Tars suspected that the female wizard apprentice might have long since left the Fendis family. After several failed attempts to deliver a formal invitation, they had used her name as bait to lure a "simple and kind-hearted" kobold like him out of hiding. In the end, he was the only one who had been telling the truth the entire time.
A figure reeking of alcohol plopped down onto the seat beside him.
"Need some help, young man?" the man asked, punctuating the question with a drunken burp.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Tars said with a chuckle.
"I wasn't following you. The Fendis family offered a fortune to find some death-defying transcendents to deal with a 'wild wizard with peculiar methods,' hehe," the booze-loving old wizard apprentice laughed. "I heard there was money to be made and wine to be had, so I came. Though, their wine isn't as good as mine."
"Be careful, kid. I recognize quite a few wizard apprentices and all sorts of other transcendents here. There are definitely Fendis family elites lurking in the shadows," the old drunkard warned.
"And what about you?" Tars asked with a grin. "Are you going to make a move against me?"
The old man waved him off, took the glass from Tars's hand, and tilted his head back to drain it. Tars smiled and scanned the surroundings.
Are transcendents truly so proud? he wondered. They haven't swarmed me yet. He looked at the predatory gazes fixed on him from a distance.
"They're waiting. Waiting for the poison to take effect," the old man said, savoring the dregs of the wine. "Your constitution seems quite unusual; ordinary toxins don't seem to work on you."
"There was poison in the wine?" Tars looked at the empty glass in the old man's hand.
"Just a touch, for flavor," the old man replied. "The wine I've drunk is stronger than any poison these nobles could get their hands on."
Tars blinked, feeling like his horizons had been broadened once again. He stood up, adjusted his robes, and with a wave of his hand, placed the other seven glasses of wine beside the old man.
"Please, enjoy yourself. I'll go handle this."
He surveyed the dim hall and began walking slowly along one side of the room. He didn't take the stairs, yet he was drawing steadily closer to Edgar. As he strolled, he looked up at the second-floor gallery and flashed Edgar a smile.
"This despicable, cunning monster—he clearly didn't drink the wine!" Edgar roared, glancing toward the old man sipping wine in the distance. "Wild wizards truly are wretched. Every last one of them is a loathsome fraud."
With Edgar's howl, the guests in the hall finally made their move.
Three humming, glowing arrows hissed through the air from a dark corner. Tars's footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second as he instantly cleared his three temporary spell slots. He performed a tactical roll, lunging toward the corner—he had spotted the archer's movements long ago.
He deliberately pulsed his Stenchful Skin, activating and deactivating it in a heartbeat. The person in the corner was dealt with instantly.
Since his fight with Baunte, he had been reflecting. His first mistake then had been letting Baunte quickly identify the range of Stenchful Skin. Although opponents might be experienced, he could manipulate the spell—maintaining it at times, dropping it at others, and constantly varying the distance and timing to interfere with their judgment. This was exactly what he was doing now: sometimes activating the aura from afar, sometimes waiting until he was inches away, ensuring they could find no pattern.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Tars took a fleeting moment to appreciate his towering physique. Under the blessing of Demonic Body, he had grown significantly taller. In this state, he was taller than Aiskin and only slightly less imposing than Big Dumb Hum. His only regret was forgetting to take off his robes earlier; now, only tattered scraps hung from his frame. He had actually quite liked that outfit.
As the figures lurking in the light and shadows of the hall began to collapse one after another, Edgar stopped his screaming. He snatched a potion, drained it, and then laboriously unfurled a scroll, hurling it down at Tars.
Tars had been keeping an eye on him and saw the whole thing.
As the scroll fell through the air, the surrounding shadows began to writhe. Tars moved rapidly to distance himself, but the twisting darkness expanded with him, its range of influence growing until it transformed into a massive cage that slammed down over him.
Because the cage was so large, several other transcendents were trapped inside with him.
"Stinson! Don't forget your daughter's illness—this is part of the deal! Show your courage! Only the Fendis family can help you!"
At Edgar's shout, a middle-aged knight trapped within the shadow cage lunged at Tars. His tall, heroic frame moved like an arrow from a bow, a spiked warhammer raised high.
"Vincent! It was the Fendis family who raised you! Do not fear this monster!"
Another figure in the cage overcame their terror. Simultaneously, several fireballs streaked through the gaps in the cage. Tars moved to dodge, but a sudden ripple of magical energy left his body paralyzed and sluggish. Yet, even in this state, the knight collapsed halfway to his target amidst the gasps of the crowd. Under the influence of Stenchful Skin, the man began to twitch uncontrollably, as did everyone else inside the cage.
In an instant, only one figure remained standing within the cage. The hall fell silent.
Tars turned his gaze toward several figures in the darkness. He had been darting around earlier specifically to draw out these wild wizards. Those fellows might lack raw power, but they were experts at reading the situation and playing it safe; they hadn't revealed themselves easily even under provocation.
BOOM! He lunged forward with a hideous grin, slamming into the bars made of solid shadow. The cage shuddered violently. More arrows and spells, laced with the terror of their casters, flew toward him.
CRASH! The shadow cage shook again!
The impact vibrated through the heart of everyone in the hall. Even the old man sipping wine in the distance stopped; the tremor caused a splash of wine to spill from his glass.
Tars spun around, his fury boiling over. Someone had hit him with an emotion-altering spell. But he merely bared his teeth in a smile, allowing the rage to rise within him, throwing himself like a madman against the shadow cage. He no longer dodged the incoming arrows and spells as he had before, simply lunging and crashing with reckless abandon. The people twitching on the ground inside the cage were trampled under his feet, their bones snapping, their skulls crushed. He had become a savage beast; with every impact, severed limbs and blood sprayed out beyond the cage's perimeter.
This was an experiment he was conducting. Even when he realized his emotions were being manipulated by a spell, he had actively deactivated his Mental Boiling buff. Under the burn of rage, his reason was slipping away, and he seemed to no longer feel pain.
But losing reason didn't mean becoming a fool. He felt his strength increasing, his stature growing even taller, and the connections between his spells deepening. The two spells with high affinity—Stenchful Skin and Demonic Body—seemed to be influencing each other.
He was searching. Searching for the source of his fury. Even with magical inducement, there must be a seed already present within oneself.
As the cage finally collapsed in a thunderous roar, he found the source of his rage.
It is because they are too weak! Wild wizards are too pathetic! He realized he was afraid. In his subconscious, seeing these weaklings made him fear his own predicament. The emotion-altering spell and the Demonic Body had turned this fear into fuel for his fury. If he couldn't get a passage ticket, wouldn't he end up just like these people? Living a muddled life in a forgotten corner, what difference would there be in ten or twenty years except for a couple of extra minor spells?
