Chapter 89: Meetings

  In the empty auditorium, Svarticus confronted Justinian. Septima, standing nearby, seemed to hold no significance to him.

  "I feel him here. The venom of his madness cannot be hidden."

  Justinian’s face grew solemn. "Are you speaking of Totius?"

  The devil looked at the young man with undisguised contempt in his eyes. Even though he carried his unconscious servant on his back, the air slowly began to fill with his energy. At the third level of Foundation Stabilization and the cultivation of the Devilish Virtue of Wrath, his power was by far the greatest among all the adepts in the tournament.

  "I am speaking of someone who should have been dead long ago."

  Justinian, sensing the projection of force from his interlocutor, was by no means delighted. The stress of his earlier confrontation with Envidius still weighed on him, and now the matter of the mad Voivode was returning once again. He was beginning to have quite enough of the hostility accompanying him at every step in this distant dimension.

  Therefore, he released his own energy. It immediately blocked Svarticus’s expanding aura, causing the devil to raise his eyebrows slightly in surprise.

  "Anything else?"

  Even though Justinian was not at the third level of Foundation Stabilization, he had no intention of avoiding a confrontation. He wasn't arrogant, but he knew that his cultivation base—though atypical—was recognized by devils as high-quality. Fresh from the ritual on the moon, he had managed to defeat Greedius. Now, he was significantly stronger.

  The devil, contrary to his earlier display, did not explode in anger. Instead, he shook his head as if amused.

  "Yes, there is something else."

  With a short movement, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a wide, flat ring made of tarnished steel. When he clamped his hand shut over it in a swift motion, Justinian had no chance to defend.

  Primarily because he himself was not the target of the attack.

  A painful groan echoed through the air, and the room was almost instantly filled with white smoke. It belonged to Doctor Totius, whose form appeared against Justinian’s will, looking far more translucent than usual.

  The ghost looked as if a wave of terrible pain had suddenly struck him. Furthermore, a strange trail of darker smoke wrapped around him, appearing to emanate from Svarticus’s hand.

  "It really is him..."

  The devil froze upon seeing the philosopher's ghost, his hands beginning to tremble. He even reached out toward him but his face contorted into a grimace. At that moment, Justinian’s kick whistled through the air; he had no intention of letting the devil do anything to his companion.

  Svarticus, jumping back, quickly regained his previous composure.

  "You speak of not behaving like an animal, yet you refuse to hand over a dangerous criminal?"

  "What is this nonsense now?"

  The devil looked him in the eye, slowly clenching his fists.

  "Nonsense? He is a mere invader who appeared in the 61st dimension and preached heresies punishable by death!"

  "He doesn't look particularly alive to me."

  Hearing this, Svarticus narrowed his eyes furiously. As the anger in his gaze intensified, a violent aura began to radiate from him, tearing at the surrounding air as if trying to break free. Justinian discovered with surprise that it seemed even stronger than Greedius’s!

  Just as it seemed the pressure would continue to grow, the servant on the devil's back stirred restlessly. This brought Svarticus back to reality. With visible hesitation in his eyes, he released his control over Doctor Totius.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Then, he shook his head and, unwilling to even look at the pair from the 66th dimension, headed toward the auditorium exit. Before leaving, however, he stopped to address Justinian one last time. His gaze was deathly serious.

  "The next time we meet, I will kill both you and the madman."

  Paying neither the human, nor the ghost any more attention, he rose slightly off the ground and flew toward his residence with the unconscious servant on his back.

  At the same time, in one of the dimension's most magnificent residences—temporarily made available to the Observers—Dolovarius sat on a throne of grim beauty, crafted from the skull of a local giant beast. Before him floated pages of an ancient treatise from the 32nd Hellish Dimension.

  Suddenly, vibrations rippled through the air, and a few meters away, Observer Envidius materialized. Without looking away from the pages, Dolovarius addressed the newcomer.

  "What has happened this time?"

