Chapter 2: Ignition

 

Parth looked around the vault in a stupor. He had been to a number of museums back on Earth, but what he saw at that moment was something incredible. All of these artifacts were supposedly more than nine thousand years old, yet they looked brand-new. And not only did they seem new, but they were all masterfully crafted. It was obvious even to Parth’s untrained eye. They had an ethereal feel to them. Some even glowed with mystical energy while others just let the craftsmanship speak for itself.

All of these relics lined the walls, housed inside glass containers. Parth half expected most of the containers to be empty, but that was not the case. It seemed like he was one of the first few people from the current batch to enter the room. He was glad—he wouldn’t have experienced the room in its full glory otherwise.

The artifacts ranged from mundane knick-knacks to tools of war. He saw a couple of animal masks, a walking stick, and a pair of gloves, while at the same time he saw a sword, a spear, and a shield. There were a few flashy artifacts like a massive pair of artificial wings and a chainmail vest, yet also a case with tiny accessories like a ring and an earring. It baffled him how all of these different relics could be equally powerful. Moreover, most of these did not even have the exposed magical crystals that he had seen so often in magical gizmos.

Out of the first few relics he saw, he felt drawn to the gloves the most. They looked like motorcycle gloves, but the material itself didn’t look like ordinary cloth. If he had to guess, he’d say that it was a mesh made out of extremely thin strands of metal. It was the same silvery color as the vault door, with plates of golden metal protecting the knuckles.

Even without any magical mumbo jumbo, he would do solid damage to someone with those gloves. He was a boxer; the combination was logical. But something told him they weren’t the right choice.

He slowly stepped away and shifted his attention toward other artifacts.

The next contraption he saw was a pair of armored boots. It was technically four objects retrofitted into two; essentially a pair of sabatons attached to greaves. The metal was a dazzling white, whereas the inscriptions on it were a startling blue. The engravings sported several patterns similar to snowflakes. All in all, the boots looked beautiful and imposing. But for some reason, he felt nauseated when he thought of wearing them. It had nothing to do with his abysmal sense of fashion. It was just a visceral response from his entire being when he thought of donning the boots.

He would say that it was the opposite of what he felt when he saw the gloves, dialed up to eleven.

Parth quickly turned in the opposite direction and walked toward the wall. He stopped the next moment as he caught sight of the artifact that was placed opposite the boots. Just like their opposing placement, they were contrary objects too.

What had captured his attention was a pair of gauntlets. Unlike his intense aversion to the boots, he was drawn to the gauntlets like nothing before. The moment he spotted them, he was entranced like a moth to a flame.

He reached the case containing the relic within seconds and kept staring at it in a trance.

Even the design of the gauntlets contrasted with the boots. They were black in color with a reddish tint. As he looked closer, he saw that the tint was partially due to the glowing red engravings on the gauntlets. The major reason for the tint was the flame-like patterns on the metal itself. It was incredibly similar to Damascus steel, only deliberately designed to look like fire streaming down the hands and wrists. It could not be mistaken for anything else.

Parth was mesmerized by the design. It felt as if those gauntlets were made for him, and him alone.

He slowly touched the glass pane, and immediately retracted his hand as the glass slid upwards. The moment the glass completely slid out of the way, the container pushed the gauntlets forward. He didn’t know whether it was due to his tunnel vision, but to Parth, it seemed like the gauntlets began glowing even more intensely than before. The temperature of the room shot up quickly, yet he did not feel bothered by it at all. The very air around the relics shimmered and distorted due to a heat haze.

Common sense dictated that the gauntlets would be dangerously hot, but the artifact called for him. Unable to restrain himself, he lifted his right hand and touched the corresponding gauntlet.

A small part of his brain expected his fingertips to get burnt. Yet the pain never came.

Parth gasped in astonishment as the metal liquefied the next instant and flowed down his arm. Within a second, his right arm was clad with the object of his fascination. Generally, when someone melted down metal, it burned bright and exuded tremendous heat. None of that was the case at present. Oh, the gauntlet was hot for sure, but it was not melting in the traditional sense. It just smoothly transitioned between solid and liquid states without any effort.

