Chapter 73: The Recategorization Ceremony

  Justinian, released by the Voivode of the 61st Dimension, landed heavily on the ground and immediately scrambled several meters away. It seemed his internal injuries had been briefly sealed by the very attacker who inflicted them. Now, however, that devil paid him not the slightest attention.

  Trembling slightly and glancing nervously toward the honorary box, the devil bowed to the host of today’s ceremony.

  "There has been a mistake. I... it is all my fault. I should never have allowed this to happen."

  To many present, the devil’s explanation sounded exceedingly conciliatory. As the governor of an entire dimension, such an apologetic stance was surprising. Some might have even thought he was giving the young adept more "face" than he actually deserved.

  For some reason, however, a heavy silence hung in the air, weighing on Justinian’s shoulders like a leaden cloak. The figure of Micromegas, though distant and physically smaller than the nearby Voivode, seemed to exert absolute dominance over the entire arena.

  Suddenly, a quiet, emotionless voice echoed into every corner of the massive amphitheater.

  "I will ask once more. What happened here, Ericus?"

  As those calm words cut through the air, Justinian felt it clearly. The aura of Micromegas—who still stood in his box, hands clasped behind his back—began to saturate the entire arena!

  Even though he wasn't actively attacking, any attempt to compare this to the Voivode’s earlier display of power seemed utterly ridiculous to the young man. This wasn't a minor gap between two distant powers. Though both were immense, Micromegas's dominance was so obvious that Ericus’s power looked like a small campfire next to a raging wildfire.

  Justinian didn't know the cultivation bases of either devil, but for the first time in his life, he felt a power like Micromegas’s deliberately reveal itself in all its glory.

  'It’s as if they are on completely different levels of cultivation...'

  Without even waiting for an answer, that massive pressure began to focus more and more intensely on Ericus. It was so great that Justinian could feel it tightening around the Voivode, despite being several meters away and not being the target himself. The air began to crackle, and grains of sand rose and swirled in an unnatural motion.

  "I am asking for the reason you dared to break the rule against attacking other teams."

  A trickle of thick blood leaked from the sweating Voivode’s mouth. An ominous creaking began to emanate from his beautiful steel armor.

  "Micromegas... I suggest conciliation... I will provide compensation to the 66th Dimension... I..."

  He couldn't even finish his explanation.

  "I do not care. I am asking for the last time: how dare you violate the sanctity of the Rite of the King of Names and Symbols?"

  Ericus raised his face. It was no longer a pale face with nervous, darting eyes. Now... his pupils had vanished once again! However, they reflected nothing but pure fury.

  With that fury, his staggering power flooded the surroundings. The Voivode himself howled, his face contorting.

  "It’s him! He was carrying the aura of that strang... It—"

  Micromegas leaned forward slightly. There was no understanding in his gaze, not even an attempt at it.

  In a fraction of a second, without any visible gesture on his part, the air around the Voivode’s right shoulder simply... collapsed. Justinian heard a gruesome crack that made every hair on his neck stand on end.

  Ericus let out a maddened, animalistic shriek that terrified everyone present. His entire right arm, along with the pauldron and part of his breastplate, was brutally torn from his shoulder and tossed a dozen meters to the side. Blood began to spray onto the sand like a small fountain.

  "This is my final warning. Next time, the penalty will be death."

  The Voivode of the 61st Dimension, clutching his horribly bleeding shoulder, wheezed as he tried to seal the gruesome wound. The white of his eyes remained, but his anger had vanished, replaced by fear. Above all else, fear.

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  Micromegas straightened up.

  "Remove your pathetic prison before I do it for you."

  Ericus, not daring to object even with a blink of an eye, made a barely perceptible movement with his left hand. The massive block of ice imprisoning the representatives of the 66th Dimension exploded into fine dust, which soon evaporated before the deathly silent audience.

  Justinian, still dazed, walked slowly toward his friends. The sound of his footsteps, echoing loudly across the arena, was the only noise breaking the terrifying silence. All the assembled devils were clearly petrified by the intervention of the Voivode of the 60th Dimension.

  When he reached his group, he noticed the atmosphere had changed dramatically.

  All the Sarmatians were now completely sober. Nikodem Rudnicki, usually full of vigor and boisterous humor, was now staring toward the 61st Dimension team and their Voivode with absolute fury. It was the same with Septima, who, though cold, looked at Ericus with such contempt it was as if he had just made the worst mistake of his life.

