Chapter 83: Past and Present

  When Totius’s shocking words echoed across the stands, Justinian felt as though he hadn’t understood them correctly. In an instinctive reaction, he even followed the spirit’s gaze toward the distant balcony, almost expecting to see someone other than Voivode Ericus. It took several seconds for the facts to settle in coldly.

  'Totius once mentioned that he died in the 61st dimension under torture...'

  He also knew that the Sarmatians, just before meeting Justinian and handing over the magical pipe, had only recently returned from that very dimension. A memory flashed before his eyes of the Voivode’s face, contorted with fury, just after he had destroyed the testing rock and... summoned Totius to protect him from a bolt of lightning.

  "Those words about being an envoy and the outbursts of anger... was it all about you?"

  The white smoke flowing from the worn, old pipe retreated inside, as if contemplating the answer. Finally, a brief confirmation drifted out.

  "It is quite probable."

  The ghost's voice was strangely sad, completely different from the tone that usually accompanied him. After a moment of silence that Justinian did not interrupt, Totius began his explanation.

  "The devils of the 61st dimension captured me and my companions shortly after we began teaching in their harsh land. We were quickly thrown into the dungeons and subjected to torture. Ericus was a teenager back then, but as the Voivode’s son, he supervised the process to which we were subjected."

  The arena was still draped in a shroud of quiet anticipation for the outcome of the duel between Septima and Didko. This made the emptiness present in the ghost's voice feel palpable, especially when he touched upon the fate that befell his companions.

  "Searing the skin, breaking on the wheel, and racking limbs were meant to test our faith, yet we endured it bravely, for the truth was with us."

  The smoke flickered slightly around the pipe, as if he were considering how to phrase the events that followed.

  "We began to tell the days apart by the growing silence in the neighboring cells. Each morning, there were fewer voices to answer my call, until one day, the only sound left in the dungeon was the rattling of my own chains."

  Totius flickered again with a delicate light.

  "Ericus tried to prove to me that the truth I preached was devoid of all meaning, and that only a common fool does not change his views."

  The spirit reflected for a moment.

  "At some point, seeing how broken my body was, it became clear to me that I would not survive the torture. I do not remember the moment of my death; it was only years later that I woke up as a spirit bound to this pipe."

  Before Justinian could answer, a roar erupted in the arena, interrupting their further conversation. Shouts broke out, and everyone’s gaze focused on the center of the battlefield.

  Didko, the cultivator from the 65th dimension who had previously mysteriously defeated his opponents without saying a word, had fallen heavily onto his back. Like his previous victims, he was now discharging bloody foam; his eyes were closed, and his body was wracked with convulsions.

  Septima, meanwhile, as if nothing had happened, was still standing in the same spot. Her gaze was just as indifferent as before. Justinian raised his eyebrows slightly at the result, but a shadow of relief crossed his face. He had worried earlier that the mysterious opponent would prove too strong for her.

  Before she could return to the stands, however, something else happened.

  From the section of the 65th dimension, where the devils with long top-knots were seated, a heart-wrenching scream tore through the air.

  "BROTHER!"

  Justinian saw the devil who had earlier smiled at him strangely lunge in rage onto the arena, gathering Didko's increasingly convulsing body into his arms. Only now did the young man notice that something was wrong. While Didko's previous opponents had ended up in a similar state, Didko himself now... would not stop bleeding!

  What’s more, it was thick, black blood that horribly stained the foam escaping him. Soon, bleeding from the eyes, nose, and ears followed, and the devils in the stands held their breath.

  A moment later... he died, without even regaining consciousness for a second!

  "What happened there?"

  "Did someone poison him?!"

  "I heard deaths sometimes happen in mental combat..."

  Ataman Ihor, who was holding the body of his "brother" in shock, raised his head. His eyes flowed with pure, unbridled anger. The air around him shook from the weight of his aura, and he vaulted to his feet, reaching for the hilt of his heavy shashka!

  "You bloody witch!"

  Seeing him about to lunge at Septima, Justinian took a step, ready to help her, but it very quickly became clear that it wasn't necessary.

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  "Take one more step, and your severed head will lie beside your brother's."

  Even though Septima said it very quietly, it seemed as though everyone in the arena heard it!

  Her threat carried a strange power that made the atmosphere even heavier than it had been a moment ago, and the devils in the stands began to choke from a lack of breath.

  Ihor, gritting his teeth so hard that blood seeped from his gums, stood motionless. In the end, however... he let it go. He simply picked up Didko’s body and, without gracing anyone else with a glance, left the arena.

  A dry announcement came from the observers' box.

  "The winner of the match is Septima from the 66th dimension."

  When the deviless returned to the 66th dimension stands, Justinian scratched his head and approached her.

  "What happened there?"

  She shrugged, as if all the commotion from a moment ago meant nothing to her.

  "He was using a form of mental combat. I can show you during training."

  Justinian fell silent for a moment, looking first at her and then at the arena where her dead opponent had lain just a moment before.

  "And his death?"

  The deviless looked at him over her shoulder. In her eyes, he saw a shadow of mockery.

  "What about it?"

  "I’m just wondering if it was necessary."

  She sighed quietly, then shook her head, as if disappointed by his behavior.