That was not the end of it. Something was screeching inside his head that this was wrong. He felt incomplete, as if a part of him were missing. He didn’t even need to think as he reflexively touched the other gauntlet.

The scene repeated itself as solid metal somehow switched states and flowed down his other arm. It swiftly solidified back to its previous form once the arm was covered.

The moment both his arms were clad in armor, his world erupted in fire.

He could feel the heat deep inside him. There was no visible flame; no light beyond the steady glow from the gauntlets. Yet he was consumed by fire. It was not painful, since the fire wasn’t external. It just existed within him, for now. It was a primal feeling that resonated deep within him. His mind, body, and soul were all aflame.

Ever since he had come to Viz and had been subjected to the potion regime, he had felt his burgeoning mana reserves. That feeling paled in comparison to what he was feeling right now.

It was as if a raging river had crashed into a rickety dam, and the dam broke. In his case, it was a river of fire instead. The dam didn’t just break, it was obliterated; burnt out of existence. Suffice to say, he could feel the mana inside him soaring to levels that he had not expected.

It was a heady feeling.

He grinned as the comfortable warmth coated him, telling him that everything would be fine. Parth raised his arms and began clenching and unclenching his fists. The gauntlets had resized themselves to fit his body, and he was more than satisfied with them. The insides felt soft and unnaturally cushioned for being made out of metal. He could punch without the worry of hurting himself. His mind was ablaze with all sorts of things that he could do with the gauntlets. It was as if he were picking up a weapon that he was intimately familiar with.

His first instinct was to test these things out then and there, but he knew that this was not the place for it. Despite his eagerness, he could acutely feel the energy emanating from all the other artifacts in the room.

Soon enough, he would face most of these out there in the dungeon, and he was fine with it. He was just happy that he had found something that suited his fighting style.

 

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Roul felt cheated. He had been expecting Parth to bond with a weapon, or an accessory. It would have given him further ammunition to mock the blockhead. Instead, the guy had gone and bonded with the gauntlets of all things.

Armored gauntlets in the hands of a trained boxer; the synergy alone was enviable. Adding fuel to the fire was the fact that he had just recently taunted Parth that he wouldn’t be using his fists. He should have foreseen it.

After Parth had come down from the high of the bonding process, Roul had sent him to a waiting room. Oh, how he wished that he didn’t have to stand on ceremony and make flowery speeches. It was for the best, he supposed. Roul was in no mood to make fun of Parth after his own joke had backfired.

Nonetheless, it was just a minor hit to Roul’s amusement. Parth had turned out to be an unexpected gold mine.

All artifact bonding details were public information. But all that would only be released after each voyager finished their turn in the proving grounds. It behooved him to inform his patron about what he had found beforehand. It was up to the people in high places to play political games and stake their alliances based on the information and guidance the advisors gave them.

Historically, when the time came for the patrons to pick their teams, many already had plans based on the data the advisors gave them before it became public. It was a short time frame, and some patrons flat-out ignored all of this and depended purely on the results of the proving grounds. His patron was not one of those, so he had to make his report as quickly as possible.

Almost fifteen minutes after Parth’s selection ceremony, Roul entered the office of his patron. He had already sent his report as he was walking, so now they just had to review the information and come to a decision.

“Greetings, Lord Patcher,” he said as he placed all his right arms on his torso and bowed. He quickly straightened himself and walked towards the desk.

“Sit down, Roul,” said Lord Patcher, not taking his lone eye off the holographic screen in front of him.

Roul took the seat opposite Lord Patcher and waited for the man to finish what he was doing. He noticed that the man was tense and deep in his thoughts. Lord Patcher was clad in grey garments as usual. His straight brown hair was tied into an immaculate braid, held together by a silver ring at the end. The most startling feature of Roland Patcher’s clean-shaven face was of course the silvery eyepatch that covered the empty socket of his left eye. Roul always smirked in amusement when he imagined Lord Patcher as a grumpy pirate from Earth. The image never held weight. Although Lord Patcher was human, he would never fit the image of a stereotypical pirate. Even the eyepatch stuck to his face rather than being held by primitive string or elastics.

