144. [COUNTERPOINT] All's Fair

For Rathor Tyrsen, a day that had begun in peace and predictability was about to end in war.

This morning's Kronvakt meeting had been by far their most eventful in recent memory. News of a full-on invasion of Stamgard by Rotgardian rebels, on the back of two absentees from Eddur Lokksen's team—including the barreleye himself. Something of an irony, then, that it was Eddur who'd predicted that the border conflicts would soon blow over without the need for intervention.

Well, Eddur had been wrong. And as far as Rathor could tell, the barreleye man wasn't around to witness just how much. No matter. For if Rathor had his way, the conflicts would indeed 'blow over', long before involving Eddur or anyone else in the Kronvakt.

The Prince of Pretjord seldom presented himself to the lower segments—let alone so soon after his last visit. But the time for complacency was past. While a Kronvakt strike team readied their descent—a needlessly inefficient process bogged down by protocol and logistics—Rathor went ahead by his lonesome.

He navigated the Neck's near-vertical drop with ease, thanks to [Trueflight] and its omnidirectional movement. As far as modes of travel went, his was far less Realmtree-friendly than the rubbery feet of Gulloyne, but it was also much faster. Trees grew back, but fires didn't put themselves out.

Past the Neck and into the Trunk. Operating on limited intel, Rathor decided to trace the main body of the Sanzu, assuming that the Town Market would play host to the thick of the action. The Market was, of course, where the bulk of Stamgard's wealth and resources were concentrated, and therefore of great strategic value to Rotgard's guerilla force.

Sure enough, a fierce battle raged on below as Rathor arrived in the enclosure. He perched atop a moss-covered knot, GUNGNIR hanging loosely in his right hand. Then he took a moment to survey the scene, deciding in real time how best to mete out his princely intervention.

The Stamgardian contingent—composed almost entirely of harpoon-toting Kronheer—was about fifty strong at a glance. On the other side, the guerilla was smaller by half—barely two dozens of ragtag civilians, armed with not much more than fishing spears (and not the transmuted kind like the one in Rathor's hand!).

Despite this discrepancy, it was the Stammers who were clearly on the back foot. Even as Rathor watched, they were pushed ever closer to the general store of Jorgen & Sons, which appeared to be the main point of contention.

And no wonder. For the Rotters were championed by a pair of Wayfaring allies—brawling out in the open instead of striking from the shadows. The sturgeon twins led from the front, deflecting harpoons and batting aside soldiers, all with powerful swings of their chiral OARs.

Rathor smiled. Fortune favors the strong. And the Tomasens certainly were strong—too much so for even a whole company of Kronheer to handle. But they were also merciful, preferring a non-lethal approach in their melee against Anchored souls. In fact, they'd yet to equip their main Instrument, thereby forgoing their clearest advantage as Wayfarers.

Well, that would soon change if Rathor had anything to say about it. For it was obvious now what he ought to do. Cut off the head of the snake, and the rest would slink back to their holes—for good, if they knew what was good for them.

[FURNACE: ON]

[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT—SAMGHATA]

A standard single-target opener, aimed at one of the twins (didn't matter which one). Rathor's [Flight] was [True], but so too was the twin's reaction precise—a last-Ksana OAR-swing to parry GUNGNIR's spearpoint.

Just like that, the battle shifted from a 2v50 to 2v1. Such was Rathor Tyrsen's threat that the Tomasens could ill afford to divide their focus. The Prince knew this, welcomed it, and made sure the riffraff knew it just as well:

"Stay out of this!"

Sung with a bright smile, but it was nevertheless a clear enough warning. All who needed to hear it—on both sides of the conflict—heard it, and gave the Wayfarers a wide berth. No matter how fervently the Anchored souls believed in their respective causes, none of them wished to be zapped, frozen, or burnt to death.

There. Forget the riffraff and focus on the fun. Rathor had committed the opener, but the Tomasens responded quickly, producing and combining COASTER in the blink of an eye. Then, they readied their OARS and… passed to each other.

Thus began the twins' pinpoint back-and-forth, lightning quick and cold as ice. Rathor knew what this was, of course. It was the build-up to their big finisher, a charged-up [Buzzer Beater] in the hopes of 'one-shotting' the Kronvakt captain.