  "I didn't kill him. He died from the backlash of his own technique as a result of a lost mental confrontation. Besides..."

  Here, a coldness appeared in her eyes that seemed to emanate genuine hostility.

  "You should hammer one thing into your head once and for all. Regardless of how idiotic a worldview you adopt, you must first survive to hold it. If someone attacks you, you have the right to defend yourself."

  Justinian didn't say anything more. He knew she was right.

  Meanwhile, in Micromegas's box, Envidius, the handsome Observer from the 32nd dimension, could not believe what had happened in the arena. He had already managed to scrutinize Didko, who actually came from a fallen, though once highly respected, house from the 45th dimension. The death of someone like that after a mental clash at this end of the world should never have occurred.

  'Could I have misjudged this Septima?'

  It was clear to him, as well as to Micromegas and the rest of the observers, that her true cultivation was sealed. Such a situation was not, in fact, rare enough to warrant special scrutiny. Desperate cultivators, after being confronted with a severe problem, sometimes tried starting over, usually leaving seals that allowed them to restore at least a portion of their former power.

  'However, that mainly applies to someone with low potential... Why would someone capable of overcoming an old house from the 45th on potential alone do such a thing?'

  His deliberations were interrupted by loud laughter coming from the observers' box, hidden from the public eye.

  "Looking at how you meddle in the affairs of these pathetic dimensions, I expected you couldn't sink any lower. And yet, Envidius! You are truly unique!"

  Hearing this, the young devil clenched his hands into fists. Even though he tried to tell himself her words were meaningless, they were still irritating.

  "Oo? Silent? Perhaps before the Third Oath occurs, I should also tell the clan head just how pathetic his minions are?"

  Anger began to burn in Envidius’s lungs, but he could not reply. Dolovarius, the leader of their delegation here, wanted to do so, but Alia stopped him with a wave of her hand.

  "Both of you are worth nothing. Therefore, it's better to stay silent before you make the situation worse with some stupid statement."

  Envidius watched as Dolovarius similarly flared up in anger and, white in the cheeks from rage, tried to come up with some retort. Their imminent exchange of words, to the evident relief of the latter, was interrupted by a tremor outside the city, felt only by them.

  The earth shook powerfully, as if something gargantuan had been driven into it with terrible force.

  There was no doubt that Micromegas would soon return.

  Shortly thereafter, the several remaining fights of the first phase were conducted. The following participants advanced to the final: Bahadyr from the 64th, Justinian and Septima from the 66th, Ihor from the 65th, Svarticus from the 61st, and one of his subordinates, Ivan—a tall devil from the 63rd dimension. Additionally, one of the alchemists from the 62nd dimension. Every world had its representative except for world 66.6—they had forfeited their entire roster, not fielding anyone for the fight.

  Micromegas approached the balustrade, and his voice, amplified by thousands of formations hidden in the walls of the arena, struck the ears of the spectators.

  "The first phase has been concluded, so I would like to address the participants."

  His voice was calm, essentially devoid of any emotion. He swept his gaze across the stands where the contestants were located.

  "Starting with the losers—to me, you are filth that ought to be eliminated. Offer prayers of thanks for the mercy of the King of Names and Symbols that you are still alive."

  Many of the devils present hung their heads, while the crowd from the 60th dimension cheered, delighted by his brutal honesty and contempt for weakness.

  "As for the finalists—you have earned something more than just applause. As part of the previously signaled reward, you will be given an opportunity to meet with one of the Observers. Treat this as a gift that you cannot afford to waste."

  Murmurs of excitement immediately spread through the arena. Who wouldn't envy such an opportunity to learn from the powerful, mysterious beings in the service of the Lord of Hell? Justinian, on the 66th dimension stand, did not look pleased at all, but undisguised delight was visible among many of the finalists.

  Micromegas also announced that the next competition would be declared directly after the meeting with the Observer, and then he announced the end of today's fights.

  In the evening, an atmosphere of excited anticipation reigned in the residence of the 66th dimension. Even though Justinian did not share the enthusiasm regarding the opportunity to speak with a mysterious Observer, the Sarmatians, along with Noble Brothers, seemed more than satisfied with the resulting honor. For some strange reason, they considered his success to be their success and even attributed part of the merit to themselves.

  "It’s definitely because of our shared Sarmatian ancestors!"

  "Of course! Grim Judge is only so radiant because a part of our Sarmatian blood flows in his veins!"

  Listening to this, Justinian could not believe how detached from the world one could be. Ultimately resigned, he gave up on trying to bring them down to earth and simply locked himself in his room.

  There, sitting on the edge of the bed, he wanted to return in his thoughts to the events of the heavy day and consider his further plan of action.

  Suddenly, he heard a quiet knock. It was not the confident pounding of Rudnicki, nor the indifferent taps of Septima. In its politeness, it resembled Seweryn's high culture.

  "The door is open."

  To his surprise, Franciscus stood in the doorway. The young devil with green hair bowed politely, and Justinian pointed the boy toward a chair. Clutching the notebook he was never without, the guest accepted the invitation.

  Then, without losing the formality of his tone, he addressed his host.

  "May I ask a favor of you?"