No matter what anyone said behind his back, the man sure had class.

Roul always respected the lords that rose through the ranks due to merit. Roland Patcher was one such individual. Of course, most of the nobles did not hold people like him in high regard. “Pedestrian lords,” they snidely called them behind closed doors. But Roul always found that to be impractical. He would know—he was a part of the ruling class. Then again, his family’s duty had nothing to do with managing the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom, so he was still a bit distant from those concerns.

What did it matter if you were born a noble, or had to claw your way to the top? You had some power, sure. But at the end of the day, the monarch reigned supreme. If the nobles had their way, they would have pruned the lordships of the few exceptional commoners. Alas, Emperor Byrone’s edicts were tantamount to divine commandments. All that the kingdom was, owed itself to him and his clan. The nobles had tried to revolt some millennia prior, but only met with disaster.

Only idiots went against the plans of an insanely powerful precog. If Emperor Byrone set things up a certain way, he did so for a reason.

It was such a shame that some nobles drowned in their own self-importance, neglecting to give people like Roland Patcher the respect they deserved.

Although Roul was sure that Patcher himself didn’t care.

“I’ve gone through the report,” said the lord at last. The holographic screen winked out of existence the next moment as the sole grey eye of Lord Patcher focused on Roul.

“Your thoughts, sir?” asked Roul.

“He is promising. As you mentioned in your report, the synergy ought to be good. The fact that he has fighting experience places him a tier above most of the other chosen ones. Even though it was regulated and more of a sport, the instinct would be there. I do want to know more about his personality. What do you think about his ability to work in a team?”

Roul took a moment to think before he answered.

“I can’t say for sure. I’ve only known him for two days. But from what I gather, he doesn’t have massive issues with his ego, so he shouldn’t have trouble working with others. I even kept pushing his buttons to see how he would react. He gets annoyed, sure, but nothing out of the norm. Especially considering the sudden displacement. My other two temporary charges haven’t been faring as well as him.”

Lord Patcher hummed in thought for several moments. He touched a button on the desk, and the screen winked back into existence. He scrolled through the contents quickly and hummed once more.

“An unprecedented synchronization rate of ninety-eight percent. That alone makes him highly desirable on any team. Combining that with what you’ve said so far, he’s sure to do well,” he finally said.

Roul bobbed his head. “Historically, we’ve had very few cases that ever crossed the ninety percent threshold. All of them had monstrous mana reserves, so it’s fair to say that he’d be even better.” It was a known fact that the higher the sync rate, the higher their mana reserves. He had felt it firsthand during Parth’s bonding process.

“All good points. Yet he does place me in a difficult position,” Lord Patcher said.

Roul’s mind immediately caught on to where this was going. “You’re thinking of using your entitlement on him.”

“I am. Although I don’t think young Parthasarathy will be a part of my team.”

“Why? I mean, using your entitlement on him is a good bet. But have you already found someone else that you’re keen on getting?” asked Roul.

“Just so,” was the succinct reply.

“It might be worth it. But it’s a risky play. The sync rate would easily place him above the rest. Moreover, he’s only the third person to have gone through the selection. So that would mean that you have your eye on one of the other two. Did one of them get something better?” Roul couldn’t help but ask more questions. He was the advisor for the team. That was what he had been trained for since his birth. Patcher had just gone and made a major decision without consulting him. Sure, politics played a major role in such decisions, but it was always safe to consult with the advisors before taking any action. He could only hope that no permanent action had taken place yet.

“Therein lies the problem. As you are aware, a bidding war will start due to the synchronization rate alone. Who would say no to a massive mana beast on their team? If we don’t want to be dragged into that resource sink, it would be prudent to use my entitlement on Parthasarathy. That way, he will be locked for our team beforehand.”

“Which will lock us out of the scavenging phase, since the entitlement will get used up now,” finished Roul.

“Indeed. However, the Hollow Crown is far more formidable than the Pygilist,” Patcher pointed out.