A trifle. Rathor had never been much of an Iskolle player, but even he knew how to read passing lanes. Position himself in the space between the sturgeons, then aim [Trueflight] into COASTER…

No good! The disc flew faster even than his GUNGNIR, rendering moot his attempts to catch it. Alright. What of the players themselves then?

Rathor changed tack immediately, shifting his spearpoint onto the twins. However, this too proved to be a futile effort. The Tomasens remained in constant motion, gliding upon icy floors to keep Rathor off-balance and stay just ahead of his [Trueflight].

The twins continued to pass circles around the Prince, building up [Buzzer Beater]'s damage potential all the while. To make matters worse, the entire terrain soon filled with sparkling ice, a minefield of fall hazards and [Paralysis] traps. If Rathor weren't careful, he'd soon lose his mobility, along with any hope of countering the Tomasens' finishing move.

Sensing real and undeniable danger, Rathor smiled once more. This was it. This was what Wayfaring was all about—a deadly contest of will and magic, balanced upon a knife's edge.

What a rare privilege to be challenged and inspired so! He could dawdle no longer. Time to repay his fellow Wayfarers in kind—and show them to the chasm that separated a pair of bottom-feeders from their rightful Prince.

[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT—RAURAVA]

Rathor aimed GUNGNIR into the frozen ground, simultaneously letting fly six burning apparitions. They spread in a radial pattern, setting the whole area on fire and melting the ice. Your mistake, sturgeons, Rathor mused gleefully, was to presume that ice and lightning stood any chance against the flames of hell!

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[Raurava]'s powerful AOE had served not only to 'reclaim' the terrain in Rathor's favor, but also to put the Tomasens in an awkward position. The twins must see that they couldn't play their evasive passing game forever. The time to strike was now, while the Prince took a necessary pause in his string of techniques.

[COASTER Spell: BUZZER BEATER]

The Tomasens might have preferred to keep charging for a little while longer, but their attack was already potent enough—if not to one-shot their target, then at least to immobilize him with the triple whammy of [Paralysis], [Snap Freeze], and Poise-break. To that end, COASTER flew, faster and truer than any fishing spear, transmuted or no. And it might've even accomplished its task, were it not for…

[Auxiliary Technique: IMMOLATION—SANJIVA]

A technique Rathor had never revealed to another soul, not because he wanted it hidden, but simply because he'd never before needed to use it. It was one half of the 'upgrade' he'd received from the [Frostkrillboon] some ten years ago, and it showed its worth now, catching the Tomasens off guard with its rapid deployment. And no wonder, for unlike the [Trueflight] family of techniques, [Immolation] merely required Rathor to point his weapon at himself.

Rathor struck GUNGNIR's barbed trident against his own chest—the patch of polished basalt upon a field of vermilion. In an instant, the half-blood prince's entire body went up in flames of roiling black-green. Yet, unlike their cousins, these were flames found only in the deepest depths of hell—flames of remaking, reinforcement, and rebirth.

[1,352!]

[367!], [355!], [378!], [343!] -> [1,443!]

First, the damage from [Buzzer Beater], just a few hundred points shy of one-shotting Rathor. But this was entirely negated by [Sanjiva]'s regenerative effect, putting the Prince back at max health in a matter of seconds. As if that weren't enough, the full-body suit of fire had repelled all incoming status effects and protected its wearer from Poise damage.

The Tomasens were stunned and exhausted into stasis—as well they should be in the face of absolute superiority. But Rathor himself was running out of options. As powerful a spell as [Sanjiva] was, it'd nearly depleted his reserves of [Love]. He had enough fuel for but one last technique—and two opponents that needed smiting.

No matter. With a few swift strides, Rathor rounded one of the twins, thereby positioning himself in a straight line with the other. Then, with decisive speed and careful precision:

[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT—TAPANA]

Two sturgeons with one spear. GUNGNIR penetrated the first twin and continued its [Flight], until its barbed ends buried themselves into the second. A shish kebab of muscles, bones, and scales—and for the grand finale:

[LARS TOMASEN Status Effect: HELLFIRE]

[HANS TOMASEN Status Effect: HELLFIRE]

A raging barbecue fit for royalty. After a mere few ticks of supersized DoT, both of the Tomasens combusted into Souldust.

[12,414 क]

[12,414 क]

Even at the height of his battle-bliss, Rathor found it in him to marvel at the twins' quirkiness. The effort it must take to 'synchronize' their Karmic gains! What strange and wonderful fellows! I must find a chance to pick their brains some time, perhaps when this is all over…

But this was far from over, as Rathor was suddenly reminded of the riffraff he'd been happily ignoring.

[-500 क (deduction)], [-500 क (deduction)], [-500 क (deduction)], …

An unfortunate blunder! In his haste to relish a sturgeon shish kebab, Rathor had neglected the usual principles of fire safety. The result was a whole section of the Town Market—including the storefront of Jorgen & Sons—ablaze with black-green flames, along with multiple members of the Kronheer caught in 'friendly fire'.

To make matters worse, the Kronheer weren't the only collateral victims. Whether due to brazen folly or calculated arrogance, Palmr Jorgensen the master vendor had remained with his wares. The panicked catfish now flailed his arms from an open window, screaming for help even as his store burned all around him.

Seeing this, Rathor tutted. It wasn't that he much cared for the lives of those in the lower segments, but the catfish was his parents' favorite supplier. His incineration, as well as the total destruction of his wares, would surely cause much grief and many grievances across the Realm—the very antithesis to Rathor's pursuit of [Love] in all its forms.

I'm sorry, old fella, Rathor mused with an inward shrug of the shoulders. I'd love to help, but sadly, I'm fresh out of [Love].

But then… a funny thing happened. Across the black-green inferno, for one Ksana, Rathor's and Palmr's eyes met. And the naked, desperate [Hunger] that poured out of the dying man—[Hunger] for air, for water, for life—shot straight into Rathor's chest and imbued his FURNACE with newfound energy.

It was an entirely novel sensation, and yet, its essence was unmistakable. It was [Love]—in its basest, purest, and most primal form.

[Auxiliary Technique: TRUEFLIGHT—KALASUTRA]

Rathor acted before he could think. Wrapping himself in a spinning ball of fire ([35!], [32!], [38!], …), he [Flew] into the Sanzu River, thus sending a powerful geyser high into the sky. Borrowing a page from his bastard sister's book, he then redirected the water onto the burning Market, thus dousing the flames in an instant of torrential rain.

Not even Rathor had known himself capable of such a trick—mainly because he'd never needed to put out a fire so large or quite so literal. At KL-70 and at the height of his powers—both magical and political—the Prince of Pretjord now stepped onto uncharted territory. And with it, he learned something entirely new about himself—and about what it meant for his people to [Love] him.

"Ohhh, my Prince! Your Royal Highness! I thank you! I thank you with every fiber of my soul!"

The catfish's voice was hoarse with smoke and unrestrained emotion. He groveled at Rathor's feet, rubbing tears, snot, and soot onto the Prince's trousers. The sight was absolutely revolting, and yet, it also nourished Rathor's own [Hunger] like nothing before it.

It wasn't just Palmr. Soon, survivors from the Kronheer gathered in numbers—terrified, exhausted, and broken, but very much alive. They knelt in a reverent circle around Rathor, with their voices merging into an incoherent babble of relief and gratitude.

And even the defeated Rotgardian guerilla. They too held Rathor in their eyes and mind as they retreated, fearful yet awestruck. Theirs was subjugation of a more roundabout manner, though no less legitimate—a plea to be spared rather than saved.

Even as magic surged anew within Rathor's FURNACE, he had to wonder about its provenance. Where had this [Love] been hiding all his life? How had he never tasted it before, in all the years of performing his princely duties, ever with a bright smile and a burning spear in hand?

Understanding came to him in short order—first as a whisper. Crackling embers from the deepest depths of hell.

Then louder. Much louder. Cries for war. Screams for clemency. Lamentations of the damned.

It was a puzzle he'd been trying to solve for a decade and more, ever since the [Frostkrillboon] had granted him two halves of a whole fire. [Sanjiva] had come to him naturally, but [AVICI] had always eluded him—its flames too black for his mind to conceive, and too hot even for his FURNACE to contain.

Until now.

The puzzle was starting to take shape, and Rathor Tyrsen thought he knew where to find the next piece.

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