48 The Dream R-18 (1/2)
While the imperial ship cruised the quiet sea toward the academy, in a floating castle amidst the Imperial City, the very heart of the Arcadian Empire, two youngsters cleaved a bloody road across dozens of valiant opponents.
In a locked, arena-like platform, with no form of magic powering them, the two hacked their ordinary-looking steel blades at power armors, slicing all their foes with surgical precision.
One, a herculean youth around 18 with blond dreadlocks and callous blue eyes. More than two meters tall, he dwarfed all his foes with that mixture of culturist musculature and his imposing height.
The other, a pert young woman with long black hair and a pair of enchanting hazel eyes that bore undeniable similarities to Kilian's. Though, just like her partner, stripped of their past luster, those eyes only showcased the brutality of a cold, killing machine. In a flash, the two, Bjorn and Tamara, rived the 48 Core Templars opposing them, and turned to face one another.
More than 2,700 dra, the mid-level High Emissary's standard, burst from Tamara's form, challenging the pressure of Bjorn's presence. In response, 3,600 dra surged from Bjorn's form, pushing back at Tamara's display with complete assurance. The collision of their wild, unrefined dra sent dozens of cracks throughout the ground, and alongside the corpses of their victims, painted the picture of long-standing adversaries deciding life and death in a final clash.
*Clap* *Clap* *Clap*
Clapping sounds interrupted the ongoing clash, Bjorn and Tamara relaxed and turned to face the source. A bald old man dressed in a silver arcanist robe walked in, sweeping the scene with a smile of contentment.
”Well done. Across those five months, the two of you have made tremendous progress, and at full strength, are more than a match for low-level High Emissaries. You truly haven't let down the title of Mahana,” the bald technocrat began, without a hint of sympathy for the 48 fallen.
Indeed, in the Technocracy's eyes, beneath the High Emissary level, all were expendable. In fact, even High Emissaries were starting to lose value.
Faced with the technocrat's praise, Bjorn and Tamara merely bowed in greetings, not speaking unnecessary words.
”As future senators of the Mahana Division, though your status gives you many privileges, there are duties you ought to shoulder, and things you must prove. Half an hour ago, we received news of an Archon's loss. Even for us, this is no negligible matter.
That Kilian zu Verden is clearly a much more troublesome opponent than we anticipated. With all your modifications and upgrades, you are still far from his match,” The technocrat pursued. Though in his eyes Kilian was no significant threat, he served as perfect fuel to sharpen his two disciples.
And indeed, the words brought immediate changes to Bjorn and Tamara's faces. First, their eyebrows arched up and their lips parted in silent surprise. No need to mention the rest of the team. The ability to slay an archon proved that between Kilian's strength and theirs, a world of difference still stood.
Surprise made way for hatred, but while Bjorn's face merely twisted into a frown, Tamara's entire body shook in boiling wrath. Thanks to the technocracy's brainwashing, Kilian was to her what Klaus was to him—the one to whom she owed all her grief.
The technocrats firmly believed that no better drive than purposeful hatred, and no sharper blade than a riven heart existed. The empire engraved that bitter lesson in the past Technocracy's survivors—the current Arch Senators.
Striding across the corpses, the bald technocrat, Arch Senator Burkhart von Skoll, better known as Niklas' uncle, and second highest-ranking elder of the imperial family, scrutinized his disciple's reactions through his amber eyes.
Satisfied, he clasped their shoulders, and in his touch, gave them the missing warmth of a doting parent.
”I understand. To feel the crushing weight of the enemy's might, the pressure leaving the day of your vengeance in a cloud of uncertainty, undoubtedly sickens the stomach. Engrave the sensation in three places, your mind, your heart, your guts, and let it unleash your full potential.
The day of their reckoning nears, and you shall play a critical role in the fulfillment of our dream, in the salvation of this suffering world,” Burkhart whispered in the two's ears, but while they both seemed to drink the words, an imperceptible glint flashed in Bjorn's blue eyes.
Retracting his hands, Burkhart turned to face Bjorn, and summoned a dark-blue cube which he pressed into his hands.
”Bjorn, for you are destined to take my place as Arch Senator of the Mahana Division and de facto leader of the Technocracy, it behooves you to complete this grand task.
Alongside Tamara, you will infiltrate the Imperial Academy, and covetly place the cube in their Main Dra Reactor. We have prepared suitable identities for you, and will directly teleport you into your new roles. Our agents within the academy stand ready to support you.
But remember, though Kilian will be present, corrupting the Main Reactor is the priority. Unless a flawless opportunity presents itself, do not engage him,” Burkhart stressed the final words, reminding the two that failure was no option.
”Arch Senator, have no fear. We will handle this with discretion,” Bjorn replied with a polite bow. Though only five months had passed, Bjorn no longer had any of the vibrant rashness of the past. And with an intellect now far surpassing that of the average man, how else could it be?