Roul stiffened as he realized what had happened. One of the other two people who’d gone through the selection had bonded with the Hollow Crown. The patron of that voyager probably wanted to lock in what was arguably the strongest artifact and use it as a bargaining chip.

“It would be a good trade. But the crown is more trouble than it’s worth,” said Roul.

“I am aware. The Pygilist on its own won’t take us far, no matter how skilled the user is,” Lord Patcher argued. “There are hard counters for it, as you are undoubtedly aware. Statistically, it has never excelled. Nor has the artifact performed poorly. It has always been middling. Maybe this time, young Parthasarathy will do well due to his suitability. But that alone is not enough for me to waste my valuable entitlement. The Hollow Crown, on the other hand, might paint a target on our backs, but it has the potential to carry the team to victory.”

“The other party would be aware of all this as well. Please tell me everything about this trade, sir.”

In response, Lord Patcher made a short gesture and the holographic screen flipped its contents.

Roul spent the next few minutes going over the information. The holder of the Hollow Crown had a seventy-six percent sync rate. That was a good percentage for most artifacts. For the crown, it was on the upper tier of the known cases. The user herself seemed to be the tenacious sort, so that too wasn’t an issue. The patron was someone that Lord Patcher was on good terms with, so Roul knew that the deal would most likely go through. It was highly probable that the two teams would be in an alliance.

“I think this is doable,” he said after analyzing the data. “If we pair her up with a supporter and a melee fighter, the team will be balanced. We’ll need to be careful during the bidding to draft the other two members though. Most people will try to raise the amount just out of spite.” For all the power the Hollow Crown gave, it came attached with myriad issues.

“Wouldn’t you say that it would be worth it still?”

“Yes. Yes it would,” said Roul earnestly. He would have taken the trade with a grain of salt if it weren’t for the patron initiating it. Lord Patcher had always been close to Lord Kach. This way, they would hold the crown within their alliance and not hand it over to any other competitor. Lord Patcher would be taking the brunt of any resulting negative sentiments, but that was worth the risk. There was a reason why everyone banded against the Hollow Crown.

“He’s not just offloading the crown, right?” asked Roul.

“Not quite. He is particularly interested in Parthasarathy’s absurd synchronization rate. Anything above ninety is extremely rare. This is almost a perfect synchronization. Therefore, he wants the Pygilist on his team. We will get the Hollow Crown in return. He gets a safe high performer, while we get a surefire powerhouse with a little bit of risk involved.”

“It’s not just a little bit of risk,” Roul mumbled.

“You are too pessimistic, Roul,” Lord Patcher chided him. “This trade is beneficial for us. The Pygilist and its latest wielder might have good potential. However, the head that the Hollow Crown currently rests upon is just as impressive. Maybe even more so. She did undergo the selection process with no hesitation after all. Unyielding power combined with tremendous determination makes for a good combination.”

“Well, you’re the boss. I won’t dissuade you from taking that risk. As long as you let me pick her partners, that is,” Roul replied cheekily.

Lord Patcher’s single eye bore into him for a moment before his lips twitched. On Patcher, it was something akin to an amused smile.

“Anything within reason.”

“Sure. Anyway, why is Lord Kach so interested in the Pygilist?” he asked. “Apart from the obvious reasons, of course.”

“A boxer bonded with the Pygilist,” Lord Patcher said. “It is uncanny, isn’t it? A pugilist became the Pygilist. We all know that Emperor Byrone was fond of naming his artifacts eccentrically. Lord Kach believes this to be no coincidence.”

Roul pondered on that for a moment and found himself agreeing with that logic to some extent. At the same time, it was a slippery slope. Questioning everything because it might be part of a precog’s vision? In that path lay madness. It was quite a stretch to think that Emperor Byrone saw things ten thousand years into the future. Then again, nobody except for the royal family knew the true extent of the late Emperor’s capabilities. Even they would only be following old edicts and accounts, since so much time had passed.

At the same time, the unnaturally high sync rate did mean something. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it wasn’t. It was not worth wasting brain cells on that train of thought.

Roul had a team to build.