alas, it was… perfect. She had absolutely zero reason to hate it.

“As you requested, Jacaros kept the enchantments strictly functional. A regeneration enchantment that will make the armor gradually regrow and recover from damage over time, as if it was still alive. Your typical defensive enchantments for armor, I assume you and she discussed those. Spatial enchantments for the belt pouches. And, because I’ve come to like you, in spite of my better senses, I even paid for a little surprise for you.” Algaras stepped beside her and tapped the back of her armor, right between her shoulder blades. “This is an integrated Spatial storage for your helmet. Keep it in there when you aren’t wearing it, then you can retrieve it in a moment when you need it.”

Mercifully, [Manifest Chaos] had solved her prior issues with enchantments and Skill-infused gems. No matter what enchantments she tested the evolved Skill with—even when she risked shifting with the barkeep’s Spatial storage box—they were preserved. Which meant that she hadn’t held back with her requests to Algaras’ preferred [Enchanter]. The woman’s work cost her just a bit more than the armor itself did, but it was easy to accept almost any expense when it came to preserving both herself and her armor.

“Thank you. Myntheria was right to recommend you, you make incredible armor.” Ranthia offered the man heartfelt gratitude.

“Of course I do! Wilting willows, what were you expecting?!” And he took offense to it. Of course he did.

“Send word when your air vessel’s ready. I look forward to seeing your pet project’s completion.” Ranthia smiled, clad in her new armor, with the spatial storage box at her back—packed with everything she had in Ithil.

The time had finally come.

“Your assistance will be noted in the chronicles of its creation, amongst the other footnotes.” The unhinged [Artisan] replied gravely.

“Aww, Algaras, you’re breaking my heart. A footnote? Come on, who else has helped you as much as I have?” She playfully protested.

“The Guild of Most Honorable Thieves.” He answered seriously.

“Wait, what?” She blinked.

“I told you that they would come through. Not even a fortnight ago, I received what they had promised.” He had the smuggest smile on his face.

And honestly, it was well-earned. By Xaoc, she had been utterly convinced from the first day that he’d been scammed! The only reason she believed his words was the simple fact that he had no reason to lie. That and the fact that the man had been unerringly honest for as long as she’d known him—too honest, truly.

Sometimes the world could be a very strange place.

As much as Ranthia wanted to immediately make her way back to the City of Arts, she had one last stop she needed to make. Myntheria had been right about Algaras, so she was willing to bet that her friend was right about the other piece of advice she’d given. And so, in full armor, Ranthia stepped into the so-called greatest temple.

The name was surprisingly well-deserved. The temple was a massive structure, made using crystal of every shade the System had to offer. Atop the main structure, five great towers—each carefully equal—recreated the holy symbol of the five great gods. It was a building that could easily house a city full of elves if it needed to, with colossal gates.

Within, the air was pleasantly cool, and there were holy altars basically everywhere she looked. [Priests] and [Priestesses] spoke with guests, lovingly tended to altars that were likely already maintained by Auras or enchantments, or were deep into their own prayers. She’d heard that every god had an altar somewhere within the temple, but she was still surprised to see that it might just be true.

After all, she was only on the lowest level of the temple, yet she could see at least a hundred and fifty of them.

“Welcome, outsider. Is there a deity in particular that you wish to commune with?” A level 768 [Priestess] approached her almost the very moment she was done gawking.

“Hello.” Ranthia bowed before continuing. “I’ve journeyed from the City of Arts, in part because I was informed that there are people here that wished to speak to me. But I would also love to greet Xaoc from His altar.”

“Ah, yes, I believe that we were expecting you to come here sooner or later. Please, follow me.” The solemn woman turned away with that and ventured deeper into the temple, walking more slowly than most elves ever would.

Which was fine with Ranthia, it gave her more time to look around. Though she was a bit surprised when they passed by the great altars for each of the five great gods without stopping. Instead, the woman led Ranthia to a staircase that brought them up to the second floor, then continued to ascend while Ranthia took a quick peek. The second floor was far quieter than the first, with altars to less commonly addressed deities. But true to the temple’s reputation, there were altars for non-elven deities too—Ranthia even spotted Herculix’s familiar likeness before she tore herself away and resumed following the silent [Priestess].

They continued their ascent until, at last, they stepped back into the sun. A rooftop garden was nestled beneath the gaze of the five towers, with altars to the deities that would be offended by an altar of cold stone, metal, and/or crystal. They passed quite a few groups that lingered in the gardens, until the woman finally led Ranthia into another chamber at its heart. A narrow hallway circled the chamber. With five heavily engraved doors that led further within.

And Ranthia had no doubt in her heart which deity was depicted by the stylized engravings on the door that the [Priestess] finally stopped outside of.

“The altar within is used by [High Priest] Saraccomo. Please, enter. You may wait within for the guidance of whichever members of our ranks wish to speak with you.” The woman inclined her head and waited until Ranthia reverently opened the door.

Within was a towering statue of Xaoc Himself, looming over her and reaching out toward her with one of His great hands. The statue was unnervingly similar to those she’d found in her world within when she created [She who Dances with Chaos]. Clearly, Saraccomo shared a connection to Xaoc that was, at a minimum, equivalent to her own.

Gods and goddesses, there was a chance that he’d served Xaoc since before even the Paladin’s time.

Reverently, Ranthia entered the chamber, barely even aware that the [Priestess] had shut the door behind her. Instead, she drank in every detail of the statue, before she knelt at His altar. She wasn’t usually one for kneeling while she prayed, but the room wasn’t intended for dancing. The grand statue claimed much of the available space, after all—as it rightly should.

Ranthia, as always, had prayed to Xaoc each and every day, but she waited long enough that she found herself telling Him stories and making a one-sided conversation. She had nothing new to tell Him, but He still listened to every word she had to say.

Until, without warning, He sent her a sensation that wasn’t unlike wishing her luck and withdrew.

She’d never felt anything quite like it. Even when He wasn’t looking her way, she knew that He was there—a prayer away. Yet, for the first time in her life, she felt as if there was a greater distance between them.

Almost the same moment, the door opened, revealing another elf that seemed to be momentarily flatfooted by a similar sensation. A triple-classed [Priest] with levels ranging from 3101 to 2849. He had golden-hued hair that was immaculately styled into a neat bun atop his head, and he wore fine vestments of white, silver, and gold. Everything was in its place and—after he recovered from his momentary surprise—he was smiling warmly in her direction.

But Ranthia was struggling not to glare at the ancient man. It wasn’t just that Xaoc had withdrawn from her. Somehow, she knew, from the first moment she laid eyes on the man, exactly what he was.

She was facing the [High Priest] of Seira, goddess of order. The man represented Xaoc’s rival and foil.

And neither of their gods seemed to want any part in it.