  No one exchanged a word. Justinian knew it would be inappropriate. Instead, in a tension-filled silence, they watched as the ceremony returned to its tracks—almost as if suggesting the bloody incident from moments ago had never happened.

  All the remaining teams approached the trial of "devilishness," most requiring two attempts to achieve an acceptable result. Crystal monitors coldly signaled the overall scores, defining the hierarchy of the dimensions.

  'It seems the devils don’t want to draw the ire of the higher dimension...'

  Following Justinian’s incredible 100% score, the next best was the 61st Dimension with 43%. Despite their Voivode’s mutilation, Ericus’s adepts were clearly superior in power to the other devils.

  For Justinian, however, that wasn't the most important thing.

  As he observed the other delegations, his temples began to sweat more and more. Although no other team came close to his score, a pattern was visible in the power of the individual demonic dimensions. All of them seemed... significantly stronger than his own delegation.

  'Most haven't reached my level or Septima’s, but there are only two of us...'

  This was even more concerning because the pattern didn't apply only to the adepts. A group of grim warriors from the 65th Dimension, clad in mourning leathers and furs, had an aura so sharp that merely looking at them caused pain. The devils of the 64th Dimension had a fanatical fire in their eyes that warned against crossing their path.

  Furthermore, all these delegations had arrived with at least a hundred people, not counting the adepts. Comparing them to the few dozen Sarmatians who had only recently sobered up presented a very disturbing picture.

  Worse—the devils of the 66th Dimension looked like a haphazard collection. There was no iron discipline here, nor specifically channeled power. Nor was there any particularly impressive armor—aside from the rare cases of exceptional sabers.

  'But the most glaring thing is the absence of our Voivode.'

  Justinian had no doubt that Rudnicki was powerful. He had stayed with the nobility long enough to notice the respect the others showed him within that class where everyone was supposedly equal. Boruta negotiated with him as an equal, and the boy was still unable to estimate his cultivation level.

  The problem was that in the current situation, all of that seemed insufficient. The Voivode of the 61st Dimension had previously been able to take Nikodem and the Sarmatians out of the fight with a single technique. They couldn't escape it on their own; without Micromegas and his anger, they might still be trapped.

  'Rudnicki is probably not on the same level as Boruta and the Voivode of the 61st.'

  His reflections were interrupted by the host’s voice, which rose over the arena once again.

  "As should be expected, all teams possess sufficient qualifications to participate in the pilgrimage celebration ceremony."

  Micromegas paused and looked over everyone, appearing genuinely satisfied with what had been presented so far. However, it seemed that both the audience and the teams were not in a celebratory mood after his earlier display.

  "The next trials will present specific opportunities and risks for the participants. You will have a chance to increase your current strength, provided you demonstrate an approach worthy of the blessing of the King of Names and Symbols."

  Justinian had the impression that Micromegas looked specifically in his direction when saying that last part.

  "All of this will require certain sacrifices from you. However, I announce that this competition will be preceded by a banquet, which will take place in two weeks. You should use this time properly to increase your devilishness."

  The representatives of the 66th Dimension slowly looked at one another. It seemed the show was coming to an end. But then, Micromegas’s aura—which had been encouraging and praising a moment ago—began to shift.

  The young man felt it permeate the entire arena, eyeing the teams like a predator waiting to devour its prey. The Voivode’s voice also grew more serious.

  "I also have news regarding the Recategorization Ceremony itself."

  The tension became palpable immediately. Not just the Sarmatians and Rudnicki, but all participating dimensions and the audience waited with bated breath.

  "Rumors have surfaced that we would return to the old tradition, which apparently worried some participants. As the Voivode governing the 60th Dimension, I would like to put an end to those rumors."

  The devil paused again, looking at the confused Voivodes. Then he smiled slightly, his eyes shining with fanatical devotion.

  "You should all be happy, subjects of the King of Names and Symbols. For the first time in many years, the Recategorization will return to the glorious ancient times! All dimensions above number 60 will face one another and, through combat, prove their worth to the Lord of Hell!"

  The arena immediately erupted with the roar of hundreds of thousands of devils. To them, this meant a magnificent spectacle—the fulfillment of their darkest dreams.

  Justinian felt his heart begin to hammer like a drum.