  The handsome young devil could not control his anger enough to stop his eyelid from twitching. However, he had no intention of holding his tongue.

  "The vermin from this pathetic corner of the world cannot even appreciate good advice."

  The elder Observer glanced at him for a moment, then furrowed his brow.

  "I have told you so many times that there is no point in meddling in local affairs. Whatever you do as an Observer is of marginal importance compared to our mission."

  Envidius did not comment. Instead, he studied the pages levitating before the seated devil.

  "Has Alia still made no progress?"

  A foul grimace crawled across Dolovarius’s face, and the air around him began to crackle. In a split second, a seething power revealed itself, appearing to create a rift in the very fabric of space!

  "There must be something wrong with that damn woman. No matter how closely we follow the treatise, that blasted Oath still hasn't appeared!"

  His voice shook the throne room like thunder. Envidius’s gaze was clouded by an unpleasant shadow. He didn't need to calculate to know what this all meant.

  "If she doesn't create the Third Oath by the time we return, the head of the family..."

  He was interrupted by a powerful fist striking the floor of the throne.

  "I know, damn it!"

  As the young devil turned pale, struggling to keep his back straight, Dolovarius closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself. Finally, tapping his fingers nervously, he let out a heavy sigh.

  "I have done what I could to bring the court of her former connections here. They will arrive soon, and that must help."

  Envidius did not dare comment that if it didn't, an obvious fate awaited them both. Dolovarius, meanwhile, seemed convinced of his conclusion.

  "I will pressure Micromegas to start the next competition within a few days. If necessary, I will even find that damn enemy of his to speed things up."

  In his ancient gaze, one could see the desperation of someone whose ambitions were on the verge of collapse.

  As the tournament in the 60th dimension slowly drew toward its end, matters were also taking a definitive turn in the 66th dimension.

  Inside a magnificent noble tent, draped in vivid colors and a gilded kontusz, a nobleman listened to the report of one of his servants.

  "The Spirit of the Dimension, in accordance with the noble recommendation, has also agreed to allow the aforementioned guests into the dimension..."

  The face of the listening devil, whose lush beard and mustache were beginning to be dusted with a light gray, showed little interest in the subject. He seemed to be thinking of something much more distant.

  Playing with a beautifully decorated gold coin between his fingers, Lord Zygwulski finally yawned ostentatiously, causing the servant to break into a sweat.

  "We expect that the nobles..."

  The host silenced him with a simple look that made the man tremble. After a moment, a simple question hung in the space of the tent.

  "What about Maleficius?"

  The increasingly panicked servant bowed even lower. With eyes full of fear, he moved to the latest news regarding the Lord of the Mountain of Darkness.

  "None of our embassies to him have returned. It seems he is not interested in this election. If needed, we can sen—"

  "That won't be necessary."

  The nobleman rose slowly to his feet and dismissed the kneeling servant with a dismissive wave of his hand. When the nobleman was left alone with his thoughts, he finally smiled, as if something very good had unexpectedly happened.

  "If Maleficius truly isn't interested in the position of Voivode..."

  This created possibilities he hadn't dared to think of openly before—visions that could easily turn into unrestrained arrogance and pride. Finally, with a sharp movement, he grabbed a beautiful, decorated saber and clipped it to his belt. Not wanting to waste another second, he headed for the exit.

  When he pulled aside the heavy canvas of the tent, the afternoon sun of the 66th dimension blinded him, but it wasn't the unbearable glare that took his breath away.

  Before him, on a vast field stretching into the far distance, lay an entire sea of tents. Among them, almost none matched the splendor of his own, especially now that Rudnicki was absent.

  All these tents represented the nobility who had gathered from the farthest corners of the dimension. Thousands of colorful fabrics and coats of arms, from the most obscure—likely having nothing to do with authenticity—to old and respected houses.

  The air was filled with the fragmented roar of tens of thousands of voices, horses, and the clinking of mugs filled with quince liqueur. The nobility of the entire 66th dimension had arrived to take part in the election that would decide the future fate of their world.