Chapter 75: The Clash
Hearing Maxwell’s reply to his congratulations, Blank froze. He remained very, very calm. Unnaturally so. His sudden stillness was so intense that Maxwell, in reaction, wondered if the masked man had suddenly transformed into a living statue.
And worst of all, their hands were still intertwined in a handshake. And Blank’s grip on Maxwell’s palm was gradually becoming loose.
Still, Maxwell held onto Blank’s masked gaze with his blue. And although the Legendary Mercenary King’s grip was loose, his fiery red gaze burned with an intense emotion that Maxwell couldn’t quite put a finger on.
It made the young water mage frown, brows knitting.
The sudden looming silence was only punctuated by the buzzing of a hovering grandmaster spirit, who circled Blank’s head, blowing raspberries.
Finally, dissolving the awkward silence was a soft breath that broke out of Blank’s lips. And, gathering himself, he asked:
"Who are you?"
The calm delivery of the question caused Maxwell to raise a brow. Blank’s voice had lost all former trace of humor, leaving only a cold, quiet authority in its wake.
An authority that did not register on Maxwell.
Although it did amuse the regressed god. With his brow still raised, he smiled. A cold, humorless smile.
"I firmly believe that a second or so ago, you stated, and I quote, ’I certainly know more than you do.’ Well, why don’t you tell me who I am then, oh knowing one?"
Blank’s gaze was relentless. He took his hand away from Maxwell’s grip, his posture tense and stiff. Too stiff.
"Maxwell Duvon Belognia, youngest son of the Western Duchal family, Belognia. An anomaly, a stain on the page of his family. A child with extraordinary affinity to the Water Element born into a Flame House. Even after graduating from the Imperial Academy, you were still unable to advance past the 2nd-circle with your high affinity to water, you were expelled and disowned from the family on your twentieth year. To survive in the world, you set out on a journey to Ludia to become a mercenary and rise through the ranks.
"And that’s when it all began. Feats that shouldn’t have been possible for you. From killing a wyvern on your own to clearing the entire Red Valley. To top it all off, the 2nd-circle kid who couldn’t progress was said to be on par with 7th-circles. But when I met you the other day, I was sure you were only a 5th-circle. And today, you’ve displayed 9th-circle prowess."
Suddenly, Blank’s statuesque form melted and he walked closer to Maxwell. The young water mage stood his ground, eyes still focused on Blank’s, humorless smile still plastered on his lips.
"But the child I see right now is a definite 5th-circle," Blank said, straightening his arms. "So there’s one of two things at play here; either you’ve veiled your true 9th-circle prowess really well that you can even fool my eyes. Or you’re at a level higher than mine. So high that I can’t even detect it."
Maxwell’s smile widened.
"So?" He asked. "Go ahead."
"I’m willing to bet on the latter, world invader. You see, I felt a disturbance in this world a few weeks ago. The core of Cryst was shaken, reacting to the arrival of a transcendent force. And it turns out that it was the exact day you slaughtered that wyvern. The exact day the pattern of your life began to shift. The exact day you started displaying 7th-circle prowess."
Blank clenched his fists. And, as Maxwell watched closely, he could see steam rising from the masked man’s skin. And suddenly, the emotion hidden behind that furious red gaze became clear to the water mage.
It was anger.
"So," Blank began, "I’ll ask again, world invader. Who are you? Why are you here? What is your purpose? Why have you occupied that boy’s body? Where is his soul? For what reason have you come to this world?"
Maxwell looked toward a stunned, silent Frilo, who hovered next to the opposing duo.
Frilo regarded Maxwell with a shrug. And then it grinned mischievously.
That grin if Frilo’s... it caused Maxwell to chuckle, even as Blank began to emit heat that vibrated the atmosphere.
"I didn’t expect this, Charles–"
"Do NOT call me by that name."
"I will call you whatever I want, Charles Liam Flameworth."
"WHO ARE YOU?!"
"Do you really hate other ascendents that much?"
Maxwell didn’t really need the answer to that question. He already knew. This man, standing right in front of him with clenched fists, was someone who hated the existence of transcendence. How ironic it was. He hated it, but he still chased after it, all to retrieve something he’d lost.
Indeed, seeing the younger version of this being in the flesh was really something... but it made Maxwell realize that even him, like Maxwell, once had a time when he chased after a lost love. One had a time when he was pathetically mortal, striving for something more all for love.
In a way, the two were alike.
But it didn’t mean that Maxwell liked him. This man, no matter his purpose or justification, was the reason for the downfall of Cryst.
He was the reason why Maxwell had lost everything in the first place. Why Maxwell had lost his life, his friends, his love, his peace. Rita.
The reason he’d turmoiled for centuries, living with pain in his heart.
And now... here he was...
It almost made Maxwell laugh, it made his guts twist too.
He thought he knew Maxwell?
Oh, he didn’t at all. In fact, Maxwell knew him. Both the him of the past, the him of the present, and the version of him that...
Maxwell calmed his beating heart, calmed his surging veins, calmed his twisting pathways. Today was a good day.
"Hate ascendents?" Blank asked, voice raspy and deep. "No, I don’t just hate you lot. I despise you all. Just because you’ve grasped power and ascended your world, you think you can hop into any other world in this damn Cacosphere and play with it however you want in the guise of farming faith. Do you know how many ascenders I’ve fought off from the surface of this world for decades? They all come with one filthy purpose or the other. To enslave, to rule, to cause chaos and confusion. To conquer. To grow notoriety and faith through slaughter."
Ah, there it was. Therein lay the hatred that birthed the transcendent who sought not to become a god or an immortal.
"And you think I’m like the others?"
"Aren’t you?"
Maxwell shrugged, calm.
"I’d like to argue that I’m not. But then, with you emitting that much killing intent, I don’t think my words will do anything to convince you."
The atmosphere trembled, the Earth shaking under the heat of ascendant mana as Blank braced himself.
"Do you know how many ascendants have come into this world, invader?"
Maxwell shrugged once more. Still calm and unfazed.
"Well," Blank said, voice radiating hatred. "I suppose it doesn’t matter. I killed them all. And I don’t care that you inhabited a native body, you’re going to end up like all the others. I will pulverize your soul. This world will not fall into damnation until I get what I want from it."
’And that’s why it got destroyed?! Why Rita died?! Because you got what you wanted?!’
Maxwell couldn’t scream that aloud. The version of Blank he was speaking with was yet to do that. And, truth be told, it wasn’t completely his fault. The Seven Seats were much to be blamed.
Maxwell knew this. He indeed knew.
But...
The regressed god tilted his head.
"Is it Elementless Magic? The thing you want, I mean," Max asked. "Or, should I refer to it as what the ancient Elves, the ones that migrated to this universe from the mother tree’s roots call it... The lost Celestial Arts?"
As a discomforting reply, Blank’s figure blurred into mist, afterimage blending with the air.
And in the same motion, Frilo disappeared, finding its way toward Maxwell, emboldening the man’s presence and heightening his mana capabilities.
’This lad that hasn’t even grasped a form of conception or the wisps of divinity...’
Something stirred in the god’s soul, shattering his calm mask.
And as did Blank, Maxwell also blurred.
And fist met fist.
Boom–!
The city of Rindell shook and trembled as the mixture of all four elements of mana swept through it.
And in that moment, on that day, Rindell witnessed the clash of 9th